She stayed for some time after, to keep up appearances, and when she left, she took a swig straight from the poison gourd just to really drive it in… And because the sap was starting to feel a great deal more like strong alcohol than a poison.
As for Reimund, he was well aware that had been thrown from the pan into the fire. Whatever machinations were at play, both from Newman and the Root Branch, flew far above his head… And yet he was sat in the middle caught in the crossfire. The tiny sect’s elder sighed to himself; he really would’ve preferred to establish relations, but no, some high-and-mighty fuck had to twist his arm behind his back with threats backed by the weight of the Root Branch. Those bastards barely even supported the smaller sects, he and his disciples were barely better off than being out for themselves; the phantom backing of being a Black Horse Sect branch and access to mostly lower and middle-ranking techniques… In exchange for toiling like feudal fucking peasants growing herbs to pay the tithes.
A memory floated to the surface of his mind. An argument with one of his core disciples, several years ago, after which the aforementioned disciple left the sect to become a rogue cultivator.
The last words the two men had said to one another were:
“May you live in interesting times!”
“And I wish the same upon you, and may Perkunas thunderstrike you!”
His eye twitched. For a few moments there, he had worried that the thunderstrike wish would come true.
Several more days passed.
Zelsys went on with her usual training, momentarily trading hunting excursions for meetings with the governor and time spent in her chambers. Some of this time was spent reading through her predecessor’s texts, some went toward trying to rid herself of a mental itch by writing. It felt like a word that she knew, but which she couldn’t quite grasp, and the more she tried to capture it, the more ephemeral and out of reach it felt. Inevitably, every time, she gave up and took out her frustrations on a target block. Ever since Eldartha, she had felt herself reaching for something truly profound, like enough pieces had fallen into place that she could make out the general shape and contents of a puzzle, but there were still tracts of it missing.
Most normal body training had reached such a point of diminishing returns for her that it may as well be pointless. Fortunately, lifting was still perfectly viable, she just had to turn to the target blocks if she wanted to push herself. This inevitably became a spectacle every time, as did one of Zelsys’s own self-made training methods, wherein she pitted her own musculature against itself.
The image of Zelsys holding a pose, flexing while somehow emanating a sense of incredible violence even in utter stillness, became a part of everyday life at the Newman Sect. The dust around her undulated in hypnotic patterns following the electromagnetic fields flowing around her feet, and arcs of lightning flew from her into the air despite her making no effort to induce the effect. The creaking and popping of her semi-metalized bones straining could be heard all the way across the courtyard.
On one such day, a paper bird flew down through the Newman Sect’s barrier. On this same day, since the weather was particularly nice and many disciples had gathered in the courtyard to train, Ozmir had dusted off one of the old pop-up auxiliary buildings. It was made in the same style and high standards as the main structures, but mostly using wood and other, lighter materials. A simple thought-impulse was enough to make the structure unfold into a large stall, from which the ankhezian went on to serve that day’s refreshments. He placed it all the way across the courtyard, condemning those in the middle to walk no less than two hundred meters to quench their thirst or quell their hunger.
Sure, most of the inner disciples didn’t need this; their front courtyard wasn’t particularly large, only some five hundred meters long and a third as wide, but disregarding the needs or comfort of outer disciples was a surefire way to end up with a dying sect full of bitter old cunts. Ozmir knew that. He’d seen it happen first-hand.
And frankly, he didn’t feel like being in his kitchens right now. Even now, his arms itched to hell and back, black scales pushing through his skin from inhaling a bit too much of the fumes from cooking dragon meat. They were wondrous ingredients, everything the elder had brought back, but by the Dead Ones did cooking it fumigate the living hell out of everything. He was thankful that the previous sect cook had sealed off everything specifically for cases like this, from doors to pantry cabinets, it all had total isolation seals.
Ozmir saw that bird flutter down, and head towards him.
“The Artat Sect? Why would they…”
Before he could call Zelsys over, she had already shifted to another kind of training, and was halfway across the courtyard. As they had each time before, so too did now several disciples gather to watch, not the least among them Zefaris, turning from her absurd coin-shooting. Keeping up her flexing, the sect elder proceeded to summon four Thundergods and using them alone she scaled the height of the sect’s towering height.
One-hundred and eight meters. That was the totality of the highest tower. She scaled its heights time and again, and then leapt off, allowing herself to fall like a stone, only to force herself to a slow descent through a great and terrible feat of fulgurmagnetism.
The first few times, she had landed so hard that she had to dig herself out, and Nesgon had to fill the holes in - not because she would not do it herself, but because the groundskeeper insisted upon it. At this point, she landed from the leap lighter than she stepped normally.
Ozmir used a special identifying hand-sign to try and call the bird, and found, to his surprise, that it obeyed, despite the Black Horse branch being officially dissolved. He read it over, and by the time he was done, Zefaris had already come over, curious of what he had received.
Akaso
If you’d like to read ahead, consider heading on over to the Patreon! You get up to 20 advance chapters for both Retribution Engine and Cherno Caster.
I’d also greatly appreciate it if you could rate my story, maybe even leave a review or advanced review!
For a link to the discord, check the synopsis.
She stayed for some time after, to keep up appearances, and when she left, she took a swig straight from the poison gourd just to really drive it in… And because the sap was starting to feel a great deal more like strong alcohol than a poison.
As for Reimund, he was well aware that had been thrown from the pan into the fire. Whatever machinations were at play, both from Newman and the Root Branch, flew far above his head… And yet he was sat in the middle caught in the crossfire. The tiny sect’s elder sighed to himself; he really would’ve preferred to establish relations, but no, some high-and-mighty fuck had to twist his arm behind his back with threats backed by the weight of the Root Branch. Those bastards barely even supported the smaller sects, he and his disciples were barely better off than being out for themselves; the phantom backing of being a Black Horse Sect branch and access to mostly lower and middle-ranking techniques… In exchange for toiling like feudal fucking peasants growing herbs to pay the tithes.
A memory floated to the surface of his mind. An argument with one of his core disciples, several years ago, after which the aforementioned disciple left the sect to become a rogue cultivator.
The last words the two men had said to one another were:
“May you live in interesting times!”
“And I wish the same upon you, and may Perkunas thunderstrike you!”
His eye twitched. For a few moments there, he had worried that the thunderstrike wish would come true.
Several more days passed.
Zelsys went on with her usual training, momentarily trading hunting excursions for meetings with the governor and time spent in her chambers. Some of this time was spent reading through her predecessor’s texts, some went toward trying to rid herself of a mental itch by writing. It felt like a word that she knew, but which she couldn’t quite grasp, and the more she tried to capture it, the more ephemeral and out of reach it felt. Inevitably, every time, she gave up and took out her frustrations on a target block. Ever since Eldartha, she had felt herself reaching for something truly profound, like enough pieces had fallen into place that she could make out the general shape and contents of a puzzle, but there were still tracts of it missing.
Most normal body training had reached such a point of diminishing returns for her that it may as well be pointless. Fortunately, lifting was still perfectly viable, she just had to turn to the target blocks if she wanted to push herself. This inevitably became a spectacle every time, as did one of Zelsys’s own self-made training methods, wherein she pitted her own musculature against itself.
The image of Zelsys holding a pose, flexing while somehow emanating a sense of incredible violence even in utter stillness, became a part of everyday life at the Newman Sect. The dust around her undulated in hypnotic patterns following the electromagnetic fields flowing around her feet, and arcs of lightning flew from her into the air despite her making no effort to induce the effect. The creaking and popping of her semi-metalized bones straining could be heard all the way across the courtyard.
On one such day, a paper bird flew down through the Newman Sect’s barrier. On this same day, since the weather was particularly nice and many disciples had gathered in the courtyard to train, Ozmir had dusted off one of the old pop-up auxiliary buildings. It was made in the same style and high standards as the main structures, but mostly using wood and other, lighter materials. A simple thought-impulse was enough to make the structure unfold into a large stall, from which the ankhezian went on to serve that day’s refreshments. He placed it all the way across the courtyard, condemning those in the middle to walk no less than two hundred meters to quench their thirst or quell their hunger.
Sure, most of the inner disciples didn’t need this; their front courtyard wasn’t particularly large, only some five hundred meters long and a third as wide, but disregarding the needs or comfort of outer disciples was a surefire way to end up with a dying sect full of bitter old cunts. Ozmir knew that. He’d seen it happen first-hand.
And frankly, he didn’t feel like being in his kitchens right now. Even now, his arms itched to hell and back, black scales pushing through his skin from inhaling a bit too much of the fumes from cooking dragon meat. They were wondrous ingredients, everything the elder had brought back, but by the Dead Ones did cooking it fumigate the living hell out of everything. He was thankful that the previous sect cook had sealed off everything specifically for cases like this, from doors to pantry cabinets, it all had total isolation seals.
Ozmir saw that bird flutter down, and head towards him.
“The Artat Sect? Why would they…”
Before he could call Zelsys over, she had already shifted to another kind of training, and was halfway across the courtyard. As they had each time before, so too did now several disciples gather to watch, not the least among them Zefaris, turning from her absurd coin-shooting. Keeping up her flexing, the sect elder proceeded to summon four Thundergods and using them alone she scaled the height of the sect’s towering height.
One-hundred and eight meters. That was the totality of the highest tower. She scaled its heights time and again, and then leapt off, allowing herself to fall like a stone, only to force herself to a slow descent through a great and terrible feat of fulgurmagnetism.
The first few times, she had landed so hard that she had to dig herself out, and Nesgon had to fill the holes in - not because she would not do it herself, but because the groundskeeper insisted upon it. At this point, she landed from the leap lighter than she stepped normally.
Ozmir used a special identifying hand-sign to try and call the bird, and found, to his surprise, that it obeyed, despite the Black Horse branch being officially dissolved. He read it over, and by the time he was done, Zefaris had already come over, curious of what he had received.
Akaso
If you’d like to read ahead, consider heading on over to the Patreon! You get up to 20 advance chapters for both Retribution Engine and Cherno Caster.
I’d also greatly appreciate it if you could rate my story, maybe even leave a review or advanced review!
For a link to the discord, check the synopsis.
