Chapter 321 - Freedoms Price

Remdeyr, True Divine and Patriarch of the Severing Blade Sect, sat quietly in his cultivation chamber. The walls were decorated with swords and the things they had cut, severed, and separated. For that was the heart of Severing. To cut and separate. There were other facets of this Concept. Facets that Remdeyr hoped were lying to him. But he already knew the truth. He knew it before Yendyr, his Greater Divine Disciple, entered unbidden. He’d known it the moment it happened. Felt the connection cut. Severed.

“My Lord,” intoned Yendyr, kneeling and putting his head on the woven mat.

“Tell me,” he demanded in a quiet baritone, his pink hair swaying in the evening breeze.

“Your daughter…my Lord…she has been killed in the World Reaping taking place in the Dynasty of the Heavenly Serpent.”

The last was said in a rush by Yendyr.

“How?”

His voice was quiet, the pain hidden, but it lay beneath the surface like a leviathan waiting to swallow the tiny boats that dotted the ocean. Remdeyr noted the hesitation from Yendyr. As though his disciple did not wish to be the one to deliver whatever information that would come next. A slight twitch from Remdeyr and the words tumbled free of the kneeling swordsman.

“In single combat, to a Lesser Divine named Kiri Beaufoy of the Risen Sun Sect.”

“Impossible,” stated Remdeyr, and his Disciple did not gainsay him.

Remdeyr was aware of what his daughter was, or had been. She had been a genius. A once in a lifetime prodigy. The System, in its infinite wisdom, gave everyone the tools to achieve greatness, but it did not grant skill. Even the Skills it grafted into the Class Cores only sought to improve what was already there. The Stats made the supernatural possible, but The System could not make one smarter. Only allow them to think faster and improve their memory. It did not make someone’s understanding of movement better, even as it gave them the Stats to do so. It did not make their swordwork better, only built upon their natural talent. Enough bonuses could surmount a dearth of talent. But when paired with the true natural aptitude, the sum was greater than the parts. That had been his daughter.

Perenthia had taken to the blade not like a fish to water, but like a twin finding their other half. His proud and talented daughter had wanted nothing more than to prove herself to him, not realising she already had. In time she would have exceeded his capabilities. He was an above average talent at best who had reached the heights through hard work and calculated risk. His daughter worked harder and, with more talent and greater opportunities than he’d ever had, she would’ve taken his place in the Sect eventually. A day he had hoped for. 

Then, his poor genius of a daughter had made a terrible mistake. She had thought she could balance an Embodiment of Severing with a Divine Vessel of Probability. The results had driven her catatonic. She had been unresponsive for weeks as he had sought a solution to her dilemma. A way to break her Embodiment, as removing a Divine Vessel was, to his knowledge, impossible. He didn’t know what she had done exactly, though he had his suspicions, but when she had woken on her own, something had changed. Gone was the hardworking genius, and in her place was an unfeeling doll with his daughter’s face. Still, it had been her face, and every now and then pieces of his daughter had shone through. 

Remdeyr had never stopped searching for a solution. A way to fix his daughter. To glue her back together. But after two decades and multiple Lesser Divine World Reapings, he was yet to succeed. Still, he loved his daughter, and blamed himself for her state. Maybe if he hadn’t pushed her so hard or made her feel like she needed to live up to her potential. The endless stream of ‘maybes’ plagued him and burrowed into his heart. More and more he found himself in his cultivation chamber, searching internally for solutions while the Disciples of his Sect searched externally.

None had yet found a solution. And now they never would. It should have been impossible for anyone to kill his beloved daughter. Insane she may have been, but she had a fully developed Nascent Divine Vessel and the power to change Reality at her fingertips, coupled with the Skills and talent of one of the greatest swordmasters to ever live. Her death at Lesser Divine tier should have been impossible.

“I have never heard of the Rising Sun Sect.” 

His voice sounded as dead to him as his daughter. As dead as his heart. Within that deathly silence, anger stirred. Rage building. Slices started appearing on the walls of his cultivation chamber. His Disciple showed wisdom and severed the space around his own kneeling form to prevent himself from being cut.

“We have not found anything about them. They have appeared from nowhere. The name may be a fake, though we have their likenesses and their skillsets prepared.”

Remdeyr, the Severing Blade, slowly stood, and the room was cut in half.

“Show me.”

*************

Vicoli, Disciple of the Void, watched as the little Herald fought against Reciprocity. Normally, violating the Inner World of a being like Worldhammer would’ve been beyond Vicoli’s capabilities. But when the individual did them the favour of opening the way, well, then it was as easy as breathing. Slipping through the voids that marked the layers of space, Vicoli had watched as the two unequal individuals verbally sparred, all the while marking a few choice targets within the vault.

As the little Herald had been ejected, Vicoli had followed the ripple out, helping himself to a couple of Peak-Grade artifacts on the way. After all, he was the same strata as Worldhammer and had no compunctions about robbing the elf blind. He’d have taken even more if he could get away with it but Peak-Grades would leave their own marks on space and two was the most Vicoli could extract without alerting the more powerful Greater Divine. After all, Vicoli knew where he stood in the pecking order. Worldhammer was strong for their strata. Too strong. Just like the little Herald was too strong for the Lesser Divine strata. There was a commonality there. Something they both acknowledged but didn’t outrightly say. This Divine Vessel. He would find out what it was at some point. It was just a matter of time. And, within the void, time was meaningless. Vicoli floated free, watching as the little Herald came apart at the seams. He hoped the boy would hold out. After all, nothing would amuse Vicoli more than denying Arikanvil his demanded due.

*************

Grommir waited, hands clasped behind his back, as the forces of the Golden Tide packed up all their equipment, training gear, and medical supplies with military efficiency. The lines of Golden Tide support and combat staff slowly grew with each passing second as unit after unit completed their preparations for leaving Serpent’s Wing.

As he waited, he considered whether or not he was making the right decision. Earning the trust of these powerhouses was a worthwhile endeavour, but at what cost? No doubt the Dynasty of the Heavenly Serpent would take umbrage. After all, they had killed three of that factions’s Seeds. The Eternium might take issue as well, and that wasn’t even including the rising tensions the Golden Tide now had with Flux Industries. Not that Grommir regretted such, but too many enemies at one time was bad for the Golden Tide.

Either way, his decision had been made and Grommir was nothing if not decisive. The next step would be up to his counterpart, Constantine, the Golden Tide’s Grand Strategist to determine. Grommir, at least, was happy with his decision. Nathaniel advocated for order, much like Grommir’s own Embodiment. The only difference was in the order they envisioned. That was acceptable to Grommir. After all, order was not immutable. Even within chaos, sometimes moments of order could be found.

His trust was further bolstered by Nathaniel’s natural insight. Grommir had made overtures to High Gardener Prim before and been politely rebuffed. Not surprising to Grommir - the Ogress was a highly desirable True Divine and many of those with ogre-blood sought her hand. But then Grommir had sent the High Gardener the painting Nate had created at Grommir’s request. And Prim had invited Grommir to visit the Evergreen Grove. After multiple attempts to court the Ogress, Grommir now had a chance. All because a Lesser Divine artist had pointed out what should have been obvious to Grommir from the start. That sapient beings liked to feel seen.

Grommir felt the urge to smile and suppressed it. Such actions were not befitting of a Grand Marshal in public. He would do so later, behind closed doors, in the privacy of his office with his trophies and paintings on the wall with the picture of Prim that he kept hidden in his drawers.

As for Nathaniel, Grommir hoped he would be able to survive whatever was happening to him. And, if he survived, then it would be time for politics. Time to broker a deal or see the troublesome Risen Sun Sect on their way. But if a deal could be brokered, and if they truly had the backing that Grommir suspected they did, then it might be finally time to return to the problem that had plagued the Golden Tide for centuries.

Grommir looked at the fluorescent red clouds of the setting sun. Finally, the Golden Tide might have an answer to Belori’khan’andur. 

*************

Custodian Varantir watched the video as Nathaniel Weber was declared the winner of the World Reaping of Seventeenth Scale.

“Sir, might I ask, exactly how much did you bet on them?” asked Mathwin.

Varantir glanced at his aide, still trying to process what had just happened.

“A third.”

“Excuse me, sir, a third of what?”

“A third of my savings,” answered Varantir as he got up and walked to the window to stare out across the city of which he was Custodian.

“That seems like… a lot… sir.”

“Enough for us both to become Greater Divinities, Mathwin. I suspect we’ll be given custody of a new city after this.”

Varantir noted that for the first time in a long time, Mathwin had nothing to say. Varantir didn’t blame him. What was there to say? A single chance meeting had completely changed their fortunes and fate. Varantir stared out the window long after the sun had set, thinking the entire time, and he still had no idea what tomorrow would hold for him. All he knew was that everything had changed, and he hoped it was for the better.

*************

Ankh’Aris’Kol’Deravian watched as the blinding light faded. It was nothing to him but a lesser being would likely have had their eyes burned out from the intensity of the solar flare. From within the fading light pranced the tiny golden and white dragon.

“I did it! I told you I could! Can we go see Nate and Kiri and Fricky now?!?!” screeched Luci’Nil’Fai’Deravian as she reared back on her hind legs and flared her golden wings.

Ankh’Aris had often wondered if life would have been different if he had chosen to have hatchlings before the advent of Kali’Terra and their Source. Perhaps he might have saved more of his kind. Then his Disciple, Nate, had given Ankh a second chance. A new beginning. A baby dragon. And with that action Ankh knew that avoiding having hatchlings had been the right decision. Ankh loved Luci, but parenting was hard. Parenting a little solar dragon with an attitude was even harder.

“Can we!? Can we?! Can we?!”

“Fine,” grumbled Ankh. She had her Divine Vessel now, and he would be there to watch over her. Perhaps it was time he left his mountain and had a peak at the Heartlands once more. Besides, checking up on his Disciples was just being a good Master. He definitely wasn’t giving in to the demands of a child. Never that.

*************

Luc strolled forward casually, the sand crunching beneath his feet as he pointedly ignored the sun beating down on him and his metallic armour. Gone were the black leathers. Now, he was bedecked in shining fluid metal with magnetic properties. An improvement that came with breaking through to Gem and a Legendary Class. No wonder the kid had been so good. These Skills were absolutely insane. As were the runic enchantments running through his armour that kept him as cool and comfortable as if he were strolling along a beach beside the ocean and not sweltering in the water bereft desert.

In front of him stood an open-air tent and from within gawked at least forty people. They hadn’t expected him to come, or maybe it was the flying ship that sat in the sands behind him. Either way, Luc didn’t care. He was just glad that the kid had dropped the knowledge on Jacque so that Luc could afford his own flying ship. When Morgane found out she’d be absolutely green with envy. A perfect way to finagle another holiday with Hildi. But that could wait. Luc had groundwork to lay.

The kids now controlled two empires that could rival Asmuisil. That information hadn’t leaked yet, but it would. There were already spies from Asmuisil looking into the new portals. Eventually they would learn that those portals that supposedly were merely to connect to the Adventurer’s Guild Headquarters also connected to the kid’s empires. And then, like any nation, they would feel threatened. Especially given how reliant they were becoming on the Artist’s Emporium.

So, what was a good Director and mentor like Luc to do in the face of such mounting adversity? Well, stack the board obviously, starting with some fanatics that worshipped Nate like a benevolent God. The kid would hate it, but Luc would do what was good for him regardless. Given the choice between war or being worshipped, he knew the kid would choose the latter to spare the lives of the people. Nate was soft like that.

Stepping beneath the tent, Luc was greeted by the representatives of Asmuisil.

“You weren’t expected, Director Crozier,” commented the Asmuisil Ambassador.

Luc wracked his brain for the man's name. Jonch, Ponch…it was something like that. Luc decided figuring it out was too much trouble.

“I merely sensed a business opportunity, Ambassador, and made sure I would be available to broker any deals that the Free Gashanans might wish to make.”

“You are the Director of the Artist’s Emporium?” asked a wiry man with scars on his arms and grey in his beard. 

Luc sized the guy up and decided that this was a dangerous individual. Maybe even a match for him as a Gem. That also meant that this was the guy to make a deal with.

“I am. Seems I need no introductions. And you are?”

“I am Gajal, Nameless no longer, and Warmaster of the Freed.”

Luc smiled. Just the man he’d been looking for. While the Gashanan’s seemed to be advocating for a more democratic approach to government, which put them firmly in the Asmuisil camp, they were also in the middle of a rebellion against the Merchant Lords and had reached a stalemate. With half of the cities of Gashana under their control, they found their push forward stymied. The Merchant Lords were trading with some country beyond the deserts to the east, and so the Freed looked to broker a deal with the west. That meant Asmuisil. Unless Luc could offer an alternative.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” replied Luc, offering his hand.

Gajal took the proffered hand with his own suntanned one and shook.

“Do you know why?” asked a dark skinned woman from among Gajal’s attendants.

“Why what?” countered Luc.

“Why did Nathaniel Weber gift our people with the Holy Artifact?”

All eyes turned to Luc. He was the centre of attention. It was perfect.

“Nate values freedom. He saw that you were denied it, so he gave you the tool to free yourselves.”

“Why not just free us himself?” asked another.

“Because, I imagine, that in his eyes, that isn’t freedom. For it to be freedom, he had to make the choice yours. Not his.”

Gajal nodded slightly. “Now you come before us, uninvited to these talks of trade and alliance. If Nathaniel values freedom, what do you value, Director Crozier?”

Luc smiled from ear to ear. 

“I value wealth, and the freedom it affords me,” stated Luc, waving his arm in the direction of the flying ship that he had casually flown on in, rather than spending weeks like the Asmuisil delegation, trekking into the desert. “So, Freed of Gashana, you have purchased your freedom with grit and with blood. Now I offer you the opportunity to purchase the remains of it with wealth. Tell me, what do you value?”

Luc let his final words hang in the air, knowing he already had them. By the time Nate returned, he’d have a third empire under his belt and Luc would be well on his way to being the third richest individual on Galle. Freedom couldn’t have tasted better.