AuthorShawnWilson

Cultivation Stuff (got a few messages)

So I got a few private messages and figured it was easier to just answer here in case anyone else was wondering but hadn't asked.

So I've got more chapters written. Just waiting on some feedback from beta readers.

I can drop more, I don't mind. It's kind of a perk of my patreon, I just give access to everything.

That said - I'm open for feedback on the chapters. I'm not a cultivation master (but mc will be one day).

Someone asked, how many chapters i have planned. Long term? 500 maybe? That would be your standard cultivation answer. Is it possible? Sure. I'm 11 books into UL1 so writing that long and planning that long isn't hard.

I have a 'sketch' of stuff all the way to Nascent level. So I've got it broken down through different cultivation levels.

My biggest problem of course will be getting there and doing it well.

SOOOO that was a lot of words to get to this next part.

I'm going to drop more chapters. Please give feedback that you think could help make the story better if you're willing.

I'll probably drop 3 more this week (probably every other day).

Thanks again for those who really seem to enjoy the story and want to help with the feedback!

Formation Master - CHAPTER 9: THE FINALS 

CHAPTER 9: THE FINALS 

The arena floor was packed earth that had seen a multiple matches. Wei Chen's footsteps raised small dust clouds as he walked to his starting position.

Zhang Ming was already there, standing in the center of the combat area like he owned it. His outer sect robes were pristine, probably new for the occasion. His qi signature radiated confidence—Qi Gathering Stage 8, stable and strong. Seven full stages above Wei Chen's barely functional Qi Gathering Stage 1.

The crowd noise was a constant rumble. Thousands of disciples talking, betting, speculating. Wei Chen caught fragments as he walked.

"...seven stages difference..."

"...formation tricks won't work this time..."

"...Zhang Ming's family provided high-grade stones..."

"...no way Worthless Chen survives five minutes..."

Wei Chen ignored it. It was all background noise, irrelevant to the actual problem.

Zhang Ming watched him approach. His face was a blank mask, but Wei Chen caught the slight tension around his eyes. Zhang Ming appeared to be nervous despite the overwhelming advantages. 

That’s interesting.

Nervous meant he'd been paying attention. Nervous meant he'd watched Wei Chen's previous matches and understood formations could punch above their weight class. Being nervous meant Zhang Ming might make mistakes.

The arena was packed.

Every seat in the lower tiers was occupied. Disciples stood in the aisles, craning for better views. The upper tiers, normally empty during evaluation rounds, held senior outer sect members who'd heard rumors about the finals matchup. Even some inner sect disciples had appeared, curious about the Qi Gathering Stage 1 who'd somehow reached the finals.

The noise was enormous. Conversations, arguments, betting negotiations—all of it merging into a roar that made individual words impossible to distinguish. The containment formations were working harder now, absorbing ambient qi from the agitated crowd before it could interfere with the match.

The elder viewing platform was full. Wei Chen counted eight formation elders, including Elder Shen, plus representatives from other sect divisions. They weren't just observing anymore. They were evaluating, making notes, discussing what they'd seen and what they expected to see.

The late morning sun poured through the arena's open sides, illuminating the combat zone with harsh clarity. No shadows to hide in. No environmental advantages to exploit. Just two fighters, forty feet of packed earth, and thousands of witnesses.

The pre-match energy was different from earlier rounds. This felt like anticipation of something significant. Word had spread about Wei Chen's formations, about his impossible victories, about the seven-stage gap between him and Zhang Ming.

People wanted to see if it was real. If a Qi Gathering Stage 1 could actually beat a Qi Gathering Stage 8 through nothing but preparation and intelligence.

Wei Chen took his position and tried to ignore all the eyes who were watching him.

The supervising elder stepped onto the arena floor. It was a different elder than in the semifinals. This one was older, Core Formation based on his qi signature, with the kind of weathered face that suggested he'd judged hundreds of matches.

"Final match of the Outer Sect Emergency Evaluation," the elder announced. His voice carried across the arena without strain. "Participant 8, Zhang Ming, Qi Gathering Stage 8. Participant 47, Wei Chen, Qi Gathering Stage 1."

The crowd noise increased. Seven-stage gaps were rare in outer sect competitions. Most disciples never fought opponents that far above them. The few who did usually lost badly.

"Standard rules apply," the elder continued. "Formations, techniques, and tools are permitted if legally obtained or self-created. Match ends when one participant yields, is rendered unconscious, or is unable to continue. Lethal techniques are forbidden."

Wei Chen positioned himself near the inner hexagon of his Adaptive Network. The control layer formations were disguised as simple qi gathering arrays. Zhang Ming's eyes tracked them but showed no particular concern. Just standard defensive positioning.

The visible decoy formations were more obvious. The fake redirect array glowed faintly near the arena boundary. The useless barrier formation shimmered in place. The qi trap sat in the center, telegraphing its presence like a beginner's mistake.

Zhang Ming's lips twitched slightly. He'd seen all those techniques in Wei Chen's previous matches. He thought he knew what to expect.

"Participants ready?" the elder asked.

Zhang Ming nodded.

Wei Chen took a breath and centered himself. Seventeen hours without sleep. His body was running on determination and stubborn refusal to quit. His qi reserves were at sixty percent. Fifty mid-grade spirit stones powering formations no one had tested under real combat conditions.

Terrible odds... Or another page out of the Standard Operating Procedure book.

"Ready," Wei Chen said.

The elder raised his hand. The arena went quiet. Thousands of disciples were watching. Elders evaluating. Everything Wei Chen had worked for in the past three days came down to one match.

The elder's hand dropped. "Begin."

Zhang Ming moved instantly.

No preliminary testing. No cautious probing. Just overwhelming aggression from the start. Fire-aspected qi exploded around both hands as he charged forward, closing the thirty-foot gap in three enormous strides.

Wei Chen triggered the Adaptive Network.

The outer hexagon activated first, nodes lighting up in sequence. Deflection Mode engaged automatically as the threat assessment formation analyzed Zhang Ming's approach. Six nodes created an invisible barrier that caught Zhang Ming's first strike and redirected it sideways.

Zhang Ming's fire technique scattered harmlessly to the left. He didn't slow down. His second strike came immediately, targeting where the deflection had originated.

The Adaptive Network adjusted. Northern nodes reinforced while southern nodes went dormant, concentrating defensive power where it was needed. Zhang Ming's attack hit the strengthened section and dispersed.

The crowd noise went from anticipation to confusion as Zhang Ming's fire technique scattered harmlessly to the left.

"What just happened?"

"The formation deflected it—but I didn't see any barrier—"

"It's adaptive. Watch the nodes, they're reorganizing."

Disciples in the formation section were standing now, trying to see the arena floor more clearly. Whatever Wei Chen had built, it wasn't like anything they'd studied.

Zhang Ming's supporters were calling encouragement: "Keep pressing! Overwhelm the formations!" "He can't maintain that defense forever!" "Just break through!"

But the experienced fighters in the crowd had gone quiet. They recognized what they were seeing. Wei Chen's formations weren't just blocking, they were responding. Learning. Adapting to Zhang Ming's attack patterns in real time.

That wasn't supposed to be possible.

Zhang Ming backed off, confidence giving way to caution. He'd expected Wei Chen's formations to work. What he hadn't expected was formations that responded intelligently to his attacks.

"Clever," Zhang Ming said. His voice was loud enough for the front rows to hear. "You've upgraded your redirect formations. Let's see how they handle sustained pressure."

Zhang Ming's qi surged. Wei watched as he pulled out a few of his high-grade spirit stones, and the sheer volume of power made the air shimmer. Qi Gathering Stage 8 backed by effectively unlimited resources.

He attacked again. Not a single strike but a continuous barrage. Fire techniques launched in rapid succession, each one hitting the Adaptive Network from different angles.

Wei Chen's formations adapted. Deflection Mode handled the first few attacks efficiently, redirecting them with minimal power consumption. But as the barrage continued, the system calculated that deflection wasn't sufficient.

The network switched to Dispersion Mode.

Power consumption jumped from five spirit stones per minute to ten. The middle hexagon activated, and hidden nodes were coming online to handle the increased load. Each incoming attack was caught and scattered into dozens of weak fragments that dissipated harmlessly.

Zhang Ming saw the shift. His eyes tracked the arena, trying to identify the source of the new defensive layer. The middle hexagon was still invisible, buried beneath the arena surface.

It appears the second surprise is working as I designed.

"Interesting," Zhang Ming said. He stopped attacking and circled slowly, studying the arena. "Multiple defensive layers. Hidden formations. You've been busy."

Wei Chen said nothing. Verbal responses wasted qi and gave information. Let Zhang Ming talk if he wanted to.

Zhang Ming's expression hardened. "Fine. Let's see how your formations handle this."

He pulled deeper from his reserves. The qi around him intensified, shifting from red-orange to bright white. Qi Gathering Stage 8 at full power was terrifying to witness. The pressure alone made Wei Chen's skin prickle.

Zhang Ming launched a technique Wei Chen recognized from Chen Wei's memories. Blazing Phoenix Strike. A combination attack that merged overwhelming force with fire-aspected qi. It had taken Zhang Ming years to master, and it required massive power to execute properly.

The attack screamed across the arena, leaving a trail of scorched air. It hit the Adaptive Network with enough force to crack stone.

The network made an instant decision. Dispersion Mode wouldn't be sufficient. The attack was too concentrated, too powerful.

The system switched to Absorption Mode.

Power consumption spiked to twenty spirit stones per minute. The inner hexagon fully activated, control layer formations working at maximum capacity. The network caught Zhang Ming's Blazing Phoenix Strike and stored it, channeling the energy into buffer nodes designed specifically for this purpose.

Zhang Ming's attack vanished into the formations. No scattering. No deflection. Just gone.

The crowd went quiet.

Zhang Ming stared at the space where his attack had disappeared. His confident expression cracked slightly. That technique should have overwhelmed any outer sect formation.

"What did you just do?" Zhang Ming demanded.

Wei Chen smiled slightly. "Stored it."

"Stored— You can't store a technique like that. The power requirements alone—"

Wei Chen triggered the Absorption Mode's release function.

The buffer nodes discharged. Zhang Ming's Blazing Phoenix Strike came back at him, amplified by the formations' own qi contribution. The technique hit Zhang Ming at full force, throwing him backward across the arena.

Zhang Ming hit the ground hard. He rolled, coming up in a defensive stance, his robes scorched but his body protected by his Qi Gathering cultivation base. He was breathing harder now, and his expression had transformed from confident to genuinely concerned.

Wei smiled.

And then there’s the third surprise. He's starting to understand.

The crowd didn't erupt. It detonated.

Disciples were on their feet, shouting over each other. Some were cheering. Some were arguing. Some were staring at the arena floor, trying to process what they'd witnessed.

"He stored the Blazing Phoenix Strike!"

"That's impossible—the power requirements alone—"

"His own technique! He hit Zhang Ming with his own technique!"

"Seven stages! There's a seven-stage gap! How is this happening?"

The formation enthusiasts had abandoned any pretense of analytical calm. They were pushing toward the arena barrier, trying to see Wei Chen's node placements, memorize his formation geometry, and understand how he'd done the impossible.

Combat disciples were reassessing everything they thought they knew. Formations were supposed to be support tools, not primary weapons. Formations were supposed to fail against overwhelming force. Formations weren't supposed to catch techniques and throw them back amplified.

Zhang Ming's supporters had gone silent. A few were quietly leaving the stands, unwilling to watch what came next.

In the betting section, absolute chaos. Some disciples were demanding immediate payouts. Others were arguing that the match wasn't over yet. Contribution tokens were being waved, counted, and disputed.

The elders weren't pretending to be neutral anymore. Elder Shen was leaning forward, watching the arena floor with undisguised intensity. The other formation elders were doing the same, some taking rapid notes, others simply watching.

This wasn't an evaluation match anymore. This was a demonstration of something new.

Zhang Ming stood and brushed dust from his robes. His face had gone carefully blank. That meant he was reassessing. Smart fighters adapted when their assumptions proved wrong.

"You've been planning this," Zhang Ming said. "All night, probably. Building formations specifically designed to counter me."

"Yes," Wei Chen said. No point denying the obvious.

"How many spirit stones are you burning right now?"

Wei Chen mentally checked the network's status. Forty-three stones remaining out of fifty. The math wasn't encouraging.

"Enough," Wei Chen said.

Something like respect crossed Zhang Ming's face. Or maybe recognition that this wouldn't be the easy victory he'd expected.

"Alright," Zhang Ming said. "Let's see how long they last."

He attacked again. Not with overwhelming techniques but with sustained pressure. Medium-power strikes launched continuously, probing different sections of the Adaptive Network's coverage.

Wei Chen's formations responded. Deflection Mode handled most attacks efficiently. Occasional switches to Dispersion Mode for stronger strikes. The network adapted smoothly, minimizing power consumption where possible.

But Zhang Ming had effectively unlimited resources. He could attack continuously without worrying about exhaustion. Wei Chen's formations started with fifty mid-grade spirit stones total, and they were already down to forty-three.

The math was simple. Zhang Ming would eventually wear down Wei Chen's defenses through attrition.

Wei Chen needed to change the equation.

He studied Zhang Ming's attack pattern. The strikes came in waves, concentrating on different sections of the network. Northern nodes first, then eastern, then southern, cycling through the perimeter looking for weak points.

Predictable. Systematic. Exactly what a competent fighter should do when facing unknown defenses.

Wei Chen could work with predictable.

He waited for the next wave to hit the northern nodes. The Adaptive Network deflected the attacks as designed. Zhang Ming shifted his assault to the eastern section.

Wei Chen triggered a manual override on the control layer.

The network stopped defending the eastern section entirely. Power from those nodes redirected to the northern section, doubling its defensive capacity. Zhang Ming's eastern attacks hit empty space, wasting qi on undefended ground.

Zhang Ming noticed. His next wave targeted the now-heavily-defended northern section. The strengthened formations deflected everything easily.

Zhang Ming stopped attacking. He was breathing harder now, frustrated. "You're playing games."

"I'm fighting efficiently," Wei Chen corrected. "You have more power. I have better information management."

That was systems design thinking applied to combat. Optimize resource allocation. Predict opponent behavior. Adjust faster than they can adapt.

Zhang Ming's face flushed. He'd been outmaneuvered by someone seven stages below him, and the entire outer sect was watching.

"Fine," Zhang Ming said. His voice had gone cold. "No more testing."

His qi surged again, a sign that Zhand was pulling massively from his high-grade spirit stones. The pressure increased until Wei Chen could feel it pressing against his skin like a physical force. Zhang Ming was committing everything to one overwhelming assault.

"Celestial Flame Barrage," Zhang Ming announced.

Wei Chen recognized the technique from Chen Wei's memories. It was Zhang Ming's signature move, the one his family had paid formation masters to help him develop. Twelve simultaneous fire techniques launched from different angles, designed to overwhelm any defense through sheer volume.

Zhang Ming had used it to win his semifinal match in under a minute.

The attack was launched. Twelve streaks of white-hot fire converged on Wei Chen's position from every direction. There was no safe zone, no undefended angle. Just overwhelming force from all sides.

The Adaptive Network made its calculations instantly.

Deflection Mode was insufficient. There were too many simultaneous attacks.

The Dispersion Mode was also insufficient. Each individual attack was too powerful.

Absorption Mode had a chance. It was possible, but it would drain the remaining spirit stones to critical levels.

The network chose Absorption Mode and committed everything.

All eighteen nodes activated at full capacity. The inner hexagon's control layer worked frantically, coordinating the response across three nested formations. Buffer nodes opened wide, ready to catch and store twelve techniques simultaneously.

Power consumption spiked to forty spirit stones in ten seconds.

The Celestial Flame Barrage hit the Adaptive Network. Each of the twelve techniques was captured and stored, then channeled through the complex web of flexible connections into buffer nodes designed to handle massive volumes of qi.

The network held. Barely.

Wei Chen felt the formations straining under the load. Some connections were overheating. Two outer hexagon nodes were showing signs of destabilization. But the buffer nodes were full, containing enough stored power for twelve Qi Gathering techniques.

Zhang Ming stood in the center of the arena, breathing hard. He'd burned through maybe twenty mid-grade spirit stones' worth of qi in one massive technique. He was staring at Wei Chen's position, waiting for the defenses to collapse and for his victory to be revealed.

The formations held.

Zhang Ming's expression went from confident to shocked. "That's not possible. Twelve simultaneous techniques— You can't absorb that much power—"

Wei Chen was running the numbers. Three spirit stones left. The Adaptive Network was on the edge of catastrophic failure. Multiple nodes were damaged. Some connections had burned out completely.

But the buffer nodes were full.

"You're right," Wei Chen said. "I can't absorb this much power."

He triggered the release.

Twelve techniques came back at Zhang Ming simultaneously from twelve different angles. The Celestial Flame Barrage, reversed and amplified by the formations' contribution. Zhang Ming's own signature technique, hitting him with everything he'd put into it.

Zhang Ming tried to defend. His qi surged, creating barriers in multiple directions. But twelve simultaneous attacks from someone seven stages below him wasn't something he'd ever trained for. His defenses covered maybe seven of the incoming strikes.

The other five hit him directly.

Zhang Ming screamed. Not in pain because his Qi Gathering body was too tough for that, but in rage and disbelief. The force threw him across the arena. He hit the boundary formation and slid to the ground, his robes smoking and charred.

The crowd went insane. The noise was deafening. Disciples were standing, shouting, pointing. Wei Chen had just hit Zhang Ming with his own ultimate technique.

In the elders' viewing area, Wei Chen saw money changing hands. Apparently, some of them had been betting.

Zhang Ming struggled to his feet. His movements were slower now. The counterattack hadn't seriously injured him, Qi Gathering cultivation bases were too resilient, but it had hurt his pride badly.

And it had drained his qi reserves significantly. Even with high-grade spirit stones, repeatedly using major techniques took a toll.

Wei Chen checked his formation status. Two spirit stones left. Multiple nodes burned out. The Adaptive Network was barely functional. Maybe one more major defensive action before everything collapsed.

The math said he'd lose. Zhang Ming still had resources. Wei Chen was running on fumes.

But Zhang Ming was shaken. His confidence was cracked. And shaken opponents made mistakes.

Wei Chen needed one more.

Zhang Ming limped forward, his qi flaring erratically. He was angry now, not thinking clearly. That was good.

"You think you've won!?" Zhang Ming shouted. "You think parlor tricks are enough!? I'm Qi Gathering Stage 8! You're Qi Gathering 1! You're nothing!"

Wei Chen said nothing. He let Zhang Ming rage. Angry cultivators got sloppy.

Zhang Ming gathered his qi for another attack. This one was less refined than the Celestial Flame Barrage but more desperate. Pure force backed by Qi Gathering power, no technique or finesse. Just pure aggression.

Wei Chen watched him prepare. The Adaptive Network was too damaged to stop this. The formations would fail. The match would end.

Unless Wei Chen did something Zhang Ming wasn't expecting.

Wei Chen triggered the decoy formations.

The fake redirect array that had been sitting inactive near the boundary suddenly activated with obvious fanfare. The useless barrier formation flared brightly. The qi trap in the center triggered loudly, but it achieved nothing.

All three decoys activated simultaneously, creating noise and light and obvious qi signatures.

Zhang Ming's attack faltered. His eyes tracked the suddenly active formations, trying to determine which were threats. He'd been expecting Wei Chen's real defenses to activate. Instead, he got obvious fakes that he'd been ignoring all match.

The hesitation lasted maybe two seconds.

Wei Chen used those two seconds to move. Not away from Zhang Ming's attack but toward it. He closed half the distance while Zhang Ming was distracted by the decoys, getting inside the range where Zhang Ming's big technique would be less effective.

Zhang Ming saw the movement and tried to adjust. Too late. Wei Chen was already inside his optimal attack range. The fire technique launched anyway, but weakly, off-balance, poorly aimed.

Wei Chen's remaining formation nodes deflected it easily. One spirit stone left.

Then Wei Chen did something that made the entire arena go quiet.

He dropped his defensive formations entirely.

All three hexagons deactivated. The Adaptive Network shut down. The decoys faded. Every formation Wei Chen had built over the past sixteen hours simply stopped functioning.

Zhang Ming stared. "What are you doing?"

Wei Chen pulled out his last spirit stone and held it up. "Making a point."

He crushed the stone. The stored qi inside released in a flash of light. Wei Chen channeled it directly through his damaged meridians, forcing it into one final technique.

Chen Wei had never been good at combat techniques. His weak cultivation and damaged channels made them unreliable. But he'd practiced one technique obsessively, the only one that worked consistently with his broken body.

Basic Qi Bolt. The first technique every outer disciple learned. No fire aspected qi. No fancy elements. Just pure qi concentrated and released.

Wei Chen launched it at Zhang Ming from point-blank range.

Zhang Ming's eyes widened. He hadn't expected a direct cultivation technique from someone who'd been using formations exclusively. His defenses were focused on formation-based threats, not a basic bolt of qi from three feet away.

The technique hit Zhang Ming in the chest. It didn't do much damage. Qi Gathering Stage 1 versus Qi Gathering Stage 8 meant the power difference was massive, but it did something more important.

It shocked him.

Zhang Ming stumbled backward, more from surprise than force. His foot caught on uneven ground. He tried to recover, but his balance was already compromised from the previous counterattacks and his own overextended techniques.

Zhang Ming fell.

He hit the ground hard, flat on his back, staring up at the sky.

Wei Chen stood over him, breathing hard, every muscle screaming from exhaustion. He had no qi left. No formations. No tricks remaining. If Zhang Ming got up and attacked again, Wei Chen would lose.

The supervising elder stepped forward. "Can you continue?"

The question was directed at Zhang Ming.

Zhang Ming lay there, breathing hard. He could get up. His cultivation base was strong enough. He had qi remaining. He could absolutely continue the fight and probably win through pure endurance.

But the entire outer sect was watching. He'd been knocked down by someone seven stages below him. He'd been countered repeatedly. He'd been outplayed tactically, outmaneuvered strategically, and ultimately beaten by a basic technique every disciple learned in their first month.

Getting up and winning through attrition wouldn't erase that humiliation. It would confirm that he needed overwhelming advantages to beat someone with no resources.

Zhang Ming closed his eyes. "I yield."

The supervising elder's voice cut through the noise: "Winner: Wei Chen."

The arena descended into organized chaos.

Formation disciples were already planning: "I need to study those node placements before they're cleared." "Did anyone get a diagram of the hexagonal geometry?" "The control layer—how did he manage three nested systems without interference?"

Combat disciples were having a different conversation: "This changes everything. If formations can do that—" "We need to start incorporating defensive arrays into our training." "Formation specialists aren't just support anymore."

The betting crowd had sorted into winners and losers. Winners were collecting loudly. Losers were either paying up or making excuses about unusual circumstances and unfair advantages.

Zhang Ming's remaining supporters had scattered. Some were heading toward where Zhang Ming had been taken after yielding. Others were simply leaving, unwilling to be associated with his defeat.

Neutral observers were talking to anyone who would listen: "First place. The Qi Gathering Stage 1 is going to be first place overall." "I thought it was luck after the first match. Maybe the second. But four victories? Against higher cultivation opponents?" "This is going to change how the sect thinks about formations."

Elder Shen had stood from his seat. He was watching Wei Chen cross the arena, and his analytical interest had turned into genuine fascination.

Wei Chen walked toward the arena exit, trying to ignore all the attention he felt. He'd won. That was what mattered. The formations had worked.

Everything else, the stares, the whispers, the sudden shift in how people looked at him, that was just consequences he'd have to manage.

Wei Chen made it to the exit before his legs gave out. He caught himself against the wall, breathing hard.

Elder Shen appeared beside him. "Can you stand?"

"Probably not for long," Wei Chen admitted.

"Good enough. We need to get you to the Formation Hall before the crowd tries to carry you around like a trophy." Elder Shen gestured, and two formation disciples appeared. "Help him walk. Carefully."

They supported Wei Chen through the back corridors, away from the main crowd. Wei Chen's mind was already drifting, exhaustion finally catching up with everything he'd pushed through.

"The formations," Elder Shen said as they walked. "The adaptive system. I've never seen anything like that before."

"It was necessary," Wei Chen said. His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

"It was revolutionary. You created formations that think and respond independently. That's not supposed to be possible at the outer sect level."

"Everything's impossible until someone does it."

Elder Shen laughed. Actually laughed. "You just defeated a Qi Gathering Stage 8 using formations and one basic technique. After staying awake all night building arrays no one's ever seen. You're either a genius or completely insane."

"Can't I be both?" Wei Chen asked.

They reached the Formation Hall. Elder Shen directed the disciples to take Wei Chen to a private room. "Rest. We'll discuss your future when you're capable of coherent conversation."

Wei Chen was asleep before they finished laying him on the bed.

He dreamed of formation patterns that moved like living things, adapting and growing. Of systems that learned from their mistakes. Of code that wrote itself.

And somewhere in those dreams, Marcus Webb's voice whispered: You actually did it. You mattered.

For the first time in either life, Wei Chen believed it.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 20

Fuck, this stuff is cold.

Francis's breath misted in the frigid air as ice crystals formed along his armor. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, the magical cold seeping through even his Magic Resistance. Five days of constant skirmishes had pushed him harder than he'd anticipated, and now he faced something new.

A piercing shriek split the air again. The Frost Serpentskin's cry of pain as Magic Feedback reflected a portion of its spell back at the caster. The sound was almost musical, as air moved through its gill-like vents, sending out the freezing mist. It cried out in agony, echoing across the frozen battlefield.

[ Magic Feedback Increased - 22 ]

Francis allowed himself a brief glance at the three packs scattered across the icy field they were on. Each struggled against a single Ursalof, the massive polar bear-like beasts swinging weapons that could crush bone with a single strike. One pack worked in practiced coordination, their curved blades finding gaps in their beastkin’s guard. The second pack was taking a beating, two of their members already bleeding heavily into the snow. The third pack was holding their own, barely.

But he couldn't help them. Not yet.

The Frost Serpentskin demanded his full attention.

The creature was unlike any of the serpentskin he'd faced in the south. Where those had been brown and tan, this one gleamed with scales of ice-blue and silver, each one catching the pale light like frozen diamonds. It moved across the snow with unnatural grace, its lower body undulating in a serpentine glide that left barely a trail. Ten feet of coiled muscle and magic. Its torso rose into a humanoid upper body, complete with four arms that wove patterns that glowed blue in the air.

Francis had faced fast opponents before. The elite catkins, the jaguarkin champion, and even some of the Frostfang Lynxkin that had tested him during his time in the north. But this serpent combined speed with the advantage of terrain that Francis distinctly lacked.

The ice beneath his feet was treacherous. Every step had to be measured, every movement calculated. Meanwhile, the serpent glided across the frozen ground as if it were made for it.

Something has to be choosing these beasts for each kingdom, because this one is too much at home here!

The creature's yellow eyes fixed on him, slit pupils narrowing. Its forked tongue tasted the air, and Francis knew it was intelligent.  So far, his attempts to get it to speak like the others had back home had not worked. He knew this was a thinking opponent, one that had likely killed many warriors before him.

"Come on then," Francis muttered, adjusting his grip on both swords.

The serpent struck.

Ice erupted from its outstretched hands, shards like crystalline daggers hurtling toward Francis with deadly precision. He dove left, his feet sliding on the frozen ground, nearly sending him sprawling. The ice shards tore through the spot where he'd been standing, and Francis felt the cold intensify even as his Magic Resistance pushed back against the spell's effects.

[ Magic Resistance - 54 ]

The cold wasn't just uncomfortable; it was slowing him down. Not enough to cripple him, but enough to matter. His muscles took a fraction of a second longer to respond. Each of his movements seemed to lose the razor's edge of speed that often meant the difference between life and death.

Warrior's Resolve burned within him, compensating where it could, but Francis knew this was going to be a problem. The serpent seemed to know it too. Those yellow eyes gleamed with what could only be described as satisfaction.

The creature launched forward, closing the distance with frightening speed. Two of its arms wielded curved daggers made of what looked like solid ice, while the other two continued weaving spells. Francis brought his swords up to meet the physical attack, steel ringing against the frozen blades.

[ Riposte ]

His skill provided an opening as he parried one dagger and redirected its force. His left blade came around in a counterattack, aiming for the serpent's exposed side.

The creature twisted impossibly, its serpentine lower body coiling beneath it to change angles mid-strike. Francis's blade cut through air, and suddenly he was overextended, off-balance on the ice.

A hand blazing with frost magic pressed against his chest.

Cold exploded through his body. It wasn’t the discomfort of winter air, but the bone-deep, tissue-destroying cold of pure magical ice. His sister had shown him what pain could feel like when flesh was frozen. This beast’s spell was far more powerful. Francis felt his armor freeze instantly; the metal was so cold that it burned his skin even through his padded underlayer. Worse, he could feel the spell trying to freeze his blood, to turn his organs into brittle, crystalline structures.

[ Magic Resistance - 55 ]

[ Pain Resistance Increased - 60 ]

[ Magical Feedback - 23 ]

Power surged through Francis's body as his legendary skill recognized the threat to his life. His opponent let out another cry as a portion of the magic struck back. The world became sharper. The colors of those blue scales seemed more vivid, and the sound of everything nearby was more distinct. The serpent's movements, fast as they were, seemed to slow just enough for Francis to track them.

He slammed his pommel into the creature's hand, breaking the spell's connection, and kicked backward, sliding across the ice to put distance between them. The serpent hissed at him and pressed its advantage.

More ice magic came, this time in waves. Frost spread across the ground, trying to trap Francis's feet. Icicles formed in the air and launched themselves at him as if someone was shooting crossbow bolts. A wall of frozen wind tried to push him backward.

Francis wove through it all, his Battle Sense telling him where to move and how to react before each attack arrived. He dodged left, rolled to the right, and brought his swords up to shatter icicles that almost struck him. But he couldn't get near the serpent. Every time he tried to close the distance, the creature glided backward across the ice, maintaining perfect spacing while continuing its magical assault or until it chose to get close.

[ Quick Attack ]

[ Flurry ]

Francis burst forward with everything he had, his enhanced speed from Warrior’s Resolve and his high Agility pushing him faster than the serpent expected. His blades became a whirlwind of steel, each strike aimed at vital points. 

The serpent's ice daggers came up to meet him, blocking, deflecting. But Francis's Dual Wield skill, combined with the power surging through him, was overwhelming its defense. Francis finally managed a shallow cut along one of the serpent's four arms. Then another, this one deeper across its chest.

The creature shrieked again, and Francis felt the air temperature drop even further. His exposed skin burned from the cold, and he realized that his fingers were starting to go numb. If he couldn't grip his swords properly, he was going to die and have to restart this loop.

The serpent's tail whipped around with devastating force. Battle Sense gave him a fraction of a second warning, just enough to bring up both swords in a cross-guard.

[ Iron Wall ]

The impact still sent him flying. Francis crashed into a snowbank and had to roll immediately as ice magic exploded where he'd landed. He came up in a crouch, both swords ready, and assessed the situation.

This wasn't working. The serpent was too mobile on this terrain, and every second that passed, the cold sapped more of his effectiveness. Warrior's Resolve was keeping him in the fight, but Francis could feel the clock ticking down. He had maybe two minutes before the cold became a critical problem.

He needed to change tactics.

Francis's eyes scanned the battlefield, taking in details he'd ignored while fighting. The ice wasn't uniform; there were patches of snow, exposed stone, and areas where the ground was rougher. The serpent avoided those areas, staying where the ice was smoothest.

It needs the ice to move like that.

A plan began to form in his mind.

Francis charged again, but this time, he wasn't aiming for the serpent. He was aiming for the ground. His first sword came down in a massive overhead strike enhanced with Power Strike, shattering the ice. His second sword followed, and then he was moving, sprinting in a circle around the serpent, shattering ice with every attack.

The serpent realized what he was doing and launched a desperate volley of ice magic. Shards tore into Francis's shoulder, his thigh, his side. He felt his ribs crack from the impact and warm blood begin to freeze almost immediately before shattering and bleeding again.

[ Warrior's Resolve Increased - 8 ]

But he didn't stop. The more ice he destroyed, the more the serpent's advantage decreased. And with each wound he took, Warrior's Resolve grew stronger, pushing him beyond what should have been possible.

The serpent tried to retreat to a different section of ice, but Francis was ready. He threw one of his swords, not at the creature, but ahead of it, shattering the ice where it was heading. The serpent had to swerve, and in that moment, Francis attacked.

[ Power Strike ]

His remaining sword took the serpent in the side, the blade punching through scales that had resisted lesser blows. The creature's cry this time was pure agony, and it lashed out with all four arms and its tail simultaneously.

[ Guarded Stance ]

Francis took the hits. There was no dodging, no blocking. He was committed, his sword buried in the serpent's body. Claws raked his face, his chest. Ice daggers pierced his shoulder and leg. The tail wrapped around his waist and squeezed, and Francis heard something in his torso crack.

But his left hand was free, and he still had one more weapon.

[ Power Strike ]

[ Power Strike ]

[ Power Strike ]

Francis's fist, enhanced by Warrior's Resolve and every ounce of strength his Brawling skill could muster, slammed into the serpent's face. Once. Twice. Three times. Each one was empowered by his skill. The creature's head snapped back with each impact, its scales cracking, and its yellow eyes losing focus.

On the fourth punch, something gave. The serpent's movements became sluggish, its tail loosening around Francis's waist. He wrenched his sword free and struck again, this time at the throat.

The Frost Serpentskin collapsed backward, its body convulsing. Magical threads formed around it, frost spreading across its own scales, freezing it from the inside out.

Francis stood over it, breathing hard, watching to make sure it was truly dead. When the light finally faded from those yellow eyes, he allowed himself to stagger back a step.

[ Swordsmanship Increased - 74 ]

[ Dual Wield Increased - 46 ]

[ Brawling Increased - 39 ]

The notifications could wait. Francis turned to check on the packs.

What he saw made his stomach sink.

One pack was scattered across the blood-stained ice. Francis counted quickly—all five of them down, maybe dead, maybe just wounded. Too far away to tell.

Two Ursalofs lay dead, their massive forms still upon the snow where they'd fallen. The remaining two packs had combined forces, working together to bring down the third Ursalof even as Francis watched. Their coordination was impressive, blades finding gaps between the creature's fur armor, but Francis could see they were exhausted and wounded.

He didn't waste time. Francis retrieved both of his swords, and then he sprinted across the broken ice, his body protesting with every step. Honor wasn’t important at this moment, so he attacked the last Ursalof from behind.

[ Power Strike ]

[ Power Strike ]

Both swords plunged into the creature's spine, punching through thick hide and muscle to sever the spinal column. The Ursalof let out a roar that cut off mid-cry, its massive body going rigid before toppling forward.

The barbarians from the two surviving packs stumbled back, chests heaving, covered in blood and frost. One raised a hand in acknowledgment, too tired for words.

"The others," Francis panted, pointing. "We need to check on them."

Francis's injuries called out, his Warrior’s Resolve giving him an seemingly endless amount of energy. Every breath he took sent pain through his chest.

Definitely a few broken ribs. 

His left arm protested at being used, his shoulder torn up by the serpent's ice daggers. Blood had frozen along his face, making it hard to see out of his left eye.

But he'd survived.

The fallen pack hadn't been as fortunate.

Three of them were definitely dead. The remaining two were barely breathing, their injuries severe. One had taken a hammer strike to the chest. Francis could see the caved-in armor, could see how each shallow breath brought pink bubbles to the warrior's lips. Punctured lung, maybe worse.

The other survivor had lost most of his left side to a crushing blow. His arm was gone above the elbow, and his hip was shattered. He was conscious, though, his eyes meeting Francis's with a mixture of pain and grim acceptance.

"We'll get you back," Francis said, kneeling beside him.

"Not far," the warrior rasped. 

Francis knew it wasn't denial. It was a fact. The barbarian knew he wouldn't survive the journey back.

The surviving pack members from the other groups had gathered around. Francis did a quick count. They had started with fifteen warriors across three packs. Now they were nine, and that was only if the two injured ones survived the trip back. The two surviving pack leaders, who were both older and massive warriors, were silent, their eyes upon him.

"We carry them," Francis said, his voice brooking no argument. "All of them who still breathe. The dead..." He looked around at the battlefield, at the four Ursalof corpses and the serpent's frozen body. "We can't take them all."

It was a bitter truth. The corpses of their fallen comrades, warriors who had fought bravely, wouldn’t be left by him. Ursalof pelts were valuable, their meat even more so in these lean times. The serpent's body alone would be a prize, its scales potentially useful for armor, its organs for medicine or magic.

But Francis could see movement in the distance. The beastkin camp was responding to their fight. Three lines were forming up. If they didn't move now, they'd be caught in the open, exhausted and wounded, facing fresh enemies.

"Take what weapons and personal effects you can carry," Francis ordered. "We leave in two minutes."

He moved to the serpent's corpse, wrapping his hand with leather strips cut from one of the fallen barbarian’s outfits. He'd seen what happened when poorly handled serpent remains were touched bare-handed in the south—a cloud of poisonous gas that could drop a man in seconds. Better safe than sorry.

The scales were freezing cold even through the leather, but they didn't react with poison or gas. Francis grabbed the corpse by what passed for its shoulders and began dragging it toward the group. It was heavy, especially the tail section, but Warrior's Resolve gave him the strength to manage it.

"You're taking that?" one of the surviving barbarians asked, incredulous.

"It's valuable," Francis said. "We’re going to need more medicine, so we can't leave it."

The warrior nodded, understanding. They hastily fashioned a litter from spears and furs for the two injured, and each took what they could carry from their fallen comrades—weapons, personal totems, anything that could be returned to families or honored in funeral rites.

Francis took one last look at the battlefield. Three lives lost. He knew there would be countless more in the coming days and loops, but for some reason, this one felt harder.

"Move out," he said quietly.

The journey back to the barbarian camp was a slow, painful affair. The beastkin lines in the distance were definitely moving now, but they seemed content to reclaim the battlefield rather than pursue.

Francis kept the serpent's corpse with him, dragging it stubbornly through the snow. His arms burned with effort, his breathing came in ragged gasps, and several times he thought he might pass out from the pain of his own injuries.

But he didn't stop.

Francis was surprised to see Kerhi and a group of warriors meet them at the entrance. Her eyes glanced over the group, counting quickly, and Francis saw her jaw tighten as she registered the losses.

"Three," Francis said, before she could ask. "Three dead on the field, two badly injured."

Kerhi nodded slowly, her eyes shifting to the serpent corpse Francis was still dragging. "That's what killed them?"

"No. The packs faced three Ursalofs. We got them all." Francis let go of the corpse, his hand cramping from the cold. "But it wasn't cheap."

"Victory rarely is," Kerhi replied. She raised her voice, calling out orders. "Get these warriors to the healing tents! Now! Move!"

The injured were whisked away on their litters, healers already running to meet them. The surviving warriors shuffled past, exhausted, heading for food and rest and trying to process what they'd just survived.

Francis stood at the entrance of their defenses, glancing back out at the frozen battlefield. In the distance, he could see the beastkin moving among the corpses, reclaiming their own dead.

It felt like defeat, even though they'd won the fight.

"You can't save them all, southerner," Kerhi said quietly, standing beside him. “Some days, the ice takes what it wants."

Francis didn't reply. He couldn't. The words wouldn't come past the tightness in his throat.

After a long moment, Kerhi placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. "Come. You need healing. And the Warchief will want to hear what happened out there."

Francis allowed himself to be led into the camp, leaving the serpent's corpse for others to process.

Chapter 28 - The Creation of Arin

Dawn came with a chill that hadn't been present the previous morning. Arin flowed from Marta's cellar to find frost coating the windows and his breath, or what would have been breath if he had lungs, forming small wisps of condensation in the cold air. Winter was approaching faster than he'd realized.

The party gathered at the north gate just as the sun cleared the horizon. Torvin was already there, his armor gleaming from fresh polish and his warhammer resting against his shoulder. Essa arrived moments later with a pack that looked heavier than usual, probably filled with healing supplies given her cautious nature. Kelsa showed up last, yawning but alert, her sword freshly sharpened based on the way light caught its edge.

"Everyone ready?" Kelsa asked, scanning her party members. "Good. The mill's about an hour northeast, just off the main road. According to the contract posting, the sounds began three weeks ago and have been increasing in volume each night. Local farmers are scared enough that they're avoiding the area entirely."

"Smart farmers," Torvin muttered. "Nothing good comes from abandoned mills that suddenly start making noise."

They set out at a steady pace, following the main road for the first half hour before turning onto a smaller path that wound through farmland. The fields here looked well-tended but empty of workers despite the early hour, suggesting the farmers' fear was genuine enough to keep them from their morning tasks.

Arin ranged ahead as usual, scanning for threats while the party maintained formation behind him. The morning was quiet, except for the sounds of bird calls and the rustling of wind through the dying grass. Normal sounds that made the approaching mill feel even more ominous by contrast.

The mill came into view as they crested a small rise. It was larger than Arin had expected, a three-story stone structure with a massive water wheel attached to its side. The wheel sat motionless despite the stream that still flowed beneath it, and several windows on the upper floors gaped open like empty eye sockets. Moss covered much of the stone, and part of the roof had collapsed inward, leaving exposed beams jutting at odd angles.

"That's seen better days," Essa said quietly as they approached. "How long has it been abandoned?"

"According to the posting, about five years," Kelsa replied. "Owner died, no heirs wanted to take it over, so it's just been sitting here slowly falling apart."

S T O P, Arin formed on the ground. L E T   M E   S C O U T   F I R S T

"Good idea. Everyone hold position here while Arin checks it out. Defensive formation, watch our backs in case something tries to flank us."

Arin activated Stealth and flowed toward the mill, becoming nearly invisible as he approached the structure. His 360° vision swept across every surface, looking for signs of habitation or danger. The ground around the building showed numerous tracks, but they were unusual. Not quite human, not quite animal, something in between that made his core pulse with unease.

[-3 Essence per minute]

The mill's main entrance stood partially open, the wooden door hanging at an angle from a broken hinge. Arin slipped through the gap and found himself in what must have been the main grinding room. Stone grinding wheels dominated the space, covered in dust and cobwebs. Sacks of grain, long since rotted and moldy, lay scattered across the floor. The smell was overwhelming, a mix of decay and mildew that would have made him gag if he had a throat.

But there was something else beneath the rot, a sharper scent that reminded him of the kobolds he'd fought at the woodcutter camp. Reptilian musk mixed with something acrid and chemical.

Movement on the second floor caught his attention, a shadow shifting behind a broken railing. Arin flowed up the wall silently, using his gelatinous nature to climb surfaces no human scout could manage. The second floor was more of the same, rotted equipment and collapsed sections of flooring, but here the tracks were clearer. Something had been living here, and it had been recently.

The grinding sound started without warning, making Arin's core pulse with alarm. It came from below, from the grinding room he'd just left, a slow mechanical scraping like stone on stone. But the water wheel wasn't turning and there was no power source he could see. How was anything moving?

He descended back to the first floor and immediately found the source of the sound. One of the massive grinding wheels was rotating slowly, turned by something underneath the floor. Arin could see shapes moving in the shadows beneath the floorboards, multiple creatures working together to push some kind of mechanism.

Then he heard the crying, a sound that made every instinct scream danger even though it sounded like a child in distress. It came from deeper in the mill, from a back room he hadn't explored yet.

Arin returned to the party quickly and deactivated Stealth, his essence reserves already feeling the drain. He needed to report what he'd found before investigating further.

The party was exactly where he'd left them, maintaining their defensive positions. Kelsa saw him approaching and lowered her sword slightly.

"Report?"

S O M E T H I N G   L I V I N G   I N   M I L   M U L T I P L E   C R E A T U R E S   S M E L   L I K E   K O B O L D S   B U T   D I F F E R E N T

"Kobolds?" Torvin's expression darkened. "In a mill? That's not normal behavior for them. They prefer caves and ruins."

G R I N D I N G   S O U N D   I S   R E A L  T H E Y   T U R N   W H E E L   F R O M   B E L O W   F L O O R   A L S O   H E A R D   C R Y I N G

"Crying?" Essa's face went pale. "Like a child crying? That's... that's not good. Some creatures mimic human sounds to lure prey."

"Or there could actually be a child in there," Kelsa pointed out, though her expression suggested she doubted it. "Either way, we need to investigate. Formation Alpha, stay tight. Arin, you lead but don't engage unless necessary. We go in, assess the situation, and then decide our next move."

The party approached the mill cautiously with weapons drawn. Arin led them through the broken entrance and into the grinding room, where the stone wheel continued its slow rotation. Up close, the grinding sound was louder and more unsettling, accompanied by chittering voices from beneath the floorboards.

"Those are definitely kobolds," Torvin whispered. "I'd recognize that sound anywhere. But why are they turning a grinding wheel?"

The crying sound came again, more urgent now, from the back room. Essa started toward it instinctively, but Kelsa grabbed her arm.

"Wait. Something's wrong here. That sounds too perfect, too regular. It's not varying like real crying would."

As if in response to her words, the crying stopped abruptly. Then the grinding wheel stopped. The chittering beneath the floor grew louder, more excited, and Arin realized with sudden clarity what was happening.

I T S   A   T R A P   T H E Y   U S E   S O U N D S   T O   L U R E   P R E Y

"Fall back!" Kelsa shouted, but it was too late.

The floorboards exploded upward in a shower of splinters and dust. Kobolds poured through the gaps, at least a dozen of them, wielding crude weapons and shrieking their battle cries. But these weren't normal kobolds; they were larger, better organized, and several wore crude armor made from mill parts.

[Kobold Warrior - Level 5]

[Kobold Warrior - Level 5]

[Kobold Scout - Level 4]

[Kobold Scout - Level 4]

[Kobold Shaman - Level 6]

[Kobold Shaman - Level 6]

[Kobold Chieftain - Level 8]

And more, at least six regular warriors below Level 5. This wasn't a small group, this was a full war band with two shamans and a chieftain leading them. The party was outnumbered three to one.

"Defensive circle!" Kelsa commanded. "Torvin center, Essa behind him, I'll take the right flank! Arin, hit them from the sides and thin their numbers!"

The battle erupted with chaotic violence. Torvin slammed his shield into the ground and became an immovable anchor, his warhammer swinging in devastating arcs that sent kobolds flying. Kelsa's sword work was a blur of defensive strikes, keeping multiple attackers at bay without letting any through to Essa.

The cleric was already casting, her holy symbol blazing with golden light. One of the shamans shrieked as divine radiance burned into it, disrupting the spell it had been preparing. But the second shaman completed its casting, and a bolt of sickly green energy shot toward Torvin.

The dwarf's shield took most of the impact, but Arin saw him stagger and knew the magic had hurt him despite the protection. The chieftain hung back, directing its forces with surprising intelligence, sending waves of warriors to test the party's defenses while keeping the scouts in reserve for flanking opportunities.

Arin activated Stealth again, ignoring the essence drain, and flowed around the edge of combat. Two kobold scouts were circling toward Essa's position, just as he'd predicted. He intercepted them before they could strike, using Charge to slam into the first one with enough force to crush bones.

[-5 Essence]

[+12 Mass]

[+9 Essence]

The second scout saw him and tried to flee, but Arin was faster. He caught it mid-stride, his acidic nature burning through scales and flesh.

[+11 Mass]

[+8 Essence]

In the main fighting area, the situation was deteriorating. Torvin had taken multiple wounds despite Essa's healing, and blood ran down his arm from a spear thrust that had found a gap in his armor. Kelsa was bleeding from a cut across her cheek, and her movements were starting to slow from exhaustion.

The kobold chieftain finally entered the fight, wielding a sword that looked almost human-made and far too well-maintained for a kobold weapon. It went straight for Kelsa, recognizing her as the strategic leader for the party.

Arin saw the danger immediately. If the chieftain took down Kelsa, the party's coordination would collapse and they'd be overwhelmed. He deactivated Stealth and used Charge again, crossing the battlefield in a burst of speed to intercept the chieftain's attack.

[-5 Essence]

He slammed into the chieftain's side just as its sword descended toward Kelsa's neck. The impact sent both Arin and the chieftain tumbling across the floor in a tangle. The kobold was strong, stronger than any kobold Arin had fought before, and it recovered with frightening speed.

The chieftain's sword came down, and Arin couldn't dodge completely. The blade passed through his gelatinous form, dispersing a significant portion of his mass but not stopping him. He wrapped around the chieftain's sword arm, his acidic nature burning into scales and muscle.

[-15 Mass]

The chieftain shrieked and tried to pull away, but Arin held on with desperate strength. He could feel himself losing cohesion from the damage, his mass spreading too thin, but if he let go now the chieftain would kill Kelsa or Essa and the party would fall.

"Arin, hold it!" Kelsa's voice cut through the chaos. "Just a few more seconds!"

Torvin's warhammer came down like divine judgment, catching the chieftain in the chest with a sickening crunch. The kobold's scream cut off abruptly as its ribcage collapsed. Arin released his grip and flowed away as the creature fell, already dead before it hit the ground.

Without their leader, the remaining kobolds' organization collapsed. The shamans tried to rally them, but Essa's holy magic burned through one while Kelsa cut down the other. The surviving warriors broke and ran, fleeing through the broken entrance and into the forest beyond.

Silence fell over the mill, broken only by heavy breathing and the drip of blood on stone.

"Everyone alive?" Kelsa asked, her voice strained. Blood still ran down her face from the cut, and she was favoring her left leg.

"Aye, barely," Torvin panted. His armor was dented in three places, and the wound on his arm was still bleeding despite Essa's earlier healing. "That was too close. We were almost overwhelmed."

"Arin saved us," Essa said quietly, moving to heal Torvin's arm properly now that the fighting had stopped. "If he hadn't stopped that chieftain, it would have killed me or Kelsa."

The healing light from her hands was warm and soothing, and Arin watched with fascination as the wound on Torvin's arm slowly closed. Magic always amazed him, the way it could mend flesh and bone so quickly.

W A S   T H E R E   A C T U A L   C H I L D   O R   J U S T   T R A P

"Good question," Kelsa said. She limped toward the back room where the crying sound had come from, her sword still ready. Arin and Torvin followed while Essa stayed behind to tend to her own minor wounds.

The back room was small and dark, lit only by light filtering through cracks in the walls. A crude wooden cage sat in the corner, and inside it was the source of the crying sound. A mechanical device cobbled together from mill parts and scavenged materials, designed to produce sounds that mimicked human distress.

"Clever bastards," Torvin muttered. "They set up the whole thing as a trap. Turn the grinding wheel to attract attention with the noise, then use the crying sounds to lure people inside where they could ambush them."

"Why though?" Kelsa wondered. "Kobolds usually stick to raiding, not elaborate traps. This required planning and intelligence beyond what they normally show."

Arin had been thinking the same thing. The trap was sophisticated, suggesting someone had trained these kobolds or given them instructions. But who, and why target a random abandoned mill?

T H E R E   M A Y B E   M O R E, Arin formed. S H O U L D   S E A R C H   R E S T   O F   B U I L D I N G

"Agreed. Everyone stay together, though. I don't want any more surprises."

They searched the rest of the mill methodically, checking every room and corner. The upper floors revealed more evidence of kobold habitation, including sleeping nests, food stores, and several piles of scavenged goods. But they also found something more disturbing.

In the top floor, partially hidden under a tattered cloth, was a collection of weapons and armor. Human weapons and armor, far better quality than anything kobolds should have. Swords, spears, shields, all marked with what looked like military insignia.

"These are from the Greengate garrison," Kelsa said, her voice tight with concern. "Or they were. These markings are from the town guard. Where did kobolds get guard equipment?"

The implications were dark and troubling. Either the kobolds had killed guards and taken their equipment, which would have caused an uproar in Greengate, or someone was supplying them. Neither option was good.

"We need to report this to Master Torven immediately," Kelsa decided. "This is bigger than just a mill investigation. Someone's arming kobolds with military-grade equipment, and that's a serious threat."

They gathered everything they could carry as evidence, including several weapons and pieces of armor. Torvin also found a small chest hidden in one of the nests, filled with coins that had clearly been stolen from travelers or raids. The party split the coins according to standard procedure, setting aside the guild's percentage.

As they prepared to leave, Arin took one last look around the mill. The building had been a trap, yes, but it had also been a home of sorts for the kobold war band. They'd turned the grinding wheel, created their lure, and waited patiently for prey to come to them. It showed intelligence and planning that made them far more dangerous than typical monsters.

The journey back to Greengate was slower than the approach had been.  Everyone had a few injuries, even after they had healed, and their exhaustion grew faster from the burdens they carried. Torvin's arm, despite Essa's healing, was still tender enough that he couldn't carry his full gear. Kelsa's leg wound meant she needed to rest every half hour. Arin had recovered most of his lost mass by absorbing the kobolds, but his essence was dangerously low from the repeated use of Stealth and Charge.

They reached Greengate by midafternoon and went straight to the guild hall. Master Torven listened to their report with growing concern, his expression darkening as Kelsa described the military equipment they'd found.

"This is a serious matter," he said finally. "I'll need to speak with Captain Thorne immediately. The idea of someone arming kobolds with guard equipment is troubling on multiple levels." He made notes in his ledger. "As for the contract, it's completed. Four gold to your party, plus the standard division of salvage coins. Well done on surviving what should have been a routine investigation."

After collecting their payment and turning over the evidence, the party retreated to their usual table in the main hall. Everyone was exhausted, moving with the careful deliberation of people whose bodies were reminding them of every injury they had sustained.

"That was not a four-gold contract," Essa said, accepting a mug of water from the barkeeper. "That was easily eight or ten gold worth of danger. We were outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and almost died."

"Aye, but we survived," Torvin pointed out. "And learned something important in the process. Those kobolds were organized to an extraordinary level. Someone trained them, equipped them, maybe even directed them."

"The question is who," Kelsa said. "And why target an abandoned mill? What was the purpose of that trap?"

Arin had been wondering the same thing. The trap seemed designed to kill adventurers or guards who investigated the strange sounds, but to what end? Was someone trying to weaken Greengate's defenses? Or were the kobolds simply gathering equipment, and the trap was a bonus?

T O M O R O W   I S   G O B L I N   O P E R A T I O N, Arin formed. T H I N K   T H E Y   A R E C O N N E C T E D

"The kobolds and the goblins?" Kelsa considered it. "It's possible. Both seem more organized than they should be. If someone's coordinating monster attacks around Greengate, that's a much bigger problem than random raids."

"We'll know more after tomorrow," Torvin said. "The goblin operation will involve multiple parties. If they're as organized as those kobolds were, we're in for a serious fight."

The conversation turned to preparation and planning for the next day's operation. They discussed strategy, reviewed their equipment needs, and made sure everyone would be ready for what might be the biggest fight they'd faced as a party.

By the time they dispersed for the evening, Arin was exhausted in ways he hadn't been since his early days in the forest. The fight at the mill had pushed him to his limits, forcing him to make choices between protecting his party members and preserving his own safety. He'd chosen his friends, as he always would, but the cost had been significant.

When he reached Marta's house, he found Jorin waiting with concern evident on his young face.

"You're hurt," the boy said immediately. "Your color is paler than usual, and you're moving slower."

H A D   H A R D   F I G H T   B U T   W I L   B E   O K A Y

"Do you need anything? Water? Food?" Jorin paused. "Can you even eat food?"

N O   B U T   T H A N K   Y U   F O R   A S K I N G   J U S T   N E E D   R E S T

Arin descended to the cellar and settled into his resting spot, feeling his consciousness already beginning to fade. His Status blinked at the edge of his awareness, and he activated it to check the damage.

[Name: Arin]

[Species: Adaptive Slime]

[Level: 9]

[Mass: 195% of base]

[Essence: 34/180]

His mass was still elevated from the absorbed kobolds, but his essence was critically low. The repeated use of Stealth and Charge, combined with the damage he'd taken from the chieftain's sword, had drained him significantly. He'd need to rest and recover before tomorrow's goblin operation, or he'd be a liability to the party.

Sleep came quickly, pulling him down into darkness where consciousness faded and his body could focus on recovery. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, a major operation against organized goblin forces that might be connected to the kobold trap at the mill.

But tonight, he could rest knowing he'd protected his party members and survived another test of his abilities. He was becoming stronger, more skilled, more capable with each contract. The journey toward Vyrdan and the answers he sought about Levi's death continued, one battle at a time.

And he was ready for whatever came next.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 096 -

“Are we certain this is the best path?” Sog asked as he stood next to Max, overlooking the sea. “You’re trading something most can’t fathom the potential of for answers that might not be possible.”

Max took a few seconds before nodding, his eyes watching the sun rise as the clouds drifted across the sky.  It was a scene worth painting, capturing the beauty for others to witness.

“I am. You and I both know about the interaction I had with one of the Nine. He cannot come if I do this. And Rakonath shared with you his opinions on this path as well.”

The demon frowned, a sharp nail scratching his chin as he studied the human beside him. “You two are often in agreement. Yet Rakonath does not simply follow your lead or commands because you force him to. Having heard about what he did with Miranna and how you did not stop him told me a lot about the relationship… or bond, as you call it, you share. He mentioned that you are anxious about what is coming and couldn’t be here in case the one who watches over him and you might be able to see this action due to that bond.”

“Do you disagree with that thought?” Max asked. “You once mentioned how the one you served and were bound to could keep tabs of sorts on you and the others under them. While it wasn’t the same, surely one with the power who watches Rakonath could see more.”

Sog nodded, frowning for a moment. “When you summon Gykewotik and make your request, that will finalize the debt he owes you. It may take another summoning for him to acquire the knowledge you seek, but after he gives what you request, any future summonings will be on equal footing. You could ask for something and he would be entitled to demand what he desires from you. Either you both agree on those terms or the spell ends.”

“Similar to what was offered upon our first contact,” Max stated. 

“Yes… but I was… weaker. My needs were very primal and basic. To gain power, I was more than happy to destroy a foe before me. Had I been stronger, I would have demanded something in exchange. Gykewotik made a mistake. He didn’t realize how powerful you were, and that cost him. He won’t let that happen again. This won’t be a cordial discussion or anything like when you or I engaged with each other. I’d expect him to be… anxious and potentially very upset.”

“Because he told the one above him about me, and it failed?”

A chuckle came from Sog, who nodded. “Only the System will be able to determine if he acted outside of your original agreement. If it has, then he will suffer even more, not just from the one who could end his existence with ease.”

“Bob and I discussed that… would one do such a thing? How much chaos would that cause to a race like yours?”

“Chaos is what my kind lives for,” Sog replied, sighing. “There are days that I feel… constrained. Similar to the hunger you mention having due to your skill, my very being longs to be somewhere, sowing death and destruction, harvesting souls, gaining power.  Sitting here, caring for a world and the demons under me is much harder than anything else I have ever done. Each action  has to be measured or mistakes like my gambling one could ruin everything I hope for.”

Sog paused and pulled out a piece of black cloth, folded over. Slowly, he unwrapped it and revealed a small horn. “This belonged to Agluur. She gave this to me as a promise that she would repay me for the gift that I gave her.”

“Your spark?”

The demon nodded, gently touching the horn with his finger for a moment before wrapping the cloth around it and storing it. “I can feel her thread… just slightly when I touch it. She is growing, like your daughter and the rest. While the Divine Points we get from their actions are not much, it is a testament to the fact that order can lead to power. That is what helps temper my hunger.”

“And that is what you think will help temper Gykewotik’s?” Max said. “That he will recognize the true power to be gained isn’t by going against me but by either being neutral or aligning.”

“Yes… but remember what Bob told you. Do not form a pact,” Sog said. “No good will come from one with him. There is a reason he has the power he does. There is also a reason why there are other gods like him. My kind quickly learns how to twist words to mean what we want and use the rules as traps.”

Max nodded and gave his friend a gentle pat on the back. “Thank you for coming here with me and just talking. Our friendship means a lot to me.”

Sog coughed and then cleared his throat. “Sometimes I forget that your words can cause me to feel things I have rarely felt. I am grateful for our friendship and promise to always stand by your side. Our threads are connected, Max Hoste. If that dwarf hadn’t claimed you as a brother, I’d almost offer to make you a demon, but then I’d be related to a dwarf and I cannot sully my name like that.”

Both of them laughed at the joke as Max moved a little bit away, summoning a knife and cutting himself.

[ Demonic Summoning ]

Once again, the sand where his blood touched turned red and no doorway came. Instead, the waves of red washed out and the kaleidoscope walls expanded, forming the area he was in as lava began to bubble up from the bottom of the summoning area.

Hovering in the air, Max rose above the liquid, watching as a shape began to rise. Unlike the first time when it had dominated the space, the orange, red and black sections of Gykewotik’s skin didn’t bubble or pop as much as the first time.  Barely any lava dripped from the cracks in his obsidian skin.

The two black eyes that belonged to Gykewotik were dimmer than before, yet Max could sense something behind them.

It would appear he is not happy to see us.

Yeah… the scowl on his face is a dead giveaway.

“You have summoned me,” Gykewotik said, his voice echoing everywhere. “It appears you are stronger than I anticipated. Have you come to collect what is owed?”

A thick black tongue licked against sharp black teeth as it awaited a reply.

“I have,” Max said, moving closer toward the demon king. “Though I wonder if the System considers your telling of the one above you about me a breach of our agreement.”

A scoff came, and Gykewotik shook his head. “There was no agreement made that I could not share the knowledge that I gained. Besides, it would appear that you came out ahead on that exchange.”

“Did he inform you of our meeting?” Max asked.

A large hand rose, palm out before Max. 

“Are you asking for me to give that information as to what I owe you and to clear the debt?” the demon king asked.

“No,” Max replied. “I was simply wondering. Instead, I have something else to ask for in exchange for that debt. I need you to tell me about the game that the gods play and how those like myself are part of it.”

There were moments in Max’s short adventuring life when he had witnessed fear in the eyes of people before him. Macy and Molly had it when they realized who Max really was. Tanila’s mother couldn’t hide her fear at the knowledge of the power gap between her and him. And for a moment, Gykewotik’s eyes blinked rapidly as the demon king took a few steps back.

“I… that which you ask, is too much.”

“So you decline to keep your part of the agreement we made?” Max asked.  Bob flew them closer so that the retreating demon couldn’t get any space between them. “I’ve asked for nothing but knowledge. Truth. Will you keep our agreement or break it before the System?”

The lava beneath them bubbled and molten veins surged as Gykewotik’s body trembled.  Smoke rose from his body and Max could sense the change in the god’s temperament.

“Do not speak those words,” the demon grunted, a hint of pain in his tone. “You speak quickly, calling upon those who are above us, forcing a path that one should not force. I will share what I know but it is not much.”

“Just swear before the System that you will not hold back and only tell the truth,” Max said, “and I will count whatever knowledge you give as the debt you owe.”

Large bubbles formed and popped, and the area around them grew brighter.

He’s… trying to be brave?

I thought that as well. Why?

The System and whatever he knows. Most likely, there are other agreements and pacts upon him. Plus, we’re not fully aware of what one is allowed to talk about. By forcing his hand, we might be putting him at odds with the very System itself or another pact.

Time passed and Max watched as Gykewotik’s breath grew labored. A loud groan came from his lips, and he clawed at his own chest, causing chunks of obsidian to fall into the lava.

Right before Max was about to ask what was wrong, Gykewotik threw both arms upward and roared.  An aura of power washed over them, and Max sensed a change in the room.  The lava began to quiet down and the summoning area dimmed slightly.

Huge pants came from the demon king. His head rose and Max saw the fire had returned to those black eyes.

“You… have put me in a terrible position, Max Hoste,” Gykewotik stated. “Rules… rules you must surely be aware of that cannot be easily sidestepped, yet you somehow bend the path, allowing things that I would not expect to be allowed.” The demon leaned toward him, his tone changing slightly, just a little quieter than before. “Something allows you to bend these rules that shouldn’t be bent and I’m not certain why or how, but you do.”

“Then you will answer my questions?” Max asked.

“I will,” Gykewotik replied. “First, let us discuss the game.  What do you know of it?”

“Every god plays it,” Max said. “I’m assuming some do so knowingly and others without being aware. I believe it revolves around Divine Points and a balance of them in the System. There are many different levels of the game and many different players and pieces.”

A chuckle came from Gykewotik, who nodded his massive head. “Yes… Those are the basics, though many will never learn them until the time of their demise. You appear to have gained more knowledge than many will for quite some time. Tell me, Max Hoste, do you have any games on you right now?”

“Like physical games? Pieces? Cards?” Max asked.

The demon nodded. 

Oh, how little does he know about you.

Ignoring Bob’s comment, Max formed a layer of stone under him, creating a good ten-foot by ten-foot place to stand.  He set a table down upon it and then began depositing an assortment of games. Decks of cards, rubber balls and jacks, wooden boxes with pieces and more soon covered the table between the demon and man.

A smile appeared on Gykewotik’s face and his black tongue darted out, once more licking his sharp black teeth.

“It appears you are prepared for anything. A sign of one who is wiser than most. Come… let me teach you about the game.”

Loopbreaker book 2 Finished!

Just a heads up for those who are following this story.

I finished book 2 of Loopbreaker.

73 chapters - so you've got a long time before it finishes.

Plotting out book 3 more than my original outline. REALLY excited for the end of book 2 (haha the 3 people who have finished it are all dying cuz they gota wait for more chapters). Really hoping you enjoy the direction of the story.

I'll be doing some editing - So if there's stuff you think needs to be changed / fixed / updated - by all means - tell me. I'm going to take a week and then go back and look at those early chapter and try to see if I can't fix or help some of the potential 'slowness' some mentioned.

If you want- feel free to comment in this post on stuff you're thinking needs to be looked at.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 19

The summons came for Francis after he had finished eating breakfast.

The same young warrior who had brought him to the tent to meet with the clan elders stood outside his tent with the message that Glitvall wanted to see him. Francis grabbed his weapons, threw on his furs, and followed the messenger through the camp.

The warchief's tent was exactly as Francis remembered. Warm, with a fire burning in the center and the smell of pine smoke heavy in the air. Glitvall sat in his chair, a cup of something steaming in his hand.

"Francis," the warchief said, gesturing to the seat across from him. "Sit. We have things to discuss."

Francis sat, noting the serious expression on Glitvall's face.

This feels different than before. More formal.

"The council of clan leaders is impressed," Glitvall began. "Twenty Lynxkin pelts were brought back in a single afternoon. Not just that, but four more were killed by you alone while you worked. And every member of both packs returned alive, just as you promised." He paused, taking a sip from his cup. "They're trying to figure out just who you are."

"And what have they concluded?" Francis asked, unable to hold back his grin.

"That you're either exceptionally skilled, exceptionally lucky, or exceptionally foolish," Glitvall replied with a slight smile. "Some think all three. But the important thing is that they're open to seeing what more you can accomplish."

"That's good, right?"

"It can be," Glitvall said. "But it also means you've caught attention. Not all of it is friendly."

Francis frowned. "What do you mean?"

The warchief set his cup down. "Jarl Keara is vying for my position as warchief. She has been for some time. Now that you've proven yourself valuable, she may seek ways to earn your favor. To bring you to her side."

"Why would she need me on her side?” Francis asked. “Isn’t the fact I’m here to help all of you good enough?”

"Because if you continue to prove yourself, you'll have influence," Glitvall explained. "The warriors respect strength and results. You've shown both. If she can claim you as her supporter, it strengthens her position against me."

Politics. Even up here in the frozen north, there's always politics.

"How would she try to earn my favor?" Francis asked.

Glitvall smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "She's known for using the cabbage or a hammer."

Francis blinked. "The... what?"

"The cabbage or a hammer," Glitvall repeated. "Rewards or threats. Gifts or violence. She'll offer you things—better equipment, training, even her daughter's hand in marriage if it serves her purpose. And if you refuse, she'll find ways to make your life difficult."

"You mean the carrot or the stick?" Francis asked.

"Sure, but here it's a hammer and cabbage," Glitvall said. "She will continue to try to get you on her side the more fame you gain. As you endure more loops, you might experience both sides of her methods. For my people, it’s not so much of problem as it involves clans. You are loyal to your clan first, and that is where the leaders play the game of who to back."

Francis leaned back in his chair, processing another problem to overcome. "So what do I do?"

"Stay focused on your goals," Glitvall advised. "You came here to learn how to fight these beastkin, to help both our kingdoms. Don't get pulled into clan politics unless you have to. And if Keara approaches you, be polite but noncommittal."

"Understood," Francis said. “And if she doesn’t want to accept that? I did mention that she visited me at night on one of my previous loops. She was very upset that Kerhi had taken up most of the evening.”

“You did… and I can only imagine the things she might have offered you that evening,” the warchief said. “Her tact is sometimes… lacking. She is a strong warrior, but there is more to leading a nation in times of war than just being a good fighter.”

Francis studied the way the warchief was sitting. He could see that this problem bothered him; his shoulders pulled tighter than usual. “I’ll do what I can.”

"Good." Glitvall picked up his cup again. "Now, as for your next steps. This afternoon, return to Tormund at the forges. Continue your training there."

"More smithing?" Francis asked, surprised.

"More smithing," Glitvall confirmed. "In a few days, we'll do another excursion to the battlefield. I’m sure I can convince the leaders to let you try to bring back more pelts. Perhaps we'll eventually draw out some of the stronger beastkin."

"The Ursalofs?"

"Or worse," Glitvall said. "If we can provoke them into showing themselves, I'll need to put you with a different pack. One that can help face them. Hroden's warriors are skilled, but they're not equipped for that level of threat."

A different pack. That means leaving Hroden, Helga, and the others. And Selka.

"What about my current pack?" Francis asked.

"They'll continue their regular patrols," Glitvall replied. "But you'll need warriors who specialize in fighting the larger threats. Ones who've faced Ursalofs before and lived."

Francis nodded slowly. "That makes sense. I just thought… that this was a group… I might get to know over some of my loops."

The warchief nodded, a slight frown forming. "I can see how you might think that. If you desire, ask it of me in another loop. But you didn’t come here to make friends, did you?”

“Not really,” Francis replied. “But after my time with Tormund and the pack, I’ve kind of realized how alone I’ve been.”

“Then tell me so in your next life. For now, focus on your smithing," Glitvall said. "Tormund has more to teach you than just metalwork. Pay attention to what he says. The man's wisdom goes deeper than most realize."

"I've noticed," Francis admitted.

Glitvall smiled. "Good. Then go. Learn what you can. We'll talk again in a few days. I must return to the tent and deal with my responsibilities. One of them, which is preparing you for why you have come."

“So you’re doing all this to help me acquire the Legendary skill I’m seeking?” Francis asked.

“I am… part of what is required is more than just enduring pain or even dying. You must learn who we are, how we live and what drives us. In those moments, you will learn about yourself as well. When that time comes, we will be ready to pursue the next path that leads to what you seek.”

Francis stood, nodded respectfully, and left the tent.

***

The forges were busy when Francis arrived.

Hammers rang out against anvils, fires roared, and the heat hit him like a wall the moment he stepped inside. Tormund stood at his usual station, working on what looked like a spearhead. He glanced up as Francis approached and nodded in greeting.

"Back already," Tormund said. "I heard about yesterday. Twenty pelts. Impressive work."

"Word travels fast," Francis replied.

"It always does." Tormund set down his hammer and studied Francis. "It appears you've learned the importance of the join. Bringing back pelts for your pack, for Nessa's warriors. That's what holds people together."

"Seemed like the right thing to do," Francis said, shrugging.

"It was." Tormund gestured to the forge. "Today, you're going to make as many pokers as you can before sunset."

Francis blinked. "How many?"

"As many as you can," Tormund repeated. "It takes practice to do the same thing over and over. I'm certain that if you continue the same path you're on, you're going to have to learn how to do that."

I know there’s no way he can know about my loops and yet... It feels like he does. I’ll have to ask Glitvall if he told him. 

"You're a wise man, Tormund," Francis said carefully.

"I've lived long enough to see patterns," the blacksmith replied with a slight smile. "Now get to work. Iron doesn't shape itself."

Francis tied on his leather apron and got started.

***

The first poker took him about forty minutes.

He heated the iron until it glowed yellow, hammered it into the proper length, bent the hook carefully, reinforced the join, and shaped the handle. When he quenched it in oil, the poker hissed and steamed before cooling into a functional tool.

Once again, what he had created wasn’t perfect, but it was usable.

As he worked on the second one, Francis's mind wandered to yesterday. To the crowd that had gathered at the palisade. All those warriors watching him drag corpses back, one by one. The whispers, the respect in their eyes.

I proved something to them. But what exactly? That I'm strong? That I'm dedicated? Or just that I'm willing to do what others won't?

His hammer rang against the iron, shaping it with steady, measured strikes.

He thought about the pack. Hroden's leadership, Harald's enthusiasm, Eirik and Vornak's solid reliability. Helga's sharp observations.

And Selka.

That single nod she'd given him. It was brief, almost reluctant, but it had been given. A possible acknowledgment that something might have changed between them.

I saved her life. Does that matter to someone who hates southerners? Or does it just make her angrier that she might feel she owes me a debt?

Francis finished the second poker and started on the third. This one went faster, maybe thirty-five minutes. His hands were learning the rhythm, the patterns. Heat, hammer, shape, quench.

He remembered Tormund's words from before. About bending the hook carefully, about not rushing it or the metal would crack.

That's how I need to approach Selka. Like bending the hook. Carefully and slowly. If I push too hard and try to force it, I may end up ruining everything. But if I'm patient, if I give her time and space, maybe she'll come around. Then again… if every loop starts me at the same spot, is that something I need to worry about?

The third poker took shape under his hammer. The hook curved properly, the join was solid, and the handle felt right in his grip.

"Better," Tormund commented, appearing beside him to inspect the work. "You're learning. Each one's a little faster, a little cleaner."

"How many more life lessons do you have to teach me?" Francis asked.

Tormund chuckled. "The only way to find that out is to learn to craft better. I can't teach you everything in a day. It takes a lifetime to learn how to forge as well as to understand the barbarian clans."

"A lifetime," Francis repeated. “I’m not sure I’ll have one to give.”

Tormund smiled, giving him a strange look. "Depending on how long you're willing to keep learning, you might just find out."

Francis nodded and went back to work.

***

By the time the sun started setting, Francis had made seven pokers.

Each one was better than the last. The seventh took him only twenty-five minutes, and when he held it up to examine, he could barely see any flaws.

"Good work," Tormund said, inspecting the row of completed pokers. "You're getting faster without sacrificing quality. That's the mark of someone who's actually learning, not just repeating motions."

"It helps having a good teacher," Francis replied.

"It helps being a good student," Tormund countered. "Some people I could teach for years and they'd never understand what you've grasped in days."

[ Blacksmithing Increased - 7 ]

[ Metal Working Increased - 7 ]

It feels weird… those skills improve so fast, and the others that I use to stay alive are slowing down. Even the stat gains aren’t as fast as before.

Francis removed his leather apron and hung it on the hook. His arms ached in that good way, the kind that came from honest work. His hands had new blisters forming, though not as bad as the first time.

"Tomorrow?" Francis asked.

"Tomorrow you rest," Tormund said. "Let your body recover. The day after, come back. We'll work on something different."

"What?"

"You'll see." Tormund smiled. "Now go. Get some food, get some sleep. You've earned it."

Francis nodded and headed out of the forge into the cold evening air. The temperature drop was immediate, almost nipping at his exposed skin after hours near the heat.

As he walked back toward his tent, he passed groups of warriors. Some nodded to him in greeting. Others whispered as he went by. Francis caught fragments of conversation.

"That's him."

"The southerner who brought back twenty pelts."

"Heard he killed four more while he worked."

Fame… Glitvall was right about that. I've caught their attention now. For better or worse.

He reached his tent and ducked inside, grateful for the relative warmth. A small fire burned in the center, and someone had left a covered plate of food near his cot.

Francis sat down and uncovered the plate. Roasted meat, some kind of root vegetable, and a chunk of dark bread. Simple but filling.

As he ate, his mind kept turning over everything that had happened. The fight with the Lynxkin. Saving Selka. 

Retrieving all of the corpses and the crowd that stood there watching him. 

Francis also spent some time trying to understand Glitvall's warning about Jarl Keara. He had known she was predatory in some ways that first night. Part of him also knew he was listening to one side of the story. 

Politics, combat, smithing, and pack dynamics. It's like… juggling knives while walking on ice. One wrong move and everything falls apart.

Francis let out a sigh. So far, he'd managed not to drop the knives. Everyone had come back alive, just like he'd promised. The pack was starting to accept him, even Selka in her own grudging way. And he was learning things that would help not just in this loop, but in the ones to come.

Tormund's right. It takes a lifetime to understand all this. Good thing I have plenty of those.

Francis finished eating, he added a log to the fire, and lay down on his cot. Tomorrow, he'd rest, maybe spend time with the pack. Then the day after, head back to the forge.

And eventually, back to the battlefield.

Francis smiled, staring up at the ceiling of his tent. Tonight, he could rest knowing he'd done well.

The connections were forming. The joins were holding.

That's what mattered.

UL1 - Book 11 -Chapter 095 -

“What game?” Fowl asked. “And changing how?”

Tapping his tablet once, Jazzjak cut off the feed, moved to his chair, and hopped into it. 

Max could feel everyone tense up at their helper’s statement and as much as he wanted to ask questions, he waited.

Finally, Jazzjak looked up from the spot on the floor he had been staring at; his jaw muscles looked like he was clenching tightly. “That… wasn’t a normal fight.”

“It looked like one, albeit not what I expected,” Cordellia said. “Why wasn’t it a normal fight?”

Their helper stared at their ranger and sighed. “That was a match that shouldn’t have taken place. They knew each other and yet… it was similar to Max’s and Zogooruth’s fight while being slightly different.”

“Wait, you’re saying gods shouldn’t know other ones at this tier or have a personal grudge against them?” Sog asked. “Couldn’t one of those other bird gods challenge Max after what he did to the falcon one? Would that be any different from what we just saw?”

Jazzjak slowly nodded his head and then stopped. “It’s not like that thought. 80,000 years… I’ve been around for a long time and at no point have I seen Ooohmara issue a challenge or a fight. This means he is old… or was. And for him to challenge Greokol meant he had to know she was within his tier. So either she recently just reached a tier he could challenge or someone told him that she was able to be challenged. You heard her say that she laid a trap.”

“Aye, we did,” Batrire said. “But how does a god lay a trap for another?”

Their helper smiled and pointed a finger at their healer. “Exactly. How do you communicate with a god who doesn’t have access to the Archons that someone he would want to fight can be fought? How do you manage to do something like that?”

A few grunts and the sound of chairs sliding across the stone floor filled the silence after his question.

“So who can set up something like that?” Rakonath asked. “Are we allowed to mention names?”

“I don’t think it’s who you think it could be,” Jazzjak said. “I… there are rules. Rules govern everything. My ability to communicate with others not on this world is very limited. But the one place I can communicate with at any time is those who operate the arena.”

Max already understood the implications that Jazzjak was starting to explain and his mind began to question things he thought he knew.

“What if Ooohmara had a teleporting area?” Max asked. “He could then travel to other worlds. Perhaps it was through that method he learned about Greokol.”

Shaking his head, their helper smiled. “Gods don’t leave their world like that. Or at least not the smart ones. Tell me, why do you not visit Naga Reef anymore?”

Max frowned, knowing the answer.

He just set a trap for you right there.

Ignoring Bob, Max saw the path the vorpal rabbit was clearly marking. “I wouldn’t go because I’m certain I’d have a hard time surviving.”

“Exactly,” their helper replied. In this world, you have allies and any god who came here would have to face all of you.  Worlds with teleporters aren’t meant for the gods to travel. They’re designed to allow others to do so, bringing in new skills, techniques, goods and other opportunities to grow their world.”

Jazzjak’s tablet appeared in his hand and he began tapping on it a few times, displaying up the world Max had chased down a gnome who believed they could escape with a dragon core to.

“Worlds that connect via teleporters face a few unwritten rules,” Jazzjak said. “By creating a waypoint to travel to other planets, you also create the opportunity for another god to invade yours. There are small clusters of worlds that agree to a treaty of sorts. If one of the worlds decides they want to invade another world that is part of the treaty, they better be prepared to feel the wrath of all the others.”

“Can’t one just cut off the ability to come to their planet?” Fowl asked. “I mean, Max told us that Igarra did that. Even he was able to do that with his skill.”

The vorpal rabbit shook his head. “No, they cut off travel from’ their world. Max’s ability prevents gods or others who have a travel ability from using it within a certain radius of him, but that doesn’t mean they can’t arrive outside of that distance. What matters is the level of the skill to travel or stop another.”

“He’s right,” Max said. “Ockrim and Phaius could both ignore my ability, but doing so caused damage to the surrounding area. That’s why Windsor Wheel was impacted.  Had Phaius not realized what was happening and forced his way through, most of the town would have been wiped out.”

“So what?” Tanila asked, frowning as she spoke. “You’re implying that this fight had to have been initiated by the arena moderators… or whatever they are?”

“Exactly,” Jazzjak said. “Think about it. Imagine you have a grudge against a god and you want to fight them. The problem is if you initiate the challenge, then they get to pick the battlefield.” As he spoke, the rabbit pulled up the image of the arena the fight had taken place. “Greokol would most likely have lost on any other battlefield but because of the space she picked, it seemed to amplify her natural defense and offensive capabilities.  As a water-based being, she would have… the higher ground as you say it.”

“A smaller army in a defensive position can take down larger armies and often wipe them out,” Sog stated. “One of the things we learn quickly as demons is that you don’t want to keep charging forward when someone keeps putting traps everywhere you step.”

A few chuckles came and Max sensed Tanila’s frown being replaced with a smile.

“So she what… told the arena moderators to notify Ooohmara that she was a potential target?” Cordellia asked. “Why would they do that?”

“Divine Points,” Rakonath said immediately. “Everything revolves around them.”

“Exactly!” Jazzjak exclaimed. “Consider for a moment that they have one goal… well one major goal. It’s not to simply host the fights. Anyone can do that. You could host a fight by building an arena here… which we are not doing anytime soon,” the rabbit stated emphatically. “No, their main goal is to increase the amount of Divine Points they earn. Each battle offers a small ‘reward’ for winning but the real perk is the betting. I’m not certain but I would guess they also get a small percentage of any DP a god who dies might have.”

“And who would want that? The System?” Fowl asked. “Why would it… or they… or whatever the System is need more Divine Points?”

“Because it’s what everything operates off of,” Max said slowly. “Every world, every life, the Nine, the Archons… If I had to guess… there’s probably a limit in some ways to how much is out there and who gets to keep what percentage.”

“Uh… is that like something Bob knows or just what you’re making up?” their warrior asked.

“It’s a hunch,” Max replied. “Though Bob hasn’t corrected me yet which means he most likely agrees to a small degree. Let me show it differently.”

Max stood and moved to the center of the long table no one sat at and began placing objects on it. He pulled out a few bowls and then a waterskin. Next came a couple of potted plants.

Tell me again why you carry so much… junk. I cannot tell you how silly it seemed the other day when I helped that demon.

And yet you couldn’t have helped him if those items weren’t in my storage. That’s why. You never know when you’ll need twenty pounds of butter or a cactus.

Bob groaned in his head, but Max ignored him, pouring a little bit of water into each bowl.

“If I’m wrong, correct me, Jazzjak, but I think this is what you told us about 90 years ago on how the world works.”

Holding up the first of the three bowls, Max lifted a small plant. “This plant needs water and a portion of all the water in the world goes to making sure it can grow. But what happens if there is suddenly less water for them?” He poured most of the water into the second bowl. “It has to go somewhere. It doesn’t escape our… atmosphere?”

“Correct,” Jazzjak said with a grin.

Nodding, Max set the plant down and the almost empty bowl. He then picked up the third one and brought it to his lips. Taking a long drink, he drained it dry and set it down on the table. “So what happened to the water I just drank?” Max asked, eyes fixed on the dwarven warrior.

“Uh… It’s gone? Why are you asking me? You know I wasn’t paying attention to what floppy ears was saying.”

Shaking his head, Max pointed at the second bowl and water began to form from his finger, falling into it. “No. I have the water inside me. When I breathe, or sweat, or use the restroom, I return some of it. A portion stays with me until I die.  But from what Jazzjak mentioned during his lesson, there is only so much to start with, and any extra must come from us spending Divine Points to do so.”

“My head is starting to hurt,” Fowl muttered. “This is why I stopped paying attention the first time.”

“Ignore him,” Batrire said, leaning forward. “So you’re saying the System manages the flow of DP. It wants gods to fall so that others can rise and new ones to appear.”

“But what about the old gods?” Cordellia asked. 

“That’s the real point,” Rakonath said. “The oldest gods are seemingly safe from that cycle. Unless something out of the ordinary changes things.”

“Like me,” Max said. “Well… I mean Bob.”

Max watched as a few of those gathered seemed to grasp what he had realized a while back.

“And the arena is just another way to cycle Divine Points through the godhood until that moment comes,” Jazzjak said. “I hadn’t thought about it like that until you said that, Max, but I see how you’re right. Everyone talks about how scary and bad the black skills are because of the destruction they bring and yet they keep getting summoned. If they were so dangerous, why would the System allow it, or why would gods be foolish enough to spend the points to bring them into being again?”

“Because it’s all a game,” Tanila whispered. “That’s what you were talking about, isn’t it?”

Max nodded at his wife, seeing the way her nose wrinkled and knew she was concerned.  “We were told there was a game and that we were part of it. I was told to ask Jazzjak about it, and he can only answer what he is allowed to at each moment. I think the real question we need to ask is, why is this game needed at all? Who stands to gain the most from it?”

“The older gods,” Rakonath said softly.  

Max didn’t say a word, slowly putting the objects he had laid out back into storage.

Last we spoke about this subject, you had told me you were planning on sharing those thoughts just yet.  Did that fight really change things that much?

You know what I’m thinking.

No… I know what you believe you’re thinking. I sense that you believe things are going to get worse in the coming two hundred years.

Fighting back the frustration he was feeling, Max moved to his chair and gently held Tanila’s hand.

Death made a move. Wekime made a move. It appears that the Void god made a move against us. Tell me, how many more of the Nine are actively trying to shape my path and the other two black skills? Where are they trying to… herd us?

To the place they want you both to be.

Rakonath’s voice was like a hammerhead striking a nail perfectly.

So the real thing we need to figure out is where they want us and how we can change that?

And if you can’t?

Bob chuckled in Max’s mind before he spoke.

Then we set a trap that springs when we arrive where they are leading. It appears we are learning this game the hard way.

Max lifted his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

No… we’re learning it… I’m just afraid it hasn’t even begun to get hard yet.

Formation Master - CHAPTER 8: FINALS PREPARATION

CHAPTER 8: FINALS PREPARATION

Wei Chen spread fifty mid-grade spirit stones across the workshop table and started calculating.

Two hundred low-grade spirit stones' worth of purchasing power. More resources than he'd ever had access to. Enough to build formations that would have been impossible yesterday.

But still not enough to beat Zhang Ming through direct power.

The problem was information asymmetry. Zhang Ming had watched every match. He had witnessed every formation and every tactic that had been used. He knew about redirect arrays, Mirage Walls, qi traps, hidden formations, decoys, and emergency power injections. Everything.

Wei Chen had watched Zhang Ming fight once. Overwhelming offense, sustained pressure, infinite resources. That was useful but incomplete.

The solution wasn't better versions of known formations. Zhang Ming would expect those. The solution was something completely unprecedented.

Wei Chen pulled out his journal and started sketching.

Standard formation theory treated arrays as static structures. You built them, activated them, and they did their job. Even Wei Chen's innovations followed that pattern. Redirect arrays redirected. Dispersion arrays dispersed. Storage systems stored. It sounded easy to understand. 

What if formations could do more than one thing? What if they could change function based on circumstances?

Wei Chen started designing what he mentally called the Adaptive Network. Not a single formation. A system of interconnected arrays that could shift purpose in real time based on incoming threats.

The theory was ambitious. Maybe too ambitious. But he had fifty mid-grade spirit stones, and one night. It was time to find out if ambitious was enough.

Three hours past midnight, Wei Chen had the basic framework sketched. The Adaptive Network required eighteen nodes arranged in three nested hexagons. The outer hexagon would be visible, an obvious bait for Zhang Ming to target. The middle hexagon would be hidden, the actual defensive layer. The inner hexagon would be the control system, monitoring both outer layers and directing responses.

The innovation was in the connections. Instead of fixed qi channels, Wei Chen designed flexible pathways that could redirect flow between nodes in response to attack patterns. If Zhang Ming attacked from the north, northern nodes would reinforce, while southern nodes would go dormant, conserving power. If he switched to overwhelming force, the network would shift from deflection to dispersion.

It was adaptive, reactive, and alive, in a sense.

The problem was complexity. Eighteen nodes. Thirty-six flexible connections. Three control layers. One mistake in the design and the whole system would fail catastrophically.

Wei Chen kept working, ignoring the odds that screamed he was doomed to fail.

By the fourth hour, he'd added failsafes. If nodes burned out, the network would automatically reroute around them. If power dropped below critical thresholds, secondary spirit stones would activate. If Zhang Ming somehow disrupted the control layer, each hexagon could operate independently at reduced capability.

Redundancy. Every system needs redundancy.

Wei Chen's eyes burned. His body demanded sleep. He ignored both and kept sketching.

The fifth hour brought refinements. He added what he called "mode switches" to the control layer. The Adaptive Network could operate in three configurations.

Deflection Mode would redirect attacks away from Wei Chen, spreading them harmlessly to the sides. Low power consumption, good against probing attacks.

Dispersion Mode would scatter attacks into dozens of weak fragments. High power consumption, necessary against overwhelming force.

Absorption Mode would catch attacks and store their energy in buffer nodes, then release it back at Zhang Ming. Highest power consumption, highest risk, but potentially decisive.

The network could switch modes instantly based on threat assessment. Zhang Ming wouldn't be fighting static formations. He'd be fighting a system that learned and adapted as the match progressed.

In theory.

Wei Chen started calculating power requirements. The math wasn't encouraging. Running Deflection Mode would drain maybe five spirit stones per minute. Dispersion Mode would burn ten. Absorption Mode could consume twenty if attacks came rapidly.

Fifty mid-grade stones would power the network for maybe fifteen minutes of mixed operation. Less if Zhang Ming attacked continuously. Wei Chen would need to end the match fast, or the formations would simply run out of power.

Nothing new there.

The sixth hour was spent on decoys. Zhang Ming expected tricks. Wei Chen would give him obvious targets to waste time on.

Wei Chen designed three decoy formations, each one just sophisticated enough to look important. A fake redirect array positioned prominently near the arena boundary. A visible barrier formation that would shatter under any serious attack. A qi trap that would activate obviously and achieve nothing.

Zhang Ming would see them, recognize them from previous matches, and target them first. That would buy the real formations seconds to activate unnoticed. A mental image of penguins popping up from a hole in the ground made Wei smile.

Misdirection… Classic magic trick methodology.

By the seventh hour, Wei Chen had complete designs for both the Adaptive Network and the decoy formations. He started building test models on paper, running qi flow simulations to verify the logic.

The Adaptive Network failed the first three tests. The node connections overloaded. His control layers couldn't process threat assessments fast enough. Even worse, the mode switches created lag, exposing vulnerabilities.

Wei Chen refined the design. Added buffer capacitors between nodes to smooth power flow. Simplified control logic to reduce processing time. Pre-programmed mode switches for common attack patterns so the system didn't need to calculate everything from scratch.

The fourth test barely worked. The network withstood simulated Qi Gathering Stage 8 attacks and appropriately adapted its response.

That’s going to have to be good enough.

Wei Chen checked his materials. Fifty mid-grade spirit stones. Premium formation flags from Wang Liu. Mid-grade ink. Binding adhesive. Everything he'd need for physical construction.

But first, he needed to solve one more problem.

The Adaptive Network required constant monitoring and adjustment during the match. Wei Chen would need to track eighteen nodes, assess threats, trigger mode switches, and manage power distribution. All while avoiding Zhang Ming's attacks.

That was too much cognitive load. He'd make mistakes under pressure.

Wei Chen added one more component to the design. An automated threat assessment formation, small and simple, that would feed information directly to the control layer. The system would handle most decisions automatically. Wei Chen would only intervene for major strategic choices.

Delegation. The key to managing complex systems.

By the eighth hour, Wei Chen's designs were complete. He had schematics, power calculations, contingency plans, and backup strategies. Everything was mapped out on paper.

Now he just needed to build it.

Wei Chen stood and stretched. His body protested. Eight hours of continuous work, no sleep, minimal food. Not ideal preparation for the most important match of his life.

But the designs were ready. That mattered more than physical comfort.

Wei Chen was gathering materials when someone knocked on the workshop door.

He froze. Nobody should be at the Formation Hall this late. The building was theoretically locked at night, though disciples with proper credentials could enter.

Wei Chen opened the door cautiously.

Lin Mei stood in the hallway, holding a small bundle wrapped in cloth. She looked tired, like she'd been working late herself.

"Lin Mei," Wei Chen said, surprised.

She didn't speak immediately. Just studied him with that sharp evaluating look he'd come to recognize from their brief interactions. Finally, she held out the bundle.

"Formation materials. Mid-grade ink, spare flags, and some binding adhesive. Better quality than what the merchants sell."

Wei Chen took the bundle. He unwrapped it carefully. Everything she'd described, plus a few extra items. High-quality channeling wires, premium node anchors, even a small qi crystal for power stabilization.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because Zhang Ming is an entitled brat who's never had to work for anything in his life. Because he thinks formations are beneath real cultivation. Because if you beat him tomorrow, it proves something important." Lin Mei crossed her arms. "Also, you've been here every night for three days. I work in the Formation Hall archives. I notice things."

"You've been watching me work?"

"I've been watching you innovate. There's a difference." She glanced at the sketches spread across his table. "What you're building. I've never seen formation structures like that before."

"It's an adaptive system. Multiple formations working together, shifting function based on threats."

Lin Mei's eyes widened slightly. "That's not standard theory."

"Standard theory won't beat Zhang Ming."

"No. It won't." She was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled. "Don't lose tomorrow. Not to him. He doesn't deserve to win against someone who actually thinks."

She turned to leave.

"Lin Mei," Wei Chen called. She paused. "Thank you. For the materials and the vote of confidence."

"If you want to thank me, win." She walked away without looking back.

Wei Chen nodded and collected all of his equipment he now possessed. The extra materials from Lin Mei would help. The qi crystal, especially, would stabilize power distribution across the Adaptive Network's nodes.

Tired, he moved to where the arena was, ignoring the darkness, and passed to the space he would be fighting upon tomorrow.

He set everything aside and pulled out the fifty spirit stones. It was time to begin construction.

The next four hours were pure execution. Wei Chen worked steadily, precisely, checking every detail against his designs. The outer hexagon of nodes went up first, clearly visible. Each flag was positioned exactly where Zhang Ming would expect defensive formations to be.

The middle hexagon took longer. Wei Chen buried the nodes slightly beneath the arena surface, concealed within natural irregularities. They'd be invisible to casual observation but still functional. Zhang Ming wouldn't see them until they activated.

The inner hexagon was the control layer. Wei Chen placed these nodes in a tight formation near his starting position, disguised as simple qi gathering arrays. The automated threat assessment formation integrated directly into the control structure.

By the twelfth hour, all eighteen nodes were placed. Wei Chen began connecting them through qi channels, using mid-grade ink to draw intricate patterns that linked the outer, middle, and inner hexagons together.

This was the most delicate part. The flexible pathways needed perfect symmetry. One channel slightly misaligned, and the whole network's adaptive capability would fail.

Wei Chen worked with methodical care, double-checking each line against his schematics. The formations hummed faintly as connections completed, qi beginning to flow through the network in test patterns.

Thirteen hours in. Wei Chen activated the decoy formations. The fake redirect array went up with obvious fanfare, glowing brightly enough to draw attention. The visible barrier shimmed into place exactly where any formation practitioner would expect defensive structures. The useless qi trap settled into the arena center, telegraphing its presence.

Perfect bait.

Fourteen hours. Wei Chen fed spirit stones into the Adaptive Network's nodes. The system came alive slowly, each hexagon lighting up in sequence. Outer ring first, establishing the defensive perimeter. Middle ring second, hidden but active. Inner ring last, the control layer beginning its automated assessments.

Wei Chen tested the system. He triggered a simulated attack pattern using his own qi. The Adaptive Network responded instantly, shifting to Deflection Mode and redirecting the attack harmlessly away. He increased the pressure. The network switched to Dispersion Mode automatically, scattering the stronger technique.

It worked.

Wei Chen tested mode switching. Deflection to Dispersion. Dispersion to Absorption. Absorption back to Deflection. Each transition was smooth, with no lag or power spikes indicating instability.

The Adaptive Network was functional.

Fifteen hours. Wei Chen's vision was starting to blur. His body had moved past tired into a strange state of detached functionality. Pure focus kept him moving.

He added the final components. Lin Mei's qi crystal integrated into the control layer, stabilizing power flow. Extra binding adhesive reinforced critical connections. Premium channeling wires linked backup spirit stones to primary nodes.

Redundancy. Stability. Adaptation.

Everything he'd need to face Zhang Ming.

Sixteen hours. Dawn light crept over the shape of the space everyone would gather and watch his fight in. Wei Chen stepped back and surveyed his work.

The Adaptive Network spread across the arena in invisible geometric perfection. Eighteen nodes. Thirty-six flexible connections. Three nested hexagons working as one unified system. Powered by fifty mid-grade spirit stones and designed to adapt to any attack pattern Zhang Ming could throw at it.

On paper, it should work. In theory, it could handle a difference of 7 cultivation stages.

Theory and practice were different things.

Wei Chen gathered his few remaining materials and headed back to his dormitory. One hour until the finals began. Just enough time to clean up.

No time for sleep. No time for food. Barely time to process what he'd built.

The outer sect was already awake and moving. Disciples headed toward the arena early to claim good viewing positions. Everyone wanted to see the finals. Wei Chen versus Zhang Ming. Formations versus raw power. Intelligence versus resources.

The match everyone had been waiting for.

Wei Chen passed disciples whispering as he walked. Some pointed at him. Others made bets. A few called out encouragement. Most just stared, curious to see if the formation disciple could actually pull off one more impossible victory.

Wei Chen reached his room and changed into his cleanest outer sect robes. The ones without stains or repairs. He washed his face with cold water, trying to shock his system into alertness. It barely helped.

Seventeen hours without sleep. Body running on fumes. Qi reserves at maybe sixty percent after all the formation construction.

Not ideal. But he'd worked under worse conditions. Different job, different world, same impossible deadlines.

Wei Chen checked his reflection in the small mirror. The body was seventeen, but the eyes looked thirty-two. Tired, calculating, but determined.

He grabbed his formation journal and headed for the arena.

The walk was short. Too short. Wei Chen's mind was still running through calculations, contingencies, and backup plans. The Adaptive Network should handle Zhang Ming's overwhelming offense. The mode switching should counter different attack types. The redundancy should compensate for damaged nodes.

Should, should, should.

Wei Chen hated shoulds. They were hypotheticals pretending to be certainties.

The arena was packed. Thousands of outer sect disciples filled the stands. Inner sect members occupied the premium viewing areas. Elders sat in their elevated platform, watching with interest.

This wasn't just a semifinal match anymore. This was a statement.

Wei Chen entered the preparation area and found Elder Shen waiting.

"Your formations are ready?" Elder Shen asked.

"Yes, Elder."

"Zhang Ming's family provided him with three high-grade spirit stones for this match. Each one worth a hundred mid-grade stones. He'll have effectively unlimited qi for the entire fight."

Wei Chen processed that. Three hundred mid-grade equivalent versus his fifty. Six to one resource advantage on top of Zhang Ming's seven-stage cultivation advantage.

The math kept getting worse.

"Understood," Wei Chen said.

"You don't look concerned."

"Being concerned won't change the numbers. I have what I have. He has what he has. The match will determine which matters more."

Elder Shen studied him. "You've been awake all night."

"Yes, Elder."

"That's not smart preparation for a major match."

"It was necessary preparation. The formations I built require understanding I didn't have yesterday. I needed the time to innovate."

"You're gambling everything on untested formations built by an exhausted mind."

"Yes, Elder." Wei Chen met Shen's eyes. "Do you want me to withdraw?"

Elder Shen was quiet for a few seconds. Then he smiled slightly. The first genuine smile Wei Chen had seen from the grumpy formation elder.

"No. I want to see what you built." Elder Shen turned to leave, then paused. "Win or lose, what you've accomplished in three days is remarkable. But I'd prefer you win. It makes the political arguments easier."

He walked away.

Wei Chen stood alone in the preparation area. Around him, other disciples prepared for their own matches in the consolation brackets. None of them paid him attention. They had their own concerns.

Wei Chen closed his eyes and ran through the plan one more time.

Zhang Ming would open with overwhelming offense. The Adaptive Network would deflect initial attacks, conserving power. Zhang Ming would target the visible decoy formations. That would waste his time and reveal his preferred techniques. Zhang Ming would eventually realize the decoys were fake and start looking for real defenses. The hidden middle hexagon would activate then, shifting to Dispersion Mode to handle his increased aggression.

If Zhang Ming pushed harder, the network would shift to Absorption Mode. Store his attacks and send them back amplified. That would either force him to retreat or overextend. Either way, Wei Chen would have openings to exploit.

If everything goes perfectly.

Plans never survived contact with reality, but having a plan was better than improvising under pressure.

The gong sounded. Finals were beginning.

Wei Chen opened his eyes and walked toward the arena entrance.

Three years of Chen Wei's memories surfaced. Three years of Zhang Ming's bullying, insults, and casual cruelty. The original owner had died trying to force a breakthrough to escape that pressure.

Wei Chen had inherited that body, those memories, and that anger.

This match was personal in ways Zhang Ming couldn't understand.

But more than that, it was proof. Proof that formations mattered. Proof that intelligence could compete with power. Proof that you didn't need family backing and infinite resources to achieve something significant.

Wei Chen had spent ten years in his previous life learning that truth. Now he'd prove it in a new world.

The arena floor was ahead. Zhang Ming would be waiting on the other side. Confident, well-rested, resourced beyond measure.

Wei Chen was exhausted, outnumbered in qi, and betting everything on formations no one had ever built before.

The math said he should lose.

Wei Chen had always been better at changing equations than accepting them.

He stepped into the arena.

It was time to prove formations could compete with everything.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 18

They passed through the outer palisade, and Francis immediately started checking on the pack.

"Vornak, let me see that arm," he said.

The stocky barbarian pulled back his furs, revealing a deep gash that ran from elbow to wrist. Blood still seeped from it, though slower now that they were out of the cold.

"Healers," Francis said, pointing toward the medical tents. "You too, Eirik. That leg needs looking at."

"I'm fine," Eirik protested.

"No, you're limping," Francis replied. "Go. All of you. Get patched up."

Harald touched the cuts on his face gingerly. "What about you?"

"I'm good. My chain mail did its job." Francis turned to Hroden. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

The pack leader frowned but nodded, gesturing for the others to head toward the healers. Selka lingered for a moment, her eyes on Francis, before following the rest.

Once they were alone, Francis spoke. "I'll be back. I need you to stay here."

Hroden's eyebrows rose. "What?"

"The bodies. We need pelts, and the only way we're getting them is if we drag the corpses back."

"That wasn't our goal or job," Hroden said, his voice not hiding the way he felt about Francis’s idea. "We went out to test you, to see how you'd do. That mission's done. I cannot let you go out there alone. Glitvall would be upset with me if something happened to you."

"So you don't want your share of any of the pelts that I bring back?" Francis asked. “Besides you and I both know that Glitvall wouldn’t blame you for me taking this course of action. You’re a good leader. I can see it. But I also know that a prize like those pelts would do much for you and the rest.”

Hroden opened his mouth, then closed it. Francis could see the conflict on his face. Pelts were valuable, especially Lynxkin ones. The fur was thick, warm, and could be traded for other supplies. Plus, their ability to help camouflage someone only added to their worth.

"It's your life," Hroden said finally. "You'll so casually toss it away?"

"If I die, then I did," Francis replied. "If I don't, then you'll understand, as will everyone else."

Hroden stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. "You're insane. Perhaps you are like some of my people."

"Probably," Francis admitted, chuckling. "But I made a promise. Everyone came back alive. Now I'm going to make sure it was worth it."

He turned and headed back toward the palisade gate.

"Francis," Hroden called out.

He paused.

"Try not to die," the pack leader said.

Francis smiled slightly. "I'll do my best."

***

The first trip went without any problems.

Francis retraced their path, found the nearest Lynxkin corpse, and grabbed it by the legs. The body was already starting to freeze, the blood on its fur turning to ice crystals. He dragged it back across the snow, one sword in his free hand, his eyes constantly scanning.

Just me out here now. It sounds bad if I had to admit it, but with no one to protect, I can actually fight without having to hold back.

When he passed through the outermost palisade, he saw Hroden and Nessa standing near the entrance. Both pack leaders watched as Francis deposited the corpse and immediately turned back.

"He's actually doing it," Nessa muttered.

"Told you," Hroden replied.

Francis didn't stop to chat. He headed back out.

The second trip drew more attention.

A few warriors had gathered near the palisade, watching as Francis dragged another body through the entrance. Whispers followed him, but no one approached. No one tried to claim the corpses or question what he was doing.

By the third trip, a small crowd had formed.

"That's the southerner," someone said.

"Look at him go. Doesn't even look tired."

"How many is he bringing back?"

Francis ignored them all. He dropped the third body, pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead despite the cold, and headed back out.

Fourth trip. Fifth. Sixth.

Each time, the crowd grew larger. Warriors, smiths, even a few clan leaders appeared, drawn by the spectacle of a southerner dragging Lynxkin corpses back alone.

Francis's onlookers commented about how he was able to keep going. He wasn’t sure if they would be tired or wore out, but he felt great. The cold was there, yet the constant movement held it at bay. All he could do was smile as he headed back out, knowing his actions were doing more than just gathering pelts. 

Six down. At least six more from our fight, plus whatever Nessa's pack killed. I can do this.

On the seventh trip, Francis had ventured farther out to retrieve one of the corpses from Nessa's fight. He grabbed the Lynxkin by its hind legs and started dragging it back.

That's when his Battle Sense warned him of what he had wondered might come.

Four of them.

Francis didn't hesitate the moment he sensed them approaching. He hurled the corpse forward, directly at the shape he had seen emerging. The body crashed into the materializing Lynxkin, knocking it to one side.

Three more appeared, surrounding him.

Francis grinned.

Finally! A real fight.

The first Lynxkin lunged at him from the left. Francis sidestepped, his body moving with the ease of someone who'd done this hundreds of times. His right sword came around in a lazy arc that caught the beast across its throat.

Blood sprayed. The Lynxkin collapsed, gurgling.

The second one tried to attack from behind. Francis spun, both swords now in his hands, crossing to catch its claws. He twisted his wrists, redirecting the force, and kicked the beast in the chest. It flew backward, crashing into the snow.

Before it could recover, Francis was on it.

[ Power Strike ]

His sword came down with enough force to cleave through the Lynxkin's neck. The head separated cleanly, rolling a few feet away.

Two down.

The third and fourth attacked together, trying to overwhelm him with coordinated strikes. Francis's perception tracked both easily. He ducked under the third one's swipe, drove his left sword into its belly, and used the dying beast as a shield against the fourth's attack.

Claws scraped against the beastkin Francis held between them. He shoved it forward, forcing the fourth Lynxkin back, then finished the third with a quick slash across its throat.

With the third one defeated, the last Lynxkin tried to flee.

Not this time.

[ Quick Attack ]

Francis closed the distance in seconds. His right sword came around in a slash that took the Lynxkin's head off mid-stride. The body ran a few more steps before collapsing.

Four dead beastkin, two of them headless, lay on the ice, the wind suddenly gone as were their lives..

Francis stood there, breathing easily, not a scratch on him. He looked down at the corpses scattered around him and picked the best one—one of the headless bodies, still mostly intact.

This one's mine.

He grabbed it by the legs and started dragging it back.

***

The crowd at the palisade had grown significantly.

Francis could see at least fifty warriors gathered, maybe more. Among them stood Glitvall, his massive frame impossible to miss. Several clan leaders flanked him, their expressions ranging from curious to impressed.

Francis dragged the headless Lynxkin through the entrance and tossed it to the side, separate from the other corpses he'd retrieved. He turned to face Hroden.

He pointed a sword at the fresh corpse. "That one's mine."

Silence.

Then someone in the crowd started laughing. Others joined in, not with mocking laughter, but with the kind that came from a mix of respect and disbelief.

Glitvall stepped forward, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp. "You killed four more out there. Alone."

"They ambushed me," Francis replied. "Seemed rude not to fight back."

More laughter from the crowd.

"How many more are you bringing back?" Glitvall asked.

Francis looked toward the battlefield. "At least thirteen more. Maybe twenty total if I can find all of Nessa's kills."

"Twenty," one of the clan leaders muttered. "Twenty Lynxkin pelts."

"The southerner works fast," another commented.

Glitvall studied Francis for a moment longer, then nodded once. "Finish your work. No one will touch your spoils or dishonor what you've claimed."

Francis inclined his head in thanks and turned back toward the gate.

Hroden appeared beside him. "You're really going to drag all of them back?"

"Already committed," Francis said. "Might as well finish."

"You're insane," Hroden repeated.

"So you've said," Francis replied with a slight smile.

***

The remaining trips were uneventful.

Francis moved methodically across the battlefield, finding each corpse, dragging it back. Eighth trip. Ninth. Tenth.

The crowd remained, watching in silence now. Some had brought stools or crates to sit on. Others stood, arms crossed, expressions thoughtful.

Eleventh. Twelfth. Thirteenth.

Francis found three of Nessa's kills farther out, partially buried in snow. He dug them out and brought them back, one by one.

Sixteenth. Seventeenth. Eighteenth.

Almost done. Just a few more.

Nineteenth. Twentieth.

Francis dragged the final corpse through the palisade and let it drop with the others. He stood there, staring at what he had just done.

Twenty Lynxkin corpses lay in three piles. The crowd stared at them, at him, processing what they'd just witnessed.

Glitvall stepped forward again. "Twenty corpses. Twelve from your packs' fights, four from your solo encounter, and four more you went back for."

"Twenty," Francis confirmed, wiping his face with a hand.

"The pelts are yours to claim or distribute as you see fit," Glitvall said. "But I'm curious—why did you do this? The fight was over. You'd proven yourself. Why risk going back out alone?"

Francis looked at the pile of corpses, then at Hroden's pack, who had returned from the healers and were now standing at the edge of the crowd.

"Because promises mean something," Francis said. "I told the Jarl everyone would come back alive. They did. But I also told Hroden his pack would get their share of pelts. That means bringing them back."

He pointed at the pile. "Twelve of those belong to the pack. Four are mine. The rest go to Nessa's warriors, since they killed them."

Nessa pushed through the crowd, her expression a mix of surprise and something else. "You brought back our kills?"

"Your warriors earned them," Francis replied. "Seemed wrong to leave them out there."

Silence again.

Then Glitvall started laughing. Deep, genuine laughter that echoed across the gathered crowd. "Stenson was right about you. You're either the bravest fool I've ever met or the wisest warrior. Perhaps both."

The warchief clapped Francis on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble slightly. "Rest. You've earned it. Tomorrow, we'll discuss what comes next."

Francis nodded, suddenly feeling like he was starting to figure out this nation.

As he walked toward his tent, passing through the crowd that parted for him, Francis caught sight of Selka.

She stood near the back, her forehead bandaged from the healer's work. Their eyes met for just a moment.

She nodded once. Just once.

Francis returned the gesture and kept walking.

Maybe that changes things. Or perhaps it doesn't. Either way, today was a good day.

He made it to his tent, acknowledging those who called out, not bothering to stop. Every step felt like a small victory. One of many he would have to do countless times. Even if it didn’t last long, it felt almost like making the poker. It felt like it had been forever since he started fostering relationships that might last a while.

Chapter 27 - The Creation of Arin

The guild hall buzzed with evening activity as Kelsa led the party to Master Torven's office to report the contract completion. Arin followed, his core still processing everything that had happened over the past two days. He'd officially become an adventurer, proven himself in combat, and earned his first payment.

Master Torven looked up from his desk as they entered, his expression neutral. "Back already? The escort contract?"

"Completed successfully," Kelsa reported. "Wolves on the first day, handled easily enough. Bandits on the return trip, six of them led by a Level 7 fighter. Three dead, three escaped including the leader. Merchant's safe, cargo's delivered, no casualties on our side."

Torven made notes in a large ledger. "The bandit encounter is concerning but not unexpected, given recent reports. I'll pass the information to Captain Thorne. As for your party's performance?" His eyes flickered to Arin. "Any issues with the probationary member?"

"None," Kelsa said firmly. "Arin performed exceptionally. Saved Essa's life during the bandit fight by spotting and eliminating their rogue before he could strike. He follows orders, works well with the team, and shows good tactical instincts."

"High praise from you, Kelsa." Torven wrote something else in the ledger, then pulled out Arin's membership document and added a note to it. "I'm officially marking his probationary period as successful. Full Bronze rank member as of now, with all standard privileges and responsibilities."

Relief washed through Arin's core, surprising him with its intensity. He hadn't realized how much the probationary status had weighed on him until it was lifted.

T H A N K   Y U   S I R

"Don't thank me. Thank your party for vouching for you." Torven closed the ledger with a heavy thump. "Now, about your next contract. The goblin raid situation has escalated. Four more farms hit in the past three days, and witnesses report the attacks are becoming more organized. The guild is assembling multiple Bronze rank parties to deal with it. Are you interested?"

Kelsa glanced at her party members. Torvin and Essa both nodded. "What's the payout?"

"Thirty gold split among participating parties, weighted by contribution. Minimum four parties, possibly more. The operation begins at dawn three days from now, which gives everyone time to prepare and rest."

"We're in," Kelsa decided. "Put our party down for it."

After leaving Torven's office, the party split up with plans to meet the next evening. Essa headed toward the temple district to report to her order. Torvin went to find a blacksmith to repair some damage to his armor. Kelsa pulled Arin aside before departing.

"You did well today," she said quietly. "Really well. I know joining the party was a risk for you, and I'm glad it worked out." She paused. "Take tomorrow to rest and handle personal business. We'll take on some smaller contracts the day after, nothing major, just keeping our edge sharp before the goblin operation."

W I L   B E   T H E R E

"Good. See you tomorrow evening at the hall. Six o'clock, same table."

Arin flowed back toward Baker Street as evening deepened into night. The streets were quieter now, with most people settling into their homes for dinner and rest. Lanterns cast warm light from windows, and the smell of cooking food filled the air. It reminded him of the woodcutter camp, that sense of community and belonging he'd found there.

When he reached Marta's house, he found the woodcutters gathered around the kitchen table for a late meal. They looked up as he entered, and Jorin's face lit up immediately.

"Arin! You're back!" The boy jumped up from his seat. "How was your first contract? Tell us everything!"

Arin settled onto the floor and began forming letters, describing the wolf encounter and the bandit fight as best he could. The woodcutters listened with genuine interest, asking questions and marveling at the details. When he mentioned saving Essa's life, Gareth nodded approvingly.

"Protecting your party members is what matters most," the older man said. "Sounds like you're fitting in well with them."

Y E S   T H E Y   A R E   G O O D   P E O P L E

"Just like us," Mira piped up from where she sat with her leg still elevated. "We're good people too, right Arin?"

Y E S   T H E   B E S T

The girl beamed at him, and Arin felt that warmth in his core again. These people, both the party and the woodcutters, had given him something precious beyond measure. They'd given him purpose and community, reasons to keep growing stronger beyond just survival.

The next morning, Arin woke early and made his way through Greengate's streets. He had a full day before meeting with the party again, and he wanted to use it productively. His first stop was a shop he'd noticed during his initial exploration of town, a store with a sign showing an open book.

The shopkeeper, an elderly half-elf woman with spectacles perched on her nose, looked up from her work as Arin entered. Her eyes widened slightly at seeing a slime in her shop, but she didn't flee or call for guards.

"Can I help you?" she asked cautiously.

Arin flowed to a clear section of floor and formed letters.

N E E D   M O R E   R E A D I N G   B O O K S

"You can read?" The woman's surprise was evident. "Well, that's... unusual. What level are you at?"

B A S I C   W O R D S   S I M P L E   S E N T E N C E S

The shopkeeper studied him for a moment, then moved to a shelf and pulled down several thin volumes. "These are children's primers, more advanced than the basic alphabet books. They have simple stories with illustrations that might help. And this one," she pulled down another book, "is a collection of folk tales written in straightforward language. Nothing too complex, but good for building vocabulary."

Arin examined the books carefully, wishing he could flip through pages like a human. Instead, he had to ask the woman to show him samples from each volume. The folk tales book looked particularly promising with its clear text and interesting stories.

H O W   M U C H

"The primers are two silver each, the folk tales book is five silver." She paused. "Can you... handle coins without dissolving them?"

C A N   H O L D   I N S I D E   M E   W I T H O U T   T O U C H I N G

"Fascinating." The woman watched as Arin carefully extracted coins from his mass where he'd been storing his payment from the contract. "I'll give you all three books for eight silver. Consider it an investment in literacy."

The transaction completed, Arin carefully absorbed the books into his gelatinous form, holding them suspended and protected the same way he had the coins. The shopkeeper watched the process with academic interest rather than fear.

"Come back when you've finished those," she said. "I'd be curious to know what a slime thinks of our folk tales."

Arin's next stop was less pleasant but necessary. He needed to understand the town better, including the parts that were hostile to him. He flowed toward the east market district, where Brund had warned him the temple folk gathered, keeping to the edges of streets and staying as small and non-threatening as possible.

The difference was immediately noticeable as he crossed into the temple district. The buildings here were newer and better-maintained than those in other parts of Greengate. The people dressed in cleaner clothes and carried themselves with an air of righteousness that made Arin's core pulse with unease.

A temple dominated the district, its white stone tower rising above everything else. The symbol of the sun blazed in gold above the main entrance, and Arin could see robed figures moving within. Several people stood on the temple steps, engaged in conversation.

"It's unnatural," one woman was saying, her voice carrying across the square. "A monster with guild membership. Next, they'll be letting goblins join."

"The guild master should never have approved it," a man agreed. "Captain Thorne's too lenient. Someone needs to speak to the town council about this abomination."

Arin stayed hidden in the shadow of a building, listening. The hostility was palpable here, concentrated in a way that made him understand why Brund had warned him away. These weren't just people uncomfortable with something different; these were people who saw his very existence as an affront to their beliefs.

A young priest emerged from the temple and approached the gathering. "The order is watching this situation closely," he said. "We've sent word to the regional bishop about the slime. Rest assured, the church will not allow corruption to take root in Greengate."

Corruption? 

That's what they saw him as, a corrupting influence that needed to be purged. Arin flowed away from the district quietly, having learned what he needed to know. There were forces in town actively working against his presence, and they had the backing of religious authority.

Good to know where the threats are. 

He made his way back toward safer parts of town. 

Better to be prepared.

The afternoon found Arin in a different part of Greengate entirely, a rough section near the docks where Brund worked. The dwarf had mentioned being part of "the interesting half" that found Arin's presence fascinating rather than threatening, and Arin was curious about what other people in town might share that perspective.

The docks were bustling with activity, as workers loaded and unloaded barges that traveled the river, connecting Greengate to larger cities. Arin spotted Brund directing a team as they maneuvered barrels onto a barge.

The dwarf noticed him and called out a greeting. "Oi! The adventuring slime returns! How'd your first contract go?"

G O O D   S U C C E S F U L

"Excellent! Told ye you'd do fine." Brund gestured to the other workers, who'd stopped to stare at Arin. "This here's the slime I told ye about. Joined the guild, killed a hobgoblin, now he's a proper adventurer. Any of ye got problems with that?"

The workers, a mix of humans, half-orcs, and another dwarf, exchanged glances. Finally, one of the half-orcs shrugged. "Guild vouched for him, that's good enough for me. Temple folk can stuff their complaints."

"Aye, that's the spirit," Brund agreed. "Down here at the docks, we judge folks by their work, not their species. Slime wants to be an adventurer and can do the job? More power to him."

The casual acceptance from these rough laborers meant more to Arin than they probably realized. These were people who understood hard work and judged others by their actions rather than their appearance, exactly the kind of people Levi had always admired.

T H A N K   Y U   F O R   U N D R S T A N D I N G

"Don't mention it. Just keep proving the temple folk wrong, aye? Show them a slime can be worth ten of their pompous priests."

That evening, Arin returned to Marta's house for dinner time, though he still couldn't eat. Jorin had been waiting for him, eager to continue their reading lessons. They settled in the kitchen with Arin's new books, and the boy's eyes widened when he saw them.

"You bought more books! That's wonderful!" Jorin opened the folk tales collection and began reading aloud, helping Arin understand more complex sentence structures and vocabulary. The stories were simple but engaging, tales of heroes and magic that reminded Arin of the stories Levi used to tell him during their training sessions.

"This one's about a slime," Jorin said suddenly, pointing to a story near the back of the book. "Want to hear it?"

Y E S   V E R   Y M U C H

Jorin cleared his throat and began reading. "The Tale of Glimmer the Brave. Long ago, when the world was young and magic flowed like rivers through the land, there lived a…” Jorin paused his reading and smiled before resuming. “A small slime named Glimmer in the depths of a forgotten cave. Unlike other slimes who knew only hunger and instinct, Glimmer was curious about the world beyond the darkness..."

Jorn read he story told of a slime who befriended a lost child and helped her find her way home, braving dangers and proving that courage came in unexpected forms. By the end, the village that had feared Glimmer came to see him as a hero.

Jorin closed the book softly, beaming from ear to ear. "That's a good story. Do you think that's what you are? Like Glimmer?"

Arin considered carefully before forming his response.

H O P E   T O   B E   L I K E   T H A T   S O M E D A Y

"I think you already are," Jorin said with surprising conviction. "You saved Mira. You saved the woodcutters. Now you're saving people as an adventurer. That makes you brave, just like Glimmer."

The comparison touched something deep in Arin's core. He'd never thought of himself as brave, just as someone trying to survive and honor Levi's memory. But maybe the boy was right, maybe courage was simply doing what needed to be done despite being afraid.

Part of him wondered how they could have a story about a slime hero.  Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

The next day passed quickly as Arin took on simple errands around Greengate to become more familiar with the town. He helped a shopkeeper move heavy crates, earning a few coppers and more importantly, goodwill. He scouted the forest edge for any goblin activity, finding none but mapping the terrain better in his mind.

By evening, he was ready to meet the party at the guild hall. When he arrived, he found them already gathered at their usual table with several contract postings spread between them.

"There he is," Kelsa said. "Perfect timing. We're picking tomorrow's work." She gestured to the postings. "We've got options. There's a wolf den that needs clearing about two hours northeast of town, which pays three gold. We could do the merchant escort quest to one of the nearby farms, which pays two gold. Or there's this one, investigating strange sounds coming from the old mill outside town. Pays four gold, but it's marked as potentially dangerous."

"What kind of strange sounds?" Essa asked.

"According to the posting, grinding and scraping noises at night, and something that sounds like crying. Could be squatters, could be monsters, could be nothing. That's why it pays more, the uncertainty."

T H A T   O N E   S O U N D S   I N T E R E S T I N G

"The slime votes for the mill," Torvin said with amusement. "Figured ye might. It's the one with the most potential for actual danger."

"It's also the one that best uses our skills," Kelsa pointed out. "Arin can scout it first with Stealth, we can approach carefully, and if it turns out to be nothing dangerous, we still get paid for investigating. If it is dangerous, well, that's what we're trained for."

"I'm fine with it," Essa said. "Just promise me if it's ghosts, someone else goes first. I hate ghosts."

"It won't be ghosts," Kelsa assured her. "Ghosts don't make grinding sounds. That suggests something physical, probably some kind of creature that's moved into the abandoned mill."

The party agreed on the mill contract and spent the next hour planning their approach. Arin learned more about party tactics and strategy than he had during the entire escort contract, as Kelsa walked them through various scenarios and how they should respond to each one.

"Remember," she said as they wrapped up the planning session, "we scout first, assess the threat, then decide whether to engage or retreat. No heroics, no unnecessary risks. We're Bronze rank, not invincible."

When the meeting ended and the party dispersed, Arin found Peck waiting near the guild hall entrance. The young ranger had been one of the first people to welcome him to the guild, and Arin had developed a friendly rapport with him over the past few days.

"Heard you got approved for full membership," Peck said with a genuine smile. "Congratulations. That's a big achievement, especially given how short your probation was."

T H A N K   Y U   H O W   A R E   Y U R   C O N T R A C T S   G O I N G

"Oh, you know. Still Bronze rank, still taking whatever pays. My party's doing a dungeon delve next week, nothing major, just clearing out a small cave system. Should be interesting though, first time we've done anything underground." He paused. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask. What's it like? Being the only slime in the guild? Do you ever feel lonely?"

The question caught Arin off guard with its directness and empathy. He thought carefully before responding.

S O M E T I M E S   B U T   H A V   F R E N D S   N O W

"That's good. Friends matter more than anything in this line of work." Peck shifted his bow to his other shoulder. "Listen, if you ever need someone to talk to or just want company on a job, let me know. I know what it's like to feel different and not quite fit in."

W H Y   D O   Y U   F E L   D I F F E R E N T

Peck laughed, though there was a hint of sadness in it. "Because I'm barely Level 7 and everyone in my family's at least Level 12 by the time they're my age. I'm the weak link, the one who disappoints. My older brother's a Silver rank adventurer, my sister's in the royal guard, and I'm still struggling with Bronze contracts. But hey, at least I'm out here trying, right?"

That perspective helped Arin understand the ranger better, showing that everyone had their own struggles and insecurities regardless of their appearance or species. Peck wasn't looking at Arin as a curiosity or a monster but as a fellow adventurer facing their own challenges.

T H A N K   Y U   F O R   S H A R I N G   T H A T

"No problem. See you around, Arin."

As Arin made his way back to Marta's house through Greengate's evening streets, he reflected on everything that had happened since joining the party. He'd gained full guild membership, earned his first payment, made friends beyond the woodcutters, and learned more about the town's complex social dynamics. Some people accepted him, some feared him, and some actively worked against his presence.

But he had allies now, people who saw his worth and potential rather than just a monster to be driven away. Kelsa, Torvin, Essa, the woodcutters, Brund, Peck, even the bookshop owner who'd sold him reading materials. Each one represented a small victory against the prejudice and fear that dominated parts of Greengate.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges with the mill investigation, and in three days the major goblin operation would test him and the party in ways the escort contract hadn't. Beyond that lay countless more contracts, more battles, more opportunities to prove himself and grow stronger.

All of it led eventually to Vyrdan and the answers he sought about Levi's death. But that was still far in the future, and Arin had learned the value of taking things one step at a time.

When he reached Marta's house, he found everyone already asleep. He descended to the cellar quietly, settled into his resting spot, and checked his Status one final time before letting sleep claim him.

[Name: Arin]

[Species: Adaptive Slime]

[Level: 9]

[Mass: 199% of base]

[Essence: 85/180]

[Skills:]

- Charge (Tier 1)

- Darkvision (Tier 1)

- Stealth (Tier 1)

[Abilities:]

- Absorption (Tier 2)

- Acidic (Tier 1)

- Fire Resistance (Tier 1)

- Ice Resistance (Tier 1)

- Lightning Resistance (Tier 1)

- Physical Resistance (Tier 1)

- Shadow Resistance (Tier 1)

- Magical Resistance (Tier 1)

- Slime Control (Tier 1)

[Skill Points Available: 1]

While he was only Level 9, that would change with more contracts and experience. He needed four more skill points to unlock a fourth skill slot, or he could save them to upgrade existing skills to Tier 2. The choice would depend on the challenges he faced and the abilities that proved most useful.

For now, sleep beckoned with the promise of rest and recovery. Tomorrow would bring the mill investigation, and Arin needed to be ready for whatever they might find there.

The journey would continue, one contract at a time, toward becoming the kind of person Levi had believed he could be.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 094 -

“Tell me again why this meeting was necessary?” Fowl asked. “I mean… It’s a fight in the arena and the first one we’ve seen in a while that looks worth betting on. Usually, you just say ‘here’s what I think we should bet’ and we go from there.”

Their helper groaned and swiped his tablet, changing the display before them.  A match had been announced and the pairing seemed like a good one to bet on.

“Four to one odds are a pretty safe win,” Sog said, shifting in his chair. “I’m not saying we go all in, but I guess this must be another one of those gods who prey upon the weak.”

Max watched as Jazzjak shook his head. “I don’t know. In all my life, I’ve never seen the name of Ooohmara, and yet they're supposed to be the clear winner. 80,000 years of silence is a long time. The limited data I can find shows they’ve won the three matches listed. I just can’t find any details or watch any of their previous matches. Even worse, they’re not revealing any physical or visual data about either fighter. Ooohmara is fire-based, and Greokol is water-focused.”

“And that bothers you?” Tanila asked.

“Something does, I’m just not sure what,” Jazzjak said. “It’s not uncommon for gods to keep a low profile, only fighting every thousand or so years. Others are much more aggressive but all that does is remind others that you exist. Eventually, you’ll paint a target on your back.”

“But this is a tier four fight,” Cordellia said. “Wouldn’t a god whom you can’t recall seeing fight in all your time of being a helper easily overpower another one? Especially with those odds?”

“Not always,” Jazzjak replied. “You’re thinking logically but don’t forget the matchup against the metallic liquid-based god. The real question you have to ask is why would a god at this rank fight? Most who are at tier four and biding their time do everything they can to remain silent.  Once you exit the safety window and your name is announced to everyone within your rank, you’re eligible to be challenged.  Ooohmara’s been a possibility for a long time, but no one’s challenged them, nor vice versa. Since Max didn’t see the name Greokol, the opponent, appear on his notification recently, telling everyone a potential opponent had arrived, it means this god has been out of the protective period for a while.”

Fowl held up a hand, causing a few to chuckle. “What? I don’t like always interrupting,” the dwarf said. “I just want to know why this bothers you so much. Even if we only risk say, 1,000,000 DP, we stand the chance of gaining four times that.”

“I’ve considered that,” their helper stated. “I have also weighed what if I’m being foolish and limiting your potential gains. Something in my being thinks something is off and I don’t want to be wrong. One way costs you from gaining a lot of Divine Points you need, while the other might take from you the limited amount you all have.”

“So you’re basing this decision on a feeling? Like gas?” Sog asked.

A single, fluffy, white finger was directed at their demonic friend, who grinned in return. “No, you…” Taking a deep breath, Jazzjak composed himself. “I’m looking big picture. Something feels off. I’ve… I’ve been beaten and even killed before by other gods for lots of stupid reasons. While I don’t believe you’ll do that to me, I also don’t want to make a gigantic mistake.” Jazzjak pointed at Max for a moment. “What if he bets 100,000,000 DP and my gut is right? Then he’s out a massive amount of points. But, if I’m wrong and he doesn’t bet, we’re in the same problem.”

The arena moderators or whatever you want to call them did seem a bit… sketchy last time. That offer they gave me was obviously one they doubt I’d survive. Maybe Jazzjak still doesn’t trust them.

But if your helper is right and something is off, then that’s also another thing to consider.

“Jazzjak, are there matchups like the one you referenced earlier where being that much older and most likely stronger doesn't matter?” Max asked. “Is that remotely possible?”

“Yes,” their helper answered. “Since you started fighting, the arena odds have shifted from some very broken numbers. I recall a ten-to-one matchup thirty thousand years ago.  Now most don’t get above two to three or something like that.  We haven’t seen odds that make sense.”

“And that’s my fault?” Max asked, grinning.

“Probably,” Cordellia answered first.

“I don’t know,” Jazzjak muttered, shaking his head. “It’s just after that last fight…”

When a few seconds of silence passed, Max spoke up. “You don’t trust them.”

“Why wouldn’t he trust them?” Batrire asked. “Don’t they gain something regardless of who wins or loses?”

“Not a question I can answer,” Jazzjak said. “All I can tell you is that I’m concerned. You get to decide how you want to wager and how much. You’ve got two days to decide or until the–”

The image, which showed the matchup and the odds, suddenly changed, and giant words were stamped over it “Betting Limit Reached.”

“Wait, what?” Fowl said, standing. “That’s it?”

Max saw the way their helper was standing, seeing his hunched shoulders and both ears drooping slightly. 

“I’m… I guess…” Jazzjak kept trying to talk but seemed to be struggling to do so. “I’m sorry.”

“Let it go,” Max said, waving off the others. “Jazzjak, you’re fine. There was never a guarantee of a matchup and now we’ll get to watch and see if your instincts were right.”

“And if they were wrong?” their helper asked, still looking defeated.

“Then we go on and don’t worry about it,” Tanila answered immediately. “There’s more to life than betting on matches, isn’t there Sog?”

“What? Why bring me into this?” the demon replied. “I’ve already learned my lessons. Pick on Cordellia, she’s got problems.”

“What?!” their ranger exclaimed, rising from her chair.

Max saw Tanila wink at him.

She’s a smart one, redirecting all that.

That she is.

***

Max and the rest sat there in the room, eyes fixed upon the match that was about to start. Things already looked to be one-sided, even with the arena being a glassy lake.

Ooomhara looked far more dangerous than Max had expected. His skin glowed like obsidian that was heated to a point it might melt and his veins appeared to be magma. A mane of living flame hung around his shoulders. Every step he took across the water created a trail of sparks that hissed against the damp air. His eyes burned like a white fire, holding something dangerous behind them. 

Greokol appeared to rise from the mist on the water. Her body was pale blue, completely liquid-based, and her hair shifted like ripples on water. Her eyes were small pools of a deeper blue. Even stranger was that she wore no armor.

When the gong rang, fire met fog.

Ooohmara unleashed a storm of molten light expanding outward like the birth of a star. Max wondered how much stronger that ability had to be compared to his elemental fire.  The lake boiled in every direction as it traveled. 

Even as the flames came toward her, Greokol did not move. Instead, she just breathed, and the mist around her thickened.

Where the flames struck fog, energy seemed to diminish. The fire was snuffed out and Ooohmara’s radiance dimmed. The fire god didn’t seem fazed, sending out more waves of power, yet each wave seemed to cause the fog to grow thicker and slowly move out from around her.

“She’s countering him somehow,” Tanila said. “It’s like she is absorbing the energy of his spell and turning it into something she can use.”

“Magic can do that?” Fowl asked. “I mean… I know it can, but… those flames look intense.”

Max didn’t get involved in the discussion. He could sense his friends with Sonar. Each of them shifted, watching a fight that felt so easily one-sided at the start take a fast turn in the other direction.  Jazzjak was chewing on a nail, his attention focused on the display they were all watching. 

Somehow, her ability is consuming his. 

I wonder if it’s just against fire or against other magic as well. Most likely a racial ability of some kind.

Which would make climbing the tower easier if one could convert the power sent against them as energy for their own abilities.

Max grunted to himself, almost mesmerized as he watched Greokol convert Ooohmara’s fury into her strength. For every wave of flame he sent at her, the mist deepened, until it cloaked the arena floor in a silver fog.

“Show yourself!” Ooohmara bellowed.

“I already have,” she replied, everywhere at once. “You were a fool to seek me out.”

“Seek him out?” Sog asked. “Does that mean–”

“SHHH!” Jazzjak hissed, cutting the demon off as his eyes never left the fight.

Ooohmara hurled a spear of fire that was white like the sun, striking the water that covered the floor beneath his feet. The beam struck, split, and refracted through thousands of droplets. The arena’s sky was filled with light going in every direction. The attack that Ooohmara had unleashed was reflected at him.

He crossed his arms, taking the hits head-on, but each beam of light that struck seemed to extinguish the flames that covered him. In mere seconds, the fire that had been so brightly, flickered beneath the bombardment of his own spell.

“You are a fool, Ooohmara,” Greokal’s voice came through the display. “I laid a trap, knowing you couldn’t resist. You might have been able to extinguish my sister, but I’ve come to collect what is owed.”

Max watched as Greokol appeared behind Ooohmara in the mist. She lifted her hands in a slow, deliberate motion. The mist around her converged into tendrils of translucent blue. She invoked some ability and what Max saw was terrifying.

Every ember that left his body was caught and mirrored back, but not as fire. Instead, it came as something blue yet not ice. Ooohmara spun, swinging a sword that materialized in his hand. A molten arc meant to cleave her in two came yet it passed through the mist and then bounced back. A blade of blue came from where it had struck the fog and sliced through his chest.

He stumbled, his feet faltering on the liquefied glass below. His body was almost dull now, light barely being where an inferno had been.

Greokol stepped forward, her form solidifying once more, eyes glowing like the reflection of the moon on still water. She pressed a palm to his chest, and the water hissed where it met his skin.

Steam billowed everywhere, and then there was silence.

The mists cleared after a few moments, and Ooohmara was on his knees, a small sheet of ice keeping his body from falling over. Gone were the flames that had been there a moment ago. 

A single breath came from his mouth, the faint fog as he tried to breath, his body trembling. 

Greokol bent forward, putting her lips near what might have been an ear.

“The strongest fire,” she said softly, “is the one that learns restraint. You never learn that lesson. Now die.”

No one said a word as her hands gripped both sides of the smoldering head. Water cascaded over Ooohmara, extinguishing every part that it touched. For less than a moment, a howl came before water filled the hole that had dared open up.

Then the gong came and the announcer cried out, “WINNER! Greokol of the Vieled Waters!”

Jazzjak turned off the sound and slowly turned to face him, his red eyes trembling.

“What’s wrong?” Max asked, sensing something was amiss.

“The game's changing… of that I’m certain.”

Discord Server

Hey All!

I have a different discord than most end up on - my OG one.

It's a bit more private and I'm tossing the link out here.

If you want to chat, ask questions, discuss stories, share feedback, or whatever, feel free to join.

https://discord.gg/HMrzBzs5

Formation Master: CHAPTER 7: SEMIFINALS

CHAPTER 7: SEMIFINALS

Wei Chen spent the night in Formation Hall workshop three, surrounded by borrowed materials and increasingly desperate sketches.

Foundation Establishment Stage 1 was a full cultivation realm above his Qi Gathering Stage 1. The gap wasn't just quantitative. It was qualitative. More qi, better techniques, stronger body, refined control. Everything that made cultivation powerful.

Against that, Wei Chen had formations and one night to prepare. The math wasn't encouraging.

He worked through the third hour past midnight, testing formation combinations on paper. Each design had the same problem. Foundation Establishment cultivators could output three to five times the qi of Qi Gathering cultivators. Wei Chen's formations would need to handle that power differential without collapsing.

The redirect array had worked beautifully against Liu Hong and Chen Hua. Both Qi Gathering stage. Against Foundation Establishment? The incoming qi would overwhelm the formation's capacity before the redirect could activate.

The Mirage Wall had barely held against Chen Hua's attacks. A Foundation Establishment strike would shatter it in seconds.

The qi trap was subtle but slow. Against an opponent with massive qi reserves, draining them would take too long to matter.

Wei Chen needed something different. Not just better versions of existing formations. Something that changed the fundamental equation.

He pulled out his formation journal and started sketching.

The problem was a power differential. Wei Chen couldn't match the raw output of a Foundation Establishment cultivator. But he didn't need to match it. He needed to redirect it, disperse it, make it irrelevant.

What if instead of trying to stop attacks, he made them not matter?

Wei Chen started designing. Three hours later, he had something workable. Barely.

The Dispersion Array. Instead of a barrier that blocked or redirected, this formation would scatter incoming qi across multiple exit points. Like water hitting a sieve. The attack would still go through, but its power would be divided across dozens of vectors, each one too weak to cause serious damage.

The theory was sound. The execution would be expensive. Twelve nodes minimum, complex channeling patterns, and it would drain spirit stones faster than anything he'd built before.

But it might work.

Wei Chen tested the design mentally, running qi flow simulations. The formation would handle Foundation Establishment attacks. Probably. For maybe three to five strikes before the spirit stones were depleted.

Not great. But better than nothing.

Dawn light filtered through the workshop window. Wei Chen had worked through the entire night. His eyes burned, his body ached, and his qi reserves were depleted from constant formation testing.

He gathered his materials and headed back to his dormitory for a quick cleanup. The semifinals started in four hours. Just enough time to eat, meditate, and hope his body could function after zero sleep.

The outer sect was already bustling. News of yesterday's matches had spread. Wei Chen had beaten two opponents through formations alone, including one who was three stages higher. That was unusual enough to draw attention.

Several disciples watched him as he passed. Some with curiosity, others with calculation. A few with open skepticism. Formations were useful, sure. But could they really compete with proper cultivation?

Today would answer that question.

Wei Chen grabbed cheap dumplings and weak tea from a vendor and ate while walking back to his room. The dumplings were greasy and tasteless. The tea was barely warm. Fuel, not enjoyment.

He reached his dormitory and found Zhao Feng waiting outside.

Zhao Feng. Zhang Ming's former follower. The one who'd been part of the bullying, part of the pressure, part of the reason life had been hell for the original body's owner.

"Wei Chen," Zhao Feng said carefully.

Wei Chen said nothing. He pulled out his key and unlocked the door.

"Can I talk to you?" Zhao Feng asked. "Just for a minute."

Wei Chen considered refusing. But Zhao Feng had been watching his matches. Standing apart from Zhang Ming's group. Something had changed.

"One minute," Wei Chen said. He didn't invite Zhao Feng inside. The doorway was enough.

Zhao Feng glanced around, making sure they were relatively alone. "Your match yesterday. Against Chen Hua. That hidden formation that stored her attacks. How did you know she'd probe your defenses first?"

"I watched her first match. She fights tactically. Gathers information before committing. It was the logical approach against an unknown opponent."

"And you designed a formation specifically to counter that approach. Overnight."

"Yes."

Zhao Feng was quiet for almost ten seconds before he spoke. "That's not how most people think about formations. Or fights."

"Most people lose to opponents they shouldn't lose to."

"Zhang Ming thinks you're lucky. That your formations only work because you've been facing the right opponents. Aggressive fighters who play into your traps."

Wei Chen almost smiled. "And you?"

"I think you're winning because you're smarter than your opponents. You study them. You prepare. You build systems that exploit their weaknesses." Zhao Feng met Wei Chen's eyes. "That's not luck. That's skill."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want to learn how you do it. Not just the formations. The thinking behind them. How you analyze opponents, how you build counter-strategies, how you turn preparation into victory." Zhao Feng's voice was steady but earnest. "I've been following Zhang Ming because that's what you do in the outer sect. You find the strongest person and align with them. But Zhang Ming wins through power and family connections. You win through intelligence. I want to learn from someone who wins the way I could actually win."

Wei Chen studied Zhao Feng. Looking for deception, for hidden motives, for any sign this was a trick. He found none. Just genuine interest and maybe a hint of desperation.

"I have a match in four hours against a Foundation Establishment cultivator," Wei Chen said. "If I lose, this conversation is pointless. If I win, we can talk about formations. After the evaluation concludes."

Zhao Feng nodded. "Fair enough. Good luck today."

He left, and Wei Chen closed the door.

Well, that was interesting. 

Either Zhao Feng was genuinely interested in formations, or he was playing a longer game. Time would tell which.

Wei Chen changed into clean robes and spent the next two hours in meditation. Not deep cultivation, his meridians were too damaged for rapid advancement. Just qi circulation, recovery, and preparation. His body needed rest it wasn't going to get, so meditation would have to substitute.

By the time he opened his eyes again, his qi reserves had recovered to maybe seventy percent. Not ideal but good enough.

Wei Chen gathered his materials and headed for the arena.

The semifinals crowd was larger than yesterday's. Word had spread about the outer disciple who beat opponents through formations, and people wanted to see if he could keep it up against higher cultivation. The betting was apparently running three to one against him.

That feels like smart money.

Wei Chen checked the bracket board. His opponent was listed.

Participant 47: Wei Chen (Qi Gathering Stage 1)

versus

Participant 12: Mei Lin (Foundation Establishment Stage 1)

Mei Lin. Chen Hua had mentioned her. Favored overwhelming force over tactics. That meant powerful attacks, probably fire or earth-aspected, based on her name and typical female cultivation affinities in this region.

Wei Chen watched her from across the arena. She was tall, built like someone who'd spent years training physically before cultivation. Her qi signature was solid, dense, the kind of Foundation that came from proper breakthrough rather than forced advancement.

She noticed him watching and nodded acknowledgment. No smile, no posturing. Everything about her screamed professional.

Wei Chen returned the nod.

The supervising elder appeared. "Semifinal participants have six hours for preparation. The arena will be cleared in ten minutes. Prepare your positions."

Six hours. Same as yesterday, but Wei Chen's challenge was harder. The Dispersion Array required twelve nodes, intricate channeling, and perfect synchronization. He'd need every minute.

Wei Chen claimed his corner of the arena and started working.

First, the visible formations. He needed Mei Lin to see something she could understand and plan around. The redirect array went up in its standard triangular configuration. The Mirage Wall followed, in the same position as yesterday. Both would fail against Foundation Establishment attacks, but they'd buy seconds. And this next match, every second mattered.

The real defense was the Dispersion Array.

Wei Chen spent three hours placing the twelve nodes. Each one required precise positioning at calculated intervals around the combat area. The formation created an invisible but comprehensive grid. Any attack entering the grid would be caught, dispersed, and scattered harmlessly.

In theory at least.

The qi channeling patterns took another two hours. Twelve nodes meant twelve connection points, and each connection had to perfectly balance the load. Too much qi through one channel and it would overload. Too little and the formation wouldn't activate properly.

Wei Chen used every trick he'd learned. Redundant pathways. Load balancing algorithms. Fail-safe triggers. The Dispersion Array was the most complex formation he'd ever attempted, and he was building it under tournament pressure with minimal testing.

If it failed, he'd be exposed to Foundation Establishment attacks with no defense.

No pressure… one mistake and I’ll probably die.

By the fifth hour, the formation was physically complete. Wei Chen started the activation sequence, carefully threading qi through each channel to verify connections. The formation hummed to life, nodes glowing faintly. Power consumption was immediate and significant. He fed spirit stones into each node, watching them drain at an alarming rate. He owed the Elder for giving him stones and the materials. 

The Dispersion Array would last maybe ten minutes of active use before the spirit stones depleted. Less if Mei Lin attacked continuously.

Wei Chen would need to end the match fast.

The sixth hour was spent on contingencies. He placed a simple qi trap in the center, more to gather information than drain Mei Lin's reserves. He positioned a decoy formation near the boundary, visible enough to draw attention. And he kept three of Wang Liu's premium flags in reserve, unused. Emergency options if everything else failed.

By the time the preparation period ended, Wei Chen had spent everything. Zero spirit stones remaining. His formation network was active but fragile. One major mistake and it would collapse.

The arena was filled with spectators as the semifinals began. The other semifinal match would happen first. Zhang Ming versus some Foundation Establishment cultivator Wei Chen didn't recognize.

Wei Chen watched from the waiting area.

Zhang Ming entered the arena with visible confidence. Qi Gathering Stage 8, strong cultivation for outer sect, and family backing that meant resources and training most disciples never saw.

His opponent was Foundation Establishment Stage 2. One stage higher than Mei Lin. The match should have been close.

It wasn't.

Zhang Ming opened with overwhelming offense. Fire qi wrapped around his attacks, techniques that cost massive amounts of energy but hit with devastating force. His opponent defended competently, using Foundation Establishment durability to tank hits that would cripple Qi Gathering cultivators.

But Zhang Ming kept coming. Attack after attack, spending qi like he had infinite reserves. And maybe he did. Family backing meant pills, elixirs, and cultivation resources that could extend his capacity beyond normal limits.

Five minutes into the match, his opponent was forced back to the arena boundary. Seven minutes in, a particularly brutal strike broke through defenses and landed solid. The opponent went down.

The match was over.

Zhang Ming had won through raw power, overwhelming force, and resource advantage. No strategy. No complexity. Just better cultivation backed by better resources.

The crowd cheered. This was cultivation world logic. The stronger wins. Simple, direct, understandable.

Zhang Ming looked across the arena at Wei Chen. The message was clear.

You're next.

Wei Chen felt nothing. No anger, no fear, no particular emotion. Just a calculation. Zhang Ming had shown his approach. Overwhelming offense, sustained pressure, force over finesse.

That was useful information.

The second semifinal was called. Wei Chen versus Mei Lin.

They entered the arena from opposite sides. Mei Lin moved with confidence, someone who'd earned her Foundation Establishment through hard work and knew her capabilities. She saw Wei Chen's formations, her eyes tracking the visible arrays.

"Formations," she said across the distance. Not dismissive. Just acknowledging.

"Yes."

"I watched your matches. You beat Liu Hong and Chen Hua through preparation and tactics. I respect that." Mei Lin gathered her qi, and Wei Chen felt the pressure. Foundation Establishment qi signature, dense and powerful. "But tactics have limits. Sometimes power matters more than cleverness."

"Sometimes," Wei Chen agreed. "Just not today."

Mei Lin smiled slightly. "We'll see."

The supervising elder raised his hand. "Same rules. Match ends on yield, unconsciousness, or boundary exit. Begin."

Mei Lin moved.

Not charging blindly like Liu Hong. Not probing carefully like Chen Hua. She advanced steadily, qi already channeling into her first technique. Balanced approach. Testing Wei Chen's formations while maintaining offensive pressure.

Her first attack came fast. Earth-aspected qi forming into a projectile technique. Solid, heavy, designed to break through barriers.

It hit Wei Chen's redirect array. The formation tried to catch it, redirect it, and send it back. The attack was too powerful. The redirect formation strained, managed partial deflection, but the technique still came through.

Weakened. Maybe sixty percent power instead of full force. But still coming.

The attack hit the Mirage Wall. The barrier component absorbed what it could. The impact shattered the visible portion of the Mirage Wall completely. The illusion component flickered and died.

One formation down in the first exchange.

Mei Lin's eyes narrowed. 

Wei Chen triggered the Dispersion Array.

Mei Lin's second attack came in. Another earth technique, stronger than the first. It entered the Dispersion Array's grid and immediately scattered. Twelve different directions, power divided across multiple vectors. Each individual fragment was weak enough to be harmless.

The attack dispersed into nothing.

Mei Lin stopped. Studied the arena. She couldn't see the Dispersion Array, but she could see the result. Her attack had vanished without hitting anything visible.

"Hidden formation," she said. "Clever."

She launched three attacks simultaneously, from different angles and different power levels. Testing the hidden formation's coverage and capacity.

The Dispersion Array caught all three. Scattered them. But Wei Chen felt the spirit stones draining fast. Each attack consumed power. Mei Lin had Foundation Establishment reserves. She could attack dozens of times. The Dispersion Array would last maybe six more exchanges.

Wei Chen needed to change the equation.

He activated the qi trap. Not to drain Mei Lin significantly, that would take too long. But to gather data. The trap measured her qi signature, her attack patterns, and her preferred techniques.

Information was a weapon.

Mei Lin kept attacking. Methodical, testing. Each strike pushed the Dispersion Array closer to collapse. Wei Chen counted the spirit stones as they depleted. Four exchanges left. Three. Two.

He needed to end this now.

Wei Chen had been standing still, watching, calculating. Now he moved. Not retreating. Advancing. Directly toward Mei Lin.

She paused, surprised. Nobody advanced toward a Foundation Establishment cultivator in direct combat. Not at Qi Gathering Stage 1.

Unless they had a plan.

Mei Lin's hesitation cost her half a second. Wei Chen used it to position himself exactly where he needed to be. He triggered the decoy formation near the boundary behind him, creating a flash and surge of qi.

Mei Lin's attention snapped to it instinctively. Her next attack was redirected toward the decoy. The attack destroyed the decoy formation. But it bought Wei Chen time.

One exchange left in the Dispersion Array.

Mei Lin realized the situation. Her attacks were being dispersed somehow, but she didn't know the formation's limits. Wei Chen's advance suggested confidence. Either he had more defenses or he was bluffing.

She chose overwhelming force. Better to break whatever formations remained than to keep testing.

Mei Lin gathered her qi into a major technique. Foundation Establishment full power, earth-aspected, designed to shatter everything in its path.

With a smile, she unleashed her attack.

The attack hit the Dispersion Array. Twelve nodes strained simultaneously, the amount of qi they were trying to deal with being more than before. The formation scattered the technique, but the sheer power overloaded several channels. Three nodes failed immediately. The remaining nine held but barely.

Wei Chen triggered his final trick.

The three premium flags he'd held in reserve activated simultaneously. Not as a formation. As raw qi batteries. He'd charged them during preparation, storing his own qi in the flags rather than using them for structure.

The stored qi released all at once, directed not at Mei Lin but at the Dispersion Array's remaining nodes. He did an emergency power injection. The failing formation stabilized, reinforced by the sudden energy infusion.

Mei Lin's major technique finished scattering. She stood in the center of the arena, qi reserves noticeably depleted from the massive attack. She'd expected it to break through. It hadn't.

The Dispersion Array was dying. Two more exchanges, maximum. But Mei Lin didn't know that.

Wei Chen raised his hand, showing the last redirect talisman. Same trick that worked on Chen Hua. Psychological pressure. The talisman wouldn't stop a Foundation Establishment attack. But Mei Lin couldn't know that for certain.

She evaluated. Her qi reserves were lower than planned. The hidden formation was still active, somehow. Wei Chen had resources she hadn't accounted for. Continuing meant gambling that she could outlast his defenses.

Or she could yield. The choices were bad but everyone had heard what Wei Chen’s redirect talisman could do. 

Mei Lin took a breath. Smiled slightly. "You're better prepared than I expected. That hidden formation it disperses attacks somehow. And you reinforced it when I tried to break through."

"Yes."

"How long can it last?"

Wei Chen said nothing.

“Do you honestly think you can overcome me with that cheap talisman?”

“Cheap? You should be able to tell it’s higher quality than the ones I sold a few days ago. Still if you want to try, feel free. Just remember what happened to my first opponent.”

Mei Lin frowned and then laughed. "Fair enough. You've earned this." She bowed properly. "Yield."

The supervising elder raised his hand. "Match concluded. Winner: Wei Chen."

The crowd's reaction was different this time. Not just thoughtful appreciation. Actual shock. Wei Chen had defeated a Foundation Establishment cultivator solely through formations. That wasn't supposed to be possible.

But he'd done it.

Mei Lin walked across the arena. "That dispersal formation. Your own design?"

"Yes."

"It's impressive. I can only imagine how expensive it was, but still very impressive. You'll need something even better for the finals. Zhang Ming has more power and more resources than I do. I’m pretty certain you are aware that he's been watching every trick you have."

"I know."

"Good luck. You'll need it." She left the arena, and Wei Chen started collecting his materials.

The Dispersion Array was completely spent. Eight of the twelve nodes had burned out. The remaining four were barely functional. The formation had held long enough.

The redirect array and Mirage Wall were destroyed. The qi trap was depleted. The decoy was gone. The three premium flags that had saved the match were completely drained.

Wei Chen had zero resources left. No formations, no spirit stones, no backup plans.

But he'd done it. Beat a Foundation Establishment cultivator. Proven formations could punch above their weight class. The elders had seen what mattered: innovation, preparation, strategic thinking over raw power.

The specialty showcase was guaranteed now. That was the goal. That's what he'd needed.

The finals against Zhang Ming? That was something else entirely.

Wei Chen slowly collected his spent materials, his body finally registering the exhaustion. Tomorrow's match wasn't part of the original plan. The evaluation only required advancing past one opponent to reach the showcase. He'd done that and more.

But Zhang Ming would be a problem regardless of whether Wei Chen fought him. The entitled brat with family backing who'd been watching every trick, every technique, every formation Wei Chen possessed.

Better to face him now, in controlled circumstances, than later when Zhang Ming chose the time and place.

Besides, Wei Chen had one thing Zhang Ming didn't expect.

He'd never been fighting to win the tournament. He'd been gathering data.

Elder Shen appeared near the arena entrance. His face was neutral, but Wei Chen caught something in his eyes. Not quite approval. More like intense calculation.

"You won," Elder Shen said simply.

"Yes, Elder."

"Against a Foundation Establishment cultivator. Using formations that shouldn't have worked."

"They barely worked," Wei Chen replied.

"But they did work. That's what matters." Elder Shen remained silent for a bit. "Zhang Ming is stronger than Mei Lin. More resources, better techniques, and he's spent two days watching you. He knows every formation you have, every trick, every tactic. You can't beat him the same way you beat the others."

"I know."

"So how do you plan to win?"

Wei Chen considered lying. Considered evasion. But Elder Shen had invested in him, given him resources and support. He deserved honesty.

"I don't know yet," Wei Chen said. "But I have tonight to figure it out."

Elder Shen considered that statement. Then he pulled out a small pouch and handed it over. "Formation Hall emergency allocation. Fifty mid-grade spirit stones. Use them."

"Thank you, Elder."

"Don't thank me. Win. Zhang Ming represents everything wrong with the current political situation in the Formation Hall. Family connections, resource advantages, and zero innovation. If you beat him tomorrow through formations, it proves something important. It proves formations matter."

Elder Shen walked away before Wei Chen could respond.

Wei Chen stood there, processing. Tomorrow's match wasn't just about winning the evaluation. It was about proving formations could compete with traditional cultivation. That intelligence and preparation could overcome raw power and resource advantages.

I’m really getting used to this kind of pressure.  Just another day at the office…

Wei Chen headed for Formation Hall workshop three. The sun was setting. He had one night to design formations that could beat an opponent who'd watched every trick he had.

Zhang Ming knew about the redirect array. He'd expect it and target it.

He knew about the Mirage Wall. He'd look for it and destroy it first.

He knew about hidden formations. He'd probe carefully before committing.

Wei Chen needed something completely different. Not improved versions of existing formations. Something Zhang Ming wouldn't expect because he'd never seen it before.

Wei Chen reached the workshop and pulled out his journal.

It was time to innovate.

One night. One opponent. Everything on the line.

It was time to get creative and come up with something new.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 093a

Phaius frowned as the doorway opened and he entered the room where Wekime was.

Summoned again… this is getting old. 

“Phaius,” Wekime said, his tone seemingly kinder than usual. “I appreciate you coming so quickly.”

“When one of your stature beckons, one of mine is usually not foolish enough to ignore that invitation,” the human god replied, moving to stand before the dragonkin god who was lounging in a tan, stone chair. “Tell me, what can I help you with?”

“See, that question is a bit odd,” Wekime said, motioning a claw toward a chair that appeared behind Phaius. “You ask me how you can help me and yet I have heard rumors that a while ago, our shared friend, Max, visited your world. Is this true?”

Not reacting to the question, Phaius glanced at the chair and then sat, knowing it would be easier not to reject this offer.

“I’m sorry, but how would he be able to reach my world? And even if he had, why wouldn’t someone notify me that it had happened before informing you?”

“So you’re not denying that Max visited your world?” the dragon god asked, his golden eyes narrowing.

“Nor am I saying that he did,” Phaius said. “Though I am curious… the god of dragons, one who fiercely protects his kind and makes others know not to mess with them, appears to have allowed Max to bond with a dragon. Surely I should have been told of such a thing happening on my world.”

Neither said a word as both stared at the other.

Phaius knew the power disparity between the two of them was so wide that he could never hope to draw close. Yet he also knew some rules prevented one of Wekime’s stature from acting in specific ways.

The problem is that no one really knows what their limits are and none of them are going to share that kind of knowledge.

“So is that what you wanted to see me about?” Phaius asked after what felt like an eternity of silence. 

Wekime smacked his lips, then used a claw to pick at a spot between his teeth. “You know, Phaius…. You have changed since our first meeting. I remember the god who gave so much to meet me and ask a question. I also remember returning a portion of what you offered. Yet here you sit, not giving me anything in return.”

“The game we play does not promise anything for free, and I know that you have… sunk your claws into my world and me,” Phaius replied. Hundreds of thousands of years had helped him not cower under the potential power before him. There wasn’t any doubt that if Wekime wanted to end his life or have it ended, it would happen, but he would go down fighting. It was one thing to know you were someone’s pawn, and it was another to have paid to be a pawn. “I am grateful for the power you let me keep, but we both know you have been using me since that day. Part of me isn’t sure that  you weren’t involved in getting Max that black skill.”

A chuckle escaped Wekime’s throat and the dragon god thrummed. “Me? Able to directly influence who acquires a black skill? Please, not even one of my position can do that.”

“And yet that’s not an actual true denial,” Phaius stated. “So tell me, what is so important about knowing if Max visited one of my worlds? How would that involve you or even be a concern?”

Both golden eyes started to glow and the dragon god leaned forward slightly. “I would caution you on the tone you take when speaking. Some might not find it acceptable and act out. Thankfully, I do not do so.”

Wekime leaned back into his chair, the display he had just put on seemingly over.

The dragon is bonded to Max, which means there is a connection between them. How much, I’m not certain. 

Phaius had already spent time trying to figure out what a bond with a dragon meant. It was rare for most races to be willing given that option. Some took it by force or through magic and those bonds offered less power in return. His searching and questions over the last year had revealed two things. Only one small mention of a god being bound to a dragon. Even more important was that there was no mention of both the being and the dragon who were bonded defeating the tower.

“I’ll tell you what. You give me something worthwhile and I’ll give you something in return,” Phaius said. “I know you’re playing a game I cannot begin to fathom and yet somehow these black skills are at the center of it. I’ve been around long enough to know you and the other eight always cause chaos and conflict when they are unleashed. Yet I’ve never seen this kind of involvement before. What’s different? Is it because Max isn’t consumed by the skill he possesses?”

Wekime sat there, not replying or moving for a few moments. Eventually, the dragon god brought its two hands together, tapping a pair of claws. “You share much knowledge that many would pay greatly for so freely. Some would think you a fool for doing so, and yet I know you are not. The god who once stood before me has changed. Tell me, Phaius. Do you really want to play the game like I and the others? Are you aware of the risks one puts themselves at if they make a mistake?”

Before he could answer, Wekime raised a hand and stopped him.

“Patience. Listen. I will give you more knowledge in this moment than many others would ever hope to acquire. You see the game different than those beneath you do. You realize there are many boards and so many pieces in play. Worlds are nothing, lives are nothing. You know that already because you were willing to give up two without hesitating, simply to find out what you could about Max before you knew anything else. Tell me why and then I shall give you the knowledge you need and desire.”

Phaius felt his throat tighten and his stomach clench. Wekime was offering him wisdom that could take three or four times the number of years he had already existed, but at what cost, Phaius wasn’t sure of.  

I know there are more boards than I can see but how many exist… Ockrim and I have discussed that topic a few times.  And he is right… I know exactly why I wanted to remove Max before I knew who he was.

“You promise to give me knowledge that will help me play the game better and survive longer?” Phaius asked. “In exchange for me answering your last question?”

A low thrum came from Wekime, who clapped his hands. The dragon god smiled and nodded. “See! Already, you are proving your wisdom. While what you asked and how you framed it shows both tact and guile, there is still much more you could learn but that is outside of this discussion. Very well, I will give you the wisdom you need for what is coming if you answer my question.”

Phaius nodded, knowing the System would hear these agreements and hold a portion of it fast.

“I wanted Max dead because I know the danger of being a god whose world has a black skill upon it.”

“That’s it?” Wekime asked, raising a single eyeridge.

“That’s the reason. I heard what happened to the other gods who had one come from their world. While I’m not sure how the other realms handle it… the knowledge that is share is often the god whose world provides the black skill holder doesn’t survive long.”

Wekime chuckled, not thrumming how he normally did, and then he laughed, a cackle of sorts that echoed off the tan stone walls that surrounded them.

Phaius had to force himself not to react as the dragon god lay his head back and continued to roar with amusement for a while longer.  Eventually, he stopped, a pair of glowing eyes staring straight ahead.

“You do realize that Max will survive, and he will gain a considerable amount of power?” Wekime asked.

“I believe he will,” Phaius replied, sensing something else to come.

“Not every black skill holder makes it this far. Some fall early, others continue on. You know the prophecies of the fight they must have.”

Slowly, he nodded his head at Wekime, sensing the real point coming soon.

“There have been times when one of the skills did not reach that battle,” the dragon god stated. “Those times were… dangerous. Chaos reigned as the power that should have been kept within boundaries was let loose. Long before the two skill holders clashed, many gods had died at their hands. Others were destroyed in the fight that took place.”

Wekime paused, leaning forward. Slowly, he pointed a claw at Phaius. “We want all three to be there to help control the chaos that comes. But as a god whose world produced a black skill holder, you will be privy to power which you have not earned.”

Phaius flinched, knowing already what they were talking about.

“Three percent isn’t–”

“Do not lie to yourself,” Wekime said. “Tell me… would you gladly give up three percent of all the Divine Points you have acquired so far?”

Frowning, Phaius shook his head.

“And tell me, what do some gods desire more than anything else?”

He didn’t have to think long or hard. Every god struggled with it.

“The desire for more power.”

Thrumming, Wekime leaned back once more. “Exactly. And once the name of the three gods who acquire gains from the black skill holders is shared, how do you think their lives become?”

The pit in his stomach, which had been forming, tripled in size. Phaius knew this wasn’t a threat but a simple truth, one that he had hoped wouldn’t happen. Max had already contributed more DP than he initially thought was possible. Hearing that Wekime believed Max would reach whatever final fight would take place meant that he would become stronger and earn a lot more Divine Points.

“So what is the knowledge you are going to give me that I need?” Phaius asked. “I was already aware of that possibility.”

Snorting, Wekime shook his head. “No… You were not really aware of how much danger you were in. Every one of the other eight will want to question you, to learn what they can about the one from your world. Some will offer you a trade, others will offer you a chance to live. Each will want to know what they can about him to try and control or direct his path.”

Phaius was about to open his mouth and ask the question that seemed so obvious to ask next, but he stopped.

Why… why would they… 

And then the answer came and a small thrumming noise grew louder as Wekime clapped his hands.

“Yes! The wisdom I promised!”

Things that Phaius had never considered about the game suddenly made sense and had he not feared potential punishment, he might have spat on the floor next to him.

Focusing upon the one before him, Phaius could see the look in the god's eyes and see the glimmer of power and excitement. 

Max is a weapon… a pawn… no… something else to decimate every other board.

“Now for a little more than you asked or were promised,” Wekime said softly. “You know the reason, you know your position. Tell me, Phaius, are you ready to play a game beyond like what you ever knew or will you let the game play you?”

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 17

The cold intensified the moment they passed beyond the outer palisade. 

It wasn't like the cold in the camp, where fires and bodies created some warmth. Out here, the wind cut through everything, carrying with it the scent of smoke. The brown-tinged snow stretched before them, marked with frozen pools of red and the occasional jutting spike of ice that rose from the ground like teeth. Gusts of wind would sweep through, blowing hard for a moment and then vanishing, an eerie silence left in its place.

Francis wore his chain armor with a layer of fur over the top. He didn’t have as much as the barbarians wore, but enough to keep the worst of the cold at bay. The rest of the pack wore only pelts and leather, their bodies having adapted to the brutal temperature, and the cost of a full suit of chain mail was well beyond their wealth.

They look comfortable. 

Hroden raised his hand, signaling the pack to halt. About fifty yards to their left, Nessa's pack was doing the same.

"We split here," Hroden said quietly. "Our packs will stay within a hundred yards of each other. Lynxkin like to hit multiple groups at once, keeping us from helping each other."

"They’re smart," Francis muttered.

"They are," Helga replied. "Never forget that. These aren't mindless beasts like the ones you described in your kingdom."

I’m not sure I ever said they were mindless. More of a horde mentality.

Hroden looked at Francis. "Standard formation. I'll take point, you and Vornak—"

"Let me take point," Francis interrupted.

The pack leader frowned. "Why?"

"Because my life depends on all of yours staying alive," Francis said. "I promised the Jarl that everyone would return. That means I need to be in front, where I can react first."

Hroden studied him for a long moment. "You believe you’ll be able to detect them before me? I’ve been doing this for a long time, and most of the time the entire pack returns."

"I do," Francis admitted. "My ability to do such a thing is why my General and my King sent me here. At some point, I’m going to have to prove to you and every other barbarian that I’m worthy to help."

Selka scoffed, her voice carrying a challenge. “What, like you think you’re special? We know you're stronger and faster, but one needs to have good eyes and see everything. One’s Perception is sometimes more important than the other two.”

"Mine’s Advanced," Francis replied, sharing his stat even though most would never do so.

“Korvald’s blood,” Helga cursed. “His is higher than mine!”

That drew surprised looks from everyone except Hroden, who simply nodded slowly.

"Fine," the pack leader said. "But you call out anything you sense. Don't try to handle it alone. Understand?"

"Understood," Francis said.

They moved forward in formation. Francis took point, with Hroden slightly behind and to his right. Vornak held the center, his hammer ready. Eirik and Harald flanked the sides, while Selka covered the rear. Helga stayed in the middle, bow at the ready, her eyes scanning constantly.

The crunch of snow under their boots was the only sound they could hear. Francis tried to move quietly, placing his feet carefully, but the frozen crust made it nearly impossible to stay silent.

The Lynxkin already knows we're here. The real question is when they’ll show themselves.

They moved deeper into the battlefield, passing frozen corpses half-buried in snow. Some were beastkin, others were barbarians. 

Francis's eyes swept constantly, looking for movement, for anything that didn't fit the patterns of snow and ice. The wind died for a moment, and in that brief stillness, Francis caught something.

A shimmer. Barely visible against the white landscape.

"Ahead, right, about twenty yards," Francis said quietly, not slowing down his gait. “I’ll shift us toward it.” 

The pack immediately moved with him, their weapons coming up, and the formation tightening.

"I see it," Helga whispered.

As she spoke, Francis's Battle Sense sensed movement..

"Four of them!" he shouted. "All sides!"

Four cat-like creatures with white fur materialized from nowhere. They moved quickly, their claws extended, their yellow eyes fixed on their prey. One came at Francis from the front, another from his right. The third went for Vornak, and the fourth he could sense was trying to circle toward Helga.

Francis crossed his swords as the front Lynxkin slashed at him. Claws scraped against steel, and Francis shoved forward, breaking the beast's stance. His right sword came around in a quick slash that opened the creature's shoulder.

The second Lynxkin tried to hit him from the side. Francis's enhanced perception tracked both attackers at once. He parried the claws with his left sword and drove his right toward the wounded one's throat.

[ Quick Attack ]

The blade pierced the white fur with ease, finding flesh. The Lynxkin gurgled and dropped, blood steaming in the cold air.

One down.

Behind him, Francis could hear the sounds of fighting. Vornak's hammer crashed against something solid. Harald shouted a warning. Helga's bowstring twanged.

The remaining Lynxkin facing Francis tried to disengage, backing up to create distance. But Francis had fought these things too many times to let it escape.

[ Flurry ]

His swords became a blur. Three strikes in rapid succession—chest, arm, neck. The Lynxkin tried to block, but Francis was too fast. It collapsed into the snow, red spreading around its body.

Francis spun to check on the others.

Vornak had killed his attacker, the hammer buried in its skull. Eirik and Harald had cornered the fourth one, both of them bleeding from shallow cuts but working together to keep it pinned. Helga's arrow finished it, the blunt practice tip replaced with a real one that punched through the creature's eye.

"Everyone alright?" Hroden asked, breathing hard.

"Few scratches," Eirik said. "Nothing serious."

"Good," Hroden said. Then his head snapped toward Nessa's position. "Damn."

Francis followed his gaze. About eighty yards away, Nessa's pack was engaged with their own group of Lynxkin. But something was wrong. One of the barbarians was down, not moving. Another was limping badly.

"We need to help them," Harald said, already moving.

"Wait," Hroden commanded. "That's what they want. Classic Lynxkin tactic—hit both groups at once, then hit whoever tries to help with a second wave."

He's right. If we rush over there, we'll get ambushed.

"So what do we do?" Selka demanded. "Let them die?"

"No," Hroden said. "We move carefully. Formation tight. Francis, you stay at point and call out like you just did. We had more time than usual thanks to you."

"Understood," Francis replied, immediately getting into position.

They began moving toward Nessa's pack, slower this time, weapons ready. Francis's eyes swept the landscape, his perception straining to catch any hint of movement.

If Stenson were here with a mage, one area spell would clear this entire section. But I doubt he will be able to convince the mages to give us that luxury. 

They'd covered maybe thirty yards when Francis's Battle Sense told him things were about to get exceptionally worse.

"Eight!" he shouted. "Two packs! All around us!"

The Lynxkin materialized like ghosts.

Eight white-furred predators, moving in perfect coordination. Four came at them from the front, two from each flank, and two more circled to cut off retreat.

Shit!

"Defensive circle!" Hroden roared. "Protect Helga!"

The pack immediately formed up, backs toward the center, Helga in the middle. Francis found himself between Hroden and Selka, three Lynxkin advancing on their section.

The first one lunged at Francis.

[ Guarded Stance ]

His body hardened as claws raked across his chest. The chain mail absorbed most of it, but he still felt the impact. Francis countered with a thrust that caught the Lynxkin in the shoulder, forcing it back.

Two more came at him simultaneously. Francis's perception tracked both, his body reacting on instinct honed through hundreds of deaths.

[ Riposte ]

He deflected the left one's claws and redirected the attack into the right one. The two Lynxkin collided, snarling at each other. Francis took the opening.

[ Power Strike ]

His right sword came down with everything he had. The blade carved through the first Lynxkin's spine, dropping it instantly.

The second one tried to retreat, but Francis was already moving.

[ Flurry ]

Three quick strikes. Throat, chest, belly. The Lynxkin collapsed, gurgling its last breath.

Francis spun to engage the third, but it was already dead, one of Helga's arrows protruding from its eye socket.

"Left flank!" Harald shouted.

Francis turned to see Harald and Eirik struggling against two Lynxkin. Both barbarians were bleeding, their movements slowing.

"Francis!" Hroden called out. "Help them!"

Francis charged.

He hit the first Lynxkin from behind, both swords driving into its back. The creature shrieked and collapsed. The second one turned to face him, giving Harald the opening he needed. The young barbarian's spear punched through the beast's ribs.

"Thanks," Harald gasped.

"Behind you!" someone screamed.

Francis spun.

Selka was on the ground, a Lynxkin standing over her. Her axe lay a few feet away, knocked from her grip. The beast's claws were raised, ready to deliver the killing blow.

Francis didn't think. He just ran.

The Lynxkin's claws came down.

Francis's sword intercepted them, the clash of steel on claw ringing out. The force was nothing compared to the Ursalof or his own strength.

The Lynxkin snarled, trying to push through his guard. Francis shoved it back with ease and stepped between it and Selka.

[ Power Strike ]

His left sword came around in a brutal arc that took the Lynxkin's head clean off. The body collapsed, blood spraying across the white snow.

Francis turned to Selka. "You alright?"

She stared at him, blood running down her face from a gash on her forehead. Her expression was unreadable.

"I... yes," she said quietly.

"Get your axe," Francis said, placing one sword in the snow and offering her his hand.

Selka took it. He pulled her to her feet.

"Clear!" Hroden called out. "All down!"

Francis looked around. Eight dead Lynxkin lay scattered in the snow. The pack was battered, bleeding, but alive.

Vornak had a nasty gash on his arm. Eirik was favoring his left leg. Harald's face was covered in shallow cuts. Even Hroden was breathing hard, blood seeping through his furs.

But they were all standing.

"Everyone accounted for?" Hroden asked.

"Here," Vornak grunted.

"Good," Eirik said through gritted teeth.

"Still alive," Harald added.

"Same," Helga confirmed.

Selka said nothing, but she nodded.

"Francis?" Hroden asked.

"I'm good," Francis replied. His chain mail had taken most of the damage, though he could feel a little bit of warmth where some claws had gotten through.

I can’t play weak much longer… having to protect them makes it way harder to fight. It’s like the first few times back in the army with Michael and the others.

Hroden looked toward where Nessa's pack had been fighting. They were finishing off their last Lynxkin, but Francis could see at least two barbarians down.

"We need to get back," Hroden said. "Now. Before another wave hits us."

"What about Nessa?" Harald asked.

"They're already moving back," Helga observed. "See? They know the drill."

"Then we do the same," Hroden commanded. "Formation. We move fast but careful. Francis, keep sensing. If anything else is out here, I want to know."

They began the retreat, moving as quickly as their injuries allowed. Francis stayed on point, his perception stretched to its limits, searching for any hint of more Lynxkin.

We managed to kill twelve of them, and everyone lived. That's... that's actually good.

But as they passed back through the outer palisade and into the relative safety of the camp, Francis couldn't shake one thought.

Selka was going to die. I saw it happening. And I stopped it.

He glanced back at her. She was walking near the rear, her hand pressed against the gash on her forehead, her expression distant.

Maybe that changes things. Or maybe it doesn't. Either way, everyone came back alive, just like I promised.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 093 -

Fowl stood beside Batrire as they watched another group enter the tower.

“That’s the third one today,” he said. “It appears that our kind has had a fire lit within them to push beyond what they thought was possible.”

“Aye,” Batrire replied, nodding. “Kurrar’s success has prompted many to work harder. So what is it you’re thinking in that large head of yours? I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.”

Fowl grunted and ignored her teasing. 

Max and Jazzjak are right. It’s time to strike while the metal is hot and our people are focused on what is possible.

“We once talked about forming a school for our people that focuses on training for the tower. Not like a faction but an academy. I think now is the time.”

He watched his wife study him. Her face was expressionless, something he wasn’t sure if she intentionally did to frustrate him or just her normal resting face.  After a moment, she stroked her oiled beard and nodded.

“The idea is a good one,” Batrire stated. “I think we should make it happen. Do you already have an idea of where you want to put it?”

Fowl grinned and summoned a table, setting it in the stone near the tower, and then pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper.  Unfurling it revealed a dragon’s eye view of their capital.

“I was thinking here,” he said, tapping a section of the capital to the north east, “would be the best spot. Water is easy to divert there, and we would have close proximity to a few dungeon portals of various levels. The stone there is good and we could build dorms, kitchens and training areas without any problems.”

“And who would be supporting this endeavor?” Batrire asked. 

“In the beginning, it would be our gift as well as from their King and Queen. After a few years, it would be up to Korrun and Melgret to determine if the kingdom will cover the cost or require something from those who enroll.”

Fowl waited for a reply, watching her chew on her bottom lip for a few seconds, studying the area on the map he had pointed to.

“Was this all your idea, or did you get help?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” Fowl replied with a grin. Seeing her eyes narrow, he sighed. “Fine… I ran it by Korrun, Melgret, and Jazzjak. They all felt it would be a fantastic idea.”

“And when were you doing all this?” Batrire inquired.

“While you were training with Max,” Fowl said. “I didn’t sit around doing nothing while you were gone.”

Batrire grunted and shook her head a couple of times before smiling.  “You lied to me… when I asked what you did after returning from being tortured by Max, you said nothing.”

Grinning, Fowl shrugged and then started to roll the map up. “What? Can’t I have some secrets?”

She leaned close and grabbed his beard, keeping him from finishing the task he had just started. “Fowl Hammerfall, I love you.”

“I know, woman, but don’t do that here… the guards are watching.”

Batrire turned and saw the pair outside the tower, suddenly looking anywhere but the spot she and Fowl were at. “Bah, let them watch. I don’t care.”

***

Fowl motioned to Max to shift the wall of stone he had created slightly to the right.

“There! That’s it!” he shouted.

“We’re moving faster than I expected,” Melgret said as she glanced at the plans Fowl had on a clipboard. “You didn’t tell us that we’d be getting help like this.”

“He kind of owes me,” Fowl said, motioning at Max with a finger. “Besides, he likes to show off and I think he’s enjoying this more than I expected he would.”

Turning his full attention back to the design before him, Fowl mentally checked off the things they needed to do.  

The dorms are complete and just need finishing on the inside… We’ll be done with the training area by tonight. That just leaves the classrooms. 

“You sure that’s the right spot?” Max called out after jogging toward them. “I was certain I had it set at the angle you said.”

Looking up from his notes, Fowl noticed the grin on his half-brother’s lips. “Bah, you’re lying and we both know it. If I felt like being mean, I’d accuse you of doing that on purpose to see if I’d notice.”

Max shrugged and kept that stupid grin he always had. “Maybe, but I’m glad to see you’re able to do more than just absorb blows.  Besides, I really like what you’re doing here.”

Fowl felt a sense of pride in his chest. He didn’t mention it out loud, but the fact that Max wanted to be a part of this and one day mimic it felt like he had done something right. 

“Just remember your promise. I get a hundred years at least before you go and try building something like this.”

Max nodded and summoned his own clipboard. “So we have what, two main walls left and then a few smaller sections? How long till the stone arrives?”

Fowl turned and studied the carts that continued to flow in and out of the area the academy would be built. Like ants, they formed a line, winding toward the cliffs where stone was being cut from the mountain.

“Probably in a few hours we’ll have enough for the second wall and a couple after that we’ll be able to get the last one,” Fowl replied. “Some of my people were a bit saddened at first that they wouldn’t get to place every stone by hand but when they saw how easily you used the stone they provided, I think most understood the reason for letting you do it.”

“I’m not doing all the work,” Max replied, pointing at a few dwarves who were shaping some stone. “Those five are also doing work.”

Laughing, Fowl shook his head. “Bah, we both know they’ve done less than a percent of what you have. It takes them forever to regenerate their mana after forming something. You just keep on going. Still, it’s been a good experience for all of them.”

Three sharp whistles came and Fowl turned to see a line of carts coming from a different direction.  Each of them was filled with stone and ore from Sog’s kingdom.

“It appears you’ve got everything you need from the others,” Max said. “Cordellia’s wood should be here soon enough. You never told me how much all this is going to cost you.”

“That’s because my wife doesn’t want me to discuss kingdom politics,” Fowl muttered. “She let Korrun handle all of the negotiations.” A cough came from behind him and he turned to see the Queen of the dwarves smiling.

“Ah… forgive me,” Fowl said. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I wouldn’t be foolish enough to argue with a god. Besides, I think my husband has enjoyed getting a chance to negotiate like this. I’ve seen the numbers and feel he did fine. For so long we’ve been very generous, as have the other kingdoms, with our trades. Eventually, it will change but right now we’re laying the foundation of how things might proceed long after we are gone.”

“Do you really think about when that might be?” Max asked.

Fowl watched as the Queen nodded, never backing down when Max spoke to her.

“I do. I know that humans often see time differently,” Melgret said. “Many who were here when our world began, of your kind, have already passed. While some still have another fifty years before they will be laid to rest, our people have hundreds of years or more. Memories fade and promises made will be forgotten.  All we can do is strive to build upon the framework you and the other gods have created to try and keep peace between the races as long as possible.”

Fowl heard some of the thoughts Batrire occasionally in the words Melgret spoke.

“It’s true,” he said, turning his attention to Max. “Both Batrire and I have spent many nights speaking with Melgret and Korrun on how we want our people to be ruled. I think the model that Ockrim gave us and the way that we lived was a good one. Family and people handle the little things while the royalty deals with the big ones.”

“I agree,” Max replied. “I’ve watched Edward and Lanyra handle our people like yours. Even though I’m only half dwarf, I’ve tried to instill the importance of family.”

“You’re only half-dwarf because you don’t have a beard,” Fowl teased. “Now, let’s get ready for this next load of stone. I want to have this spot finished and opened before the rains begin in a month.”

Max came and gently punched him on the arm. “Don’t worry about that,” he stated. “The way your people work, you’ll be done in a week.”

***

Fowl squeezed Batrires' hand as they stood in the courtyard that led to the main building of the academy.  Black stone from Sog’s kingdom had been used for the classroom and administration area. Its natural durability would handle and potential mishaps that might take place in some of the labs and stood out from the normal brown or tan stone that came from the mountain.  

“We did it,” he whispered. 

“No, you did it,” Batrire said. “I’ve watched you work nonstop since we started. I’m proud of you.”

“Ahh, don’t make me cry,” he teased, pretending to wipe a tear away. “I’m excited for next week when the official opening of this place happens.”

Together they walked through the doors, nodding and acknowledging the workers who were adding final details to the stone. Every crafter who was skilled with stone carving came and made their mark, knowing it would stand for thousands of years, a testament of their life and gift to future generations.

Thick wooden doors, all carved with runes, many with phrases that Batrire had come up with, stood open, letting air flow freely through the building.  Their steps seemed to resonate with the rock beneath them, almost as if it approved of their presence and what they had done.

“Can you imagine a place where any dwarf can come and learn?” Fowl asked. “I mean… other races can come too, but this is a legacy for our people.”

Batrire’s hand tightened on his. “I know… in some ways…” She paused, taking a deep breath before letting it out. “This will be our children.”

Fowl stopped walking and pulled her toward him. His free hand brushed her cheek, wiping away the small, damp spot that had appeared.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I wish I could give you the other, but will gladly love on every child that comes to this place as if they came from our very flesh.”

Batrire smiled and gently stroked his beard. “But they do come from our flesh. Each of them is here because of us.”

Fowl blinked a few times, and the realization of why his wife spoke the way she always had suddenly made sense.

They are our children…

He smiled as she let go of his beard and touched the spot on his cheek that was now damp.

“It seems you aren’t so dumb after all,” Batrire teased.

“Well, hopefully our children will be more like their mother,” Fowl replied.

Viking updates

I made some revisions to different chapters:
53 - Crafting before leaving
53 - Dwarven Rune upgrading Explanation
54 - (removed crafting - moved to 53 to leaving wasn't messed up)
56 - Who came through portal first
58 - Some Bior / Einar stuff about fire giants

I also updated the 'dwarven' cart ride to include the 'keep your hands and arms inside' and that they were looking around versus hunkered down like the dwarves were.

Anything else you all can think of that needs to be fixed?

Publisher was asking for the files so they can try to get stuff into editing and all so they can schedule the narrator.

Thanks for those helping with this!

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 092 -

“Now Bob, don’t make me regret this,” Tanila said, winking.

“I… I won’t,” Bob replied, words seemingly harder to say than he had expected. “I… I don’t know how to repay you.”

He watched as the woman Max loved smiled, her eyes watering slightly as she sniffed. “You don’t have to repay me. You’ve kept the man I love alive, and you made sure he got back home safely to me. Beyond that and so much more, you helped bring Miranna back to me. For those things I owe you and am glad that he thought of this.”

Bob bowed and then moved toward the door that led to the city.

You’re certain about this.

I am. Activate the wall. I’ll practice meditating… Sog says I should do it more, but we both know I don’t usually listen to demons for advice on centering oneself.

Bob chuckled and then laughed harder, hearing the sound coming from his voice.

It sounds so… different… there’s no malice or evil in it.

And you don’t need to have any. Now, go have some fun and let me know when you’re ready for me.

Bob felt Max disconnect himself from what was happening around his body. There had been times when Bob had forced Max out in order to control him and survive. Those moments had been rare because his host didn’t want to lose control 

Max never wanted to be the one who wasn’t in charge. Only when the lives of those that he loved were in danger was he willing to let Bob free.

It felt weird. For the first time that he could recall, Bob felt like a person.

He took on the shape of a half-elf man. Simple blond hair, blue eyes and clothes that wouldn’t stand out.  The muted brown pants and his white shirt were nothing out of the ordinary and with a single thought, Bob appeared in an alley near the center marketplace of Sunreach.

Noise came as he appeared. Laughter, haggling, kids, animals, it all flooded down the stone alley he stood in.  At the exit, people passed by, none bothering to glance to where he stood.  The capital was safe, and crime was virtually nonexistent under King Edward.  

Unable to help himself, Bob smiled. He moved into the street and turned his attention toward a few food carts.

Dozens of them were lined up for the weekend, each one calling out, offering the greatest food anyone would ever taste. A few had lines that stretched twenty deep while others only had a couple of people in them.

Part of him wanted to get into the lines which were longer and yet inside his chest there was a tug toward the shorter ones.

This is what Max feels… compassion.

He moved to one where a couple of dwarves stood in line, the two of them debating which pickaxe model was the best right now. Above them was a sign that immediately told Bob why many people weren’t in line.

Slimeskin… who comes up with these names?

Glancing at one of the busier stalls, the name Skewer of the Seven Realms had a line easily thirty people long and a smell that made Bob wonder if letting his heart guide his stomach was the right choice.

Instead, Bob watched as a demon held out two brown bags, drenched in grease to the dwarves, who paused their conversation long enough to hand over a few coins and take their soggy mess.

“How many do you want?” the yellow-skinned demon with about eight horns jutting from his skull asked.

“Can I… uh… try one first?” Bob asked.

What looked like a frown, though it was hard to really tell, appeared on the demon's face. “I don’t usually give out samples… but I guess it won’t matter. No one’s buying any it seems.”

Bob nodded slowly, watching as the demon dropped a thick chunk of skin into a vat of grease. After about twenty seconds a pair of tongs grabbed the wiggly mess and was promptly placed into a brown sack.

“First one’s free, but after that you gotta pay.”

Bob wanted to turn and run. If a life filled with trying to survive had taught him anything, it was that moments came when death might take a different form.

At least I can’t be poisoned.

He took the bag and tried to ignore the amount of grease that dripped from the paper, and forcing himself not to vomit, lifted the food to his mouth.  A small bite confirmed his worst fear.

Oh my god… what would Fowl say?!

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” the demon asked.

Bob blinked, staring at a being who obviously didn’t have a clue what good food was supposed to taste like.

Struggling to decide if he should spit the gooey object in his mouth out or swallow, Bob tried to solve a life problem that suddenly seemed so difficult. Part of him wanted to summon lightning and vaporize the stand lest it serve something as horrible as this again.

The other part of him felt a tugging to try and fix the problem.

Ogre nuts… Max you’ve worn off on me.

Bob stood there, finally convinced that he was going to take one for the team but only on his terms.

With the greatest amount of grace that he could, he spat the foreign object in his mouth into the bag and stored it.

I’ll just leave that there for Max…

Ignoring the expression on the demon’s face, Bob sighed. “I’m going to tell you something and it might hurt but I’ll also offer you some help to fix it. I’ve tasted many nasty things in my life and endured stuff most wouldn’t imagine in their mouth, and that’s right up there with them.”

A few chuckles from those who were near him made Bob realize he was speaking a little louder than he had thought.  

The demon’s shoulders slumped and he nodded. “I know… if you’re not one of my kind, most don’t like the soft gooey middle.”

So many thoughts… Sog’s going to love that question.

Waving off the reply, Bob summoned a few pouches from Max’s storage.

“Okay, we’re going to fix your problem and I’m going to help you learn how to cook for the… non-demon races.”

A pair of eyes blinked in surprised and then a toothy grin appeared. “Really?”

“Really… now what’s your name?”

“Ozuk!”

He is way too excitable. 

“Alright… I’ve got some salt here and some garlic powder,” Bob said, moving around the small cart and to the prep area, which made him almost turn around immediately.

Flies were hovering around a few bags, which were leaking and the amount of grease on the cobblestone might earn a fine from a city official if they saw this.

“So… first thing… we need to clean this up,” Bob said. “A kitchen shouldn’t look like this. It should be clean, easy to work in, and have a flow to it. You, Ozuk, have a mess. One small flame could burn this cart and probably the others in a moment.”

Storing his ingredients, Bob began to move things around, summoning a large wooden barrel that he remembered Max had for some reason. With ease, he transferred the bags into the barrel and placed a lid on top of it.

“That will stop part of your fly problem.  Now we’ll need somewhere to put the rest of the stuff when we’re done with it.”

Retrieving an empty chest, Bob set it on the ground, tossed the wet sacks into it, and closed the lid.

“Uh… are you like… someone important?” Ozuk asked.

Bob sighed, shaking his head and realizing he wasn’t being very inconspicuous.

“No. Just someone who knows his way around a kitchen and happens to have a few things that might help. Now, where is your knife?”

The demon pulled out a large cleaver that was attached to a leather cord and his belt. It had some sections of metal that were missing and looked like it hadn’t seen a good washing in a while as well.

Max… you owe me… 

Without hesitating, Bob shook his head and summoned a small table from storage. Next came a knife and a few towels.  In less than a minute, a prep area with a bowl of water, a cutting board and everything a person who wanted to try and make something edible to eat would need to work with.

“Uh… I can’t afford all this,” Ozuk stated.

“You’re fine,” Bob replied. “The person who owns that owes me and probably won’t miss any of it.”

I mean, there’s enough stuff in Max’s storage to outfit a few houses.

Without thinking, Bob stuck his finger into the heated oil, frowning.

“Hey! Don’t do that!” Ozuk cried.

“It’s not hot enough to burn anyone,” Bob replied, wiping his finger off on a towel. “How you have managed to avoid poisoning anyone yet is incredible.”

Bob looked up, Max’s sonar revealing that a crowd of onlookers was gathering to watch the commotion taking place.

Seriously? Oh well, I guess it’s a good thing. If this does as I expect, at least we’ll have some volunteers.

Bob pulled out a fire rune and injected enough mana into it to get it to the point he felt it needed to be. The heat it gave off wasn’t enough to affect his skin, and so he placed it into the small fire and waited for the oil to heat up.

“Alright, Ozuk, pay attention,” Bob said, removing the lid from the barrel and withdrawing a clump of the slimeskin.  He then set it on the cutting board and after twirling the knife a few times around on his finger, saw the way he needed to cut it.

The blade sliced thin sections of skin off and Bob paused after each one, inspecting the piece he had just made.  After the fourth cut, he found the desired thickness and held it between his fingers before Ozuk.

“This is how thick you need to slice them. I’m pretty sure you’re going to have to practice a bit before you get it down, but let me show you why.”

Once again, Bob stuck his finger in the grease, smiling when the residue on it bubbled. 

“So you need the temperature of the oil to be about here.  Watch what I do.”

Carefully, Bob dropped the sliced skin in and let it fry, retrieving it after sixteen seconds. He pulled out a perfectly crispy piece with the tongs, careful not to squeeze so hard it broke apart.  Next, he moved it to a small wire rack that had a pan under it.  While the oil dripped off it, he pointed at the shaker he had filled with salt and garlic powder.

“We’re going to dust this, not drown it. Everything is about texture and taste.”

With a few small shakes, Bob smiled, watching the piece of fried skin happily accept his offering of seasong. Setting the shaker down, he picked up the piece he had just made and snapped it in half.  

“Here, try it.”

Together they each took a bite and Bob let out a moan as the flavors and textures filled his taste buds.

“What… how… this is amazing!” Ozuk shouted. 

“Well, it’s pretty good. I can think of a few things you could add to make it better, but we’d need to make a dipping sauce,” Bob said.

“Uh… excuse me, sir. Can I try some?”

Bob turned and saw an older elf leaning through the small opening of the cart. Her hair was mostly silver and tied back and her face had more wrinkles than Bob expected an elf to have.

“Sure. Let me make a new one and you can tell us what you think,” Bob said. He turned to Ozuk and winked. “Now, watch. We’re going to make a few more and if all goes well, you’ll need to hire help.”

The demon’s jaw dropped and he turned, seeing the group gathering before his stall. “Whatever you say, I’ll do it!”

***

“I’m all out!” Ozuk shouted.

Groans came from those who had been waiting and Bob watched as a few milled about, still waiting to see if perhaps he had lied.

“Well, that was a success,” Bob said, removing the apron he had removed from storage. 

“I… I don’t know how to thank you,” Ozuk said. “How much do you want from the profits?”

Shaking his head, Bob waved off the copper and silver coins the demon was holding. “I don’t need anything. Everything here, you can keep. Just promise me you won’t ever serve what you gave me again.”

“I… seriously? No money? Not a share of stuff to come?”

Chuckling, Bob nodded. “I’m good… really. Thanks for letting me help. It’s been a while since I’ve… done something that feels…”

Words seemed to fail him as he considered what had taken place over the last seven hours.  No one had been killed or tortured. He hadn’t needed to threaten anyone. Ozuk had done that when a pair of dwarves had started bickering. Everything Max felt when he did something kind or helpful was there, except for the first time he could ever remember, Bob had been the one to cause it.  There wasn’t a hint of rage. The ever-present hunger that always threatened to surge through any opening he might have was silent.

He saw Ozuk staring at him, apparently waiting for the finish to his sentence.

“Ahh, it doesn’t matter. Just remember to be kind to others and get some help. Preferably someone you can trust. I’ll have a letter sent to you in a few days with some other ideas on stuff you can sell with those things.”

“Because people are going to copy what I did today,” Ozuk said.

“Yup. but that means you did something well,” Bob replied. “Be safe.”

He left the demon standing there, coins still held in his fists, and started whistling a tune. Bob made it about twenty steps before he froze, the sound of the melody he had been making pounding against his heart.

That tune… I… I remember it.

Somewhere in his mind, a tune he knew from some life… before Max had come. Unlike everything else that he remembered, this one brought him joy.

He moved into an alleyway and activated stealth, slumping to the ground as tears fell down his cheeks.

The song brought joy and yet unlocked a sadness he had never realized he had. Somewhere, in the System, were memories he couldn’t recall. Memories that felt like they were worth having. Even worse was that he wanted them now more than ever.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 16

Francis woke before dawn with a headache that reminded him why he usually avoided whatever passed for alcohol among the barbarians.

That stuff tasted like burning leather mixed with piss.

But the night had been worth it. He'd sat with the pack around a fire, passing a skin of something that burned going down and kept burning after. They'd shared stories that helped Francis learn a little bit more about his pack. Harald talking about his first hunt, Eirik describing a fight with a frost bear, Vornak demonstrating how he'd once knocked out three men in a brawl.

Francis had contributed too. He told them about being the ninth son, about the catkin and rhinokin his kingdom faced, about training with instructors who seemed to enjoy making him suffer. He'd kept the loop secret, obviously, but there was enough truth in his stories to satisfy their curiosity.

Helga had asked good questions, always digging deeper into why southerners acted that way, or who cared what birth order you were born in. Vornak had even laughed at some of Francis’s jokes. Selka had been there, though she'd sat apart from the group and said nothing.

Now, as Francis splashed cold water on his face and gathered his gear, he felt the weight of what was coming. Today was about learning to fight as a unit. Tomorrow, they'd face the real thing.

It felt weird to train with a group again. These barbarians were far more skilled than the teens he had learned to fight with. Even though it was technically almost two weeks since the last training session with Phillip, it felt like a lifetime ago.

It’s also been a while since I’ve seen Michael.

That thought sent a pang of longing through him. Shaking his head and splashing water once more on his face, Francis knew what today would bring.

No pressure. I just have to look good enough to impress, yet not so great that I make them look bad. 

He arrived at the Commons just as the sun was starting to rise over the horizon. His exposed skin could feel the cold, but it was less than on his first loop. Still, it was cold enough that his breath formed clouds in the air each time he spoke or breathed.

The pack was already together and ready when Francis arrived. Hroden stood with his arms crossed, watching as Vornak and Eirik went through some warm-up exercises. Harald was stretching, and Helga was checking her bow and arrows.

Selka was nowhere to be seen.

"Morning," Francis said as he approached.

"Southerner," Hroden acknowledged with a nod. "Sleep well?"

"As well as anyone can after drinking whatever that was last night," Francis replied.

Vornak laughed. "That's fermented goat's milk with pine needles and a few other things. It builds character and can kill rats."

"I think it builds regret far more than character," Francis muttered.

Hroden glanced toward the camp, his jaw tightening. "Selka should be here by now."

"Want me to go find her?" Harald offered.

"No." Hroden's voice was flat. "We don't have time to wait. Another pack is coming to help us drill formations. We start without her."

That's not going to go well for her.

As if on cue, six more barbarians appeared from across the Commons. They looked just as tough as Hroden's pack, armed with axes, spears, and shields.

"Hroden," the leader called out. A woman with silver-streaked hair and a scar across her cheek. "Ready to get beaten again?"

"We'll see about that, Nessa," Hroden replied with a slight grin. "My pack's been training hard."

Nessa's eyes fell on Francis. "This is the southerner everyone's talking about?"

"That's him," Hroden confirmed.

"He looks small," one of Nessa's warriors commented.

"He fights well enough," Eirik said. "Dropped all of us yesterday."

That earned Francis some appraising looks from the other pack.

"Alright," Hroden said, clapping his hands together. "Formations. We'll start by moving through defensive positions first. Helga is in the center, always. She's our archer, so she needs protection to do her job."

He pointed to different positions. "Vornak, you're front center. Your job is to hold the line. Eirik, Harald, you take the flanks. Francis, you're with me on flexible positioning. We move where we're needed most."

Francis nodded, committing the arrangement to memory.

"Nessa's pack will act as the enemy," Hroden continued. "They'll try to break through to Helga. Our job is to stop them. No real weapons, practice gear only. But don't hold back. We need to feel what it's like when things get rough."

Everyone grabbed practice weapons and moved into position.

***

The first run was a little chaotic.

Nessa's pack hit them hard and fast, three warriors converging on Vornak while the others tried to slip past the flanks. Francis moved to help Harald on the left, but by the time he got there, two of the enemy warriors had already pushed through.

Even with his speed, Francis had to choose between showing off or waiting till asked for help. He wasn’t sure which was the right path as Hroden hadn’t given any instructions.

Helga managed to "shoot" one with a blunt arrow before the other reached her. In a real fight, she'd be dead.

"Stop," Hroden called out. "Reset."

They regrouped, standing in a circle, waiting to hear their leader's words.

"What went wrong?" Hroden asked.

"We didn't communicate," Harald said. "I didn't know Francis was coming to help me… I’m used to Selka just showing up."

"And I moved too slow," Francis admitted. "By the time I got there, they were already past."

Hroden nodded. "Communication is everything. Call out when you need help. Call out when you're moving. And Francis, don't wait to see if someone else will handle it. If you see a gap, fill it immediately. The beasts out there won’t hesitate."

"Understood," Francis replied.

They ran it again.

This time, Francis reacted faster. When Nessa's warriors tried the same flanking move, he was already there, his practice swords intercepting their axes. Harald backed him up, and together they held the line long enough for Helga to take down three of the enemy with her blunt arrows.

However, Vornak became overwhelmed at the center, and without him maintaining his position, the formation collapsed.

"Better," Hroden said. "But we lost our anchor. Vornak, you can't try to fight all of them alone. Fall back if you need to. Let them come to you."

"I can hold," Vornak protested.

"Not against five," Hroden replied. "Pride doesn't win fights. Tactics do."

Vornak grumbled but nodded.

They were setting up for the third run when Selka finally appeared.

She walked across the Commons like she had all the time in the world, her practice axe slung over her shoulder. No hurry, no apology in her expression.

Hroden's face went dark.

"Selka," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "A word. Now."

They walked off to the side, far enough that Francis couldn't hear what was being said. But he could see Hroden's gestures, sharp and angry. Selka stood there, arms crossed, her expression defiant.

This is going to be a problem tomorrow if they can't work it out.

"She's always late," Eirik said quietly, coming to stand beside Francis. "Ever since... well. Ever since her family lost their standing."

"What happened?" Francis asked.

Eirik shook his head. "Not our story to share. Honor means we don't tell others' secrets or pain."

"But honor also means we shouldn't let our pain affect the others we're bound to," Harald added, joining them. "She's putting the pack at risk."

Francis thought about that. About the connections Tormund had talked about. How the join between pieces mattered more than the pieces themselves.

A pack is only as strong as its weakest link. And right now, Selka's the weak link. Not because she can't fight, but because she won't work with the rest of us.

"Has anyone tried talking to her?" Francis asked. "Really talking, I mean."

"Hroden has," Vornak said, walking over. "Multiple times. She won't listen. She has too much anger."

"Anger at southerners," Francis said.

"Aye, but it’s more than that," Vornak confirmed. "Something that happened years ago. It cost her family their honor and their standing in the clan. She blames your people for it."

"All of my people?" Francis asked. "Or specific ones?"

"Does it matter to her?" Helga said, appearing from behind. "Pain doesn't care about logic. It just burns. That’s like asking ‘Does a rabbit taste good’. All rabbits taste the same."

“Not true,” Vornak replied. “Depending on the cook, the rabbit can taste like crap.”

Francis watched as Hroden continued his dressing down of Selka. The pack leader's frustration was obvious, but so was something else. Concern, maybe. Or disappointment.

He cares about her. About all of them. That's why this is so hard for him.

Finally, Hroden and Selka returned. She looked chastened, if still angry. Hroden's expression was neutral, but Francis could see the tension in his jaw.

"We continue," Hroden announced. "Selka, you're on the right flank. Don't be late again."

"Understood," Selka said, her voice sounding lifeless.

***

They ran three more formations with Selka present.

The first one went poorly. Selka was out of position twice, forcing Francis to cover gaps she should have filled. Nessa's pack exploited the weakness, and Helga got "killed" again.

The second run was better. Selka stayed where she was supposed to be, and when the enemy tried to break through on her side, she held her ground. Francis moved to support Vornak at the center, and together they managed to keep the formation intact long enough for Helga to do her job.

The third run was nearly perfect.

They moved as a unit, each person covering their assigned position while adapting to the enemy's tactics. When Nessa's pack tried to overwhelm Vornak, Harald and Francis collapsed inward to lend a hand. When they switched to flanking, Selka and Eirik held firm.

Helga picked off four enemies before the last two reached the defensive line, and Hroden finished them both with quick, efficient strikes.

"Stop," Hroden called out, and this time there was satisfaction in his voice. "That's what I'm talking about. That's how we fight."

Nessa walked over, grinning despite the mock defeat. "Not bad, Hroden. Your pack's learning. Though I'd like to see how they do when the enemy doesn't play fair."

"Tomorrow, you'll get to watch," Hroden replied. He had a half smile as he spoke and Francis was trying to figure out what was going on between the two leaders.

The two packs separated. Nessa's headed back to their section of the Commons while Hroden gathered everyone in a circle.

"Alright," he said. "Let's talk about what worked and what didn't."

He pointed at Vornak. "You held the center well in that last run. Didn't try to do everything yourself. That's improvement."

Vornak nodded, looking pleased.

"Harald, Eirik," Hroden continued. "Your flanking work was solid. You adapted when Francis came to help at the center, and didn't leave your positions exposed. Good instincts."

Both warriors smiled.

"Helga, your timing was perfect on that last run. You waited for clear shots instead of wasting arrows. That's discipline."

Helga inclined her head in acknowledgment.

Hroden turned to Francis. "You're learning fast. Faster than I expected. You filled gaps, communicated, and didn't try to do everything yourself. That's what makes a good pack member."

"Thank you," Francis said.

Finally, Hroden looked at Selka. His expression was harder now. "You held your position in the last two runs. That's what I need from you. But being late? That can't happen again. Tomorrow, we're facing real enemies with real weapons. If you're not there, people die. Understand?"

Selka's jaw tightened, but she nodded. "I understand."

"Good." Hroden looked around at all of them. "Tomorrow, we meet here an hour after sunrise. Edge of the Commons, near the outer palisade. Bring your weapons and armor. We're going hunting."

A murmur of acknowledgement went through the group.

"Get some rest," Hroden said. "Check your gear. Make sure everything's ready. And for the love of the gods, don't drink anything Vornak offers you tonight."

That got a few laughs, even from Vornak himself.

As the pack began to disperse, Francis found himself walking alongside Helga.

"You did well today," she said.

"Thanks. I’m still learning how you all work together."

"You'll get it," Helga replied. "You already understand the most important part."

"What's that?" Francis asked.

"That it's not about being the best fighter," she said. "It's about making everyone else better. That's what a pack is."

The connections matter more than the individual pieces.

"I'm starting to see that," Francis said.

Helga smiled. "Good. Because tomorrow, you'll need to remember it. Out there, things get messy fast. The only way we survive is if we trust each other completely."

Francis looked back at where Selka stood alone, still gripping her practice axe, staring at nothing.

Trust. That's what we're missing. And I don't know if one day is enough to build it.

But he'd have to try. Because tomorrow, lives would depend on it.

His included.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 091 -

Max watched as Tanila carved the runes she had been trying to get to work together into a piece of Heartstone.  

She’s going too fast.

Yes and I’ve already mentioned that seventeen times.

As both Bob and Max expected, the rune lines faltered, the mana she was trying to infuse into both as she carved became unstable.

Before it could explode, Max stored it.

“Mother… stupid… argh!” Tanila shouted, pounding her fist against the stone counter they were working on.

Max stood across from here, not saying a word. He watched as she glared at him before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.  Slowly, she let it out and repeated that process four more times.

“You’re going to stay it again, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Say what?”

“I’m going to fast.”

Max chuckled and nodded. “Bob was just commenting to me–”

“It’s the lines… the mana starts to go wild and if I don’t go faster than it will escape and I’ll make another piece of stone worthless.”

“You can’t speed run through this,” Max said, reaching over and holding her hand. “It took you over fifty years to figure out the use of the first set of runes. Why should this one be any faster?”

“Because we’re running out of time,” Tanila replied, her golden eyes narrowing. “I’m running out of time. Everyone is doing everything they can to ensure we’re as strong as possible when our period of protection expires.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Max replied. “What I’m saying is there aren’t any shortcuts with what you’re trying to do.”

“Says the guy who made one first try today.”

Max shook his head and stood up straight, putting on his teaching face.

“I’ve been crafting for over a hundred years. You haven’t.”

“That’s not even fair,” she replied. “You’ve got Bob telling and guiding you also.”

“I tried to do that with you, but you told me we were distracting you–”

“You were!”

Max held up both hands, palms out. “I’m not trying to argue or fight. I’m simply doing what you would do to any of the students you teach. How many of them could mimic your actions on the first day?”

Tanila groaned, summoning another piece of Heartstone from her storage and setting it down on the counter. “None… but we both know that I’m–”

“Learning a new skill,” Max said, cutting her off. “I watched when I was out of my league and others were better crafters. I didn’t argue or complain. And I can tell you I was upset when I ruined a few different weapons or armor as well as all the materials I wasted.  Even though you’re a god, it doesn’t mean you’re perfect. Even if you don’t need sleep, it doesn’t mean you don’t need a break.”

Max motioned to the door behind him. “Let’s just take a walk. One hour, maybe two. We’ll go through the city. We can wear disguises so no one knows who we are and you can just take a minute to relax.”

He watched as she started to protest and then stopped herself. “You’re right… What’s a few hours compared to the almost two hundred years left.”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Max said, winking. “The first two words.”

“You’re an arse,” Tanila stated.

“No… I’m pretty sure you said ‘you’re right,” Max declared. 

She groaned and looked at the Heartstone in her hand. “Tell me this will all be worth it.”

He snorted and shrugged. “I can’t tell you anything other than that I love you and I’ll be right beside you and help face whatever comes our way.  Beyond that, all we can do is try.”

Max moved around the counter and held out his hand. Activating Illusionary Magic, his image transformed into a simple-looking human man about twenty years old. “Please, Miss, won’t you escort me through town? Why, I’ll be the talk of the whole city when they see me traveling with a goddess.”

Tanila groaned and then her image shimmered, changing to a blond-headed elf who still looked way out of Max’s league. “Sorry, only one man gets that privilege. I guess you’ll have to settle for me instead.”

Laughing, Max took her hand and pulled her close. “Just don’t tell my wife.”

***

Max watched as the inn got busier. Time had lost most of its meaning and they were here an hour after sunset on the weekend.  The Fat Goose was packed, most tables unable to fit another stool around them and the only open space had people dancing as a small band played lively tunes.

“How did you manage to get us a booth?” Tanila shouted over the noise. 

“Well… I might have paid a bit more than anyone else here could,” Max said, winking. “Besides, everyone in here is wondering who the heck we are and who I am. Just look.”

Tanila didn’t need to glance out over the crowd again. Many had stared upon their entry and she knew immediately that Max was right. Her attempt at a disguise had barely reduced her beauty and everyone was aware that her date was way out of his league.

“Feels like old times,” Max declared. “Now then, tell me, how long has it been since we had a moment like this?”

He watched as his wife, even though she was under a magical illusion covering her body, sigh.  The weight that had seemingly been present a moment ago vanished as she leaned against the table toward him.

“Forever… why… why don’t we do this more often?”

Max shrugged and motioned to a waiter who quickly made his way through the crowd.

“What can I get for you two?!” the half-elf man asked, partly yelling to be heard.

“Bring us the finest drink you have in the inn and the best food you serve!” Max shouted back.

A look of shock came as the blue-eyed waiter cleared his throat and adjusted his brown apron. “Uh… sir… that would be very expensive… are you–”

Max nodded, pulled out a sack of coins, and slid them toward the waiter. “Also, make sure everyone in the house gets a few free drinks.”

Their waiter slowly picked up the coin purse and opened it. His eyes widened so much, Max was afraid they might fall out.

“Uh… uh…” 

“I think you broke him,” Tanila teased, causing the young man to blush.

“Forgive me,” their waiter replied, clearing his throat. “Theres… too much… I mean, even with what you asked for.”

“Then share it with the staff and give some to the band,” Max replied. “I don’t get many moments like this with the woman I love and I want to make sure this one is a memorable one.”

A pair of eyes glanced back and forth at Max and Tanila and seemed to be searching, trying to figure out who had just put more coins than the man might earn in his lifetime within reach.

“Yes, sir!” he exclaimed, almost bumping into a patron moving behind him. “Right away!”

“You’re so bad,” Tanila declared as the waiter rushed toward the bar, pointing and frantically telling the owner of the establishment what had just transpired.

They each watched as the woman who owned the Fat Goose took the sack and opened it, seeing her body straighten immediately. She whistled and two other workers came up and she soon had them running off.

“You do realize we’re not going to have a quiet evening to ourselves,” Tanila said.

“I’m fine with that because in a minute I’m going to ask you to dance with me,” Max replied. “Besides, I think we’d both rather bring joy to everyone here and not just ourselves.”

A few minutes later, the owner of the inn was moving toward them, wiping her hands on a clean towel that was tucked in a brown belt around her waist.

Her name is Gerry.

Thanks. I was going to ask. 

Just remember, I’ll be zoned out unless you specifically call me.

You don’t want to watch what happens next?

I’d rather not watch you get all mushy with Tanila.

Not that… the rest of this. Stay… see what life is like. I know it sucks that you can’t live it… or can you?

Max could sense the shift in his skill’s temperament as the idea in his head was shared.

You would do that?

I would. Bob… you’re… part of me. I was thinking about it after our experience on Umbrell Hollow. I don’t think it’s right that you just get to come out when something bad needs to happen. I’ll talk with Tanila. If she’s willing, which I think she would be, you can do what I’m doing and live life for a moment without restraint… I mean, besides sleeping with someone, as we both know, my wife wouldn’t go for that.

A chuckle came and then a sense of something Max hadn’t ever felt before washed through him.

I would be grateful and honored, Max. To… live… even for a day or a few hours… I have no way to repay that.

You don’t need to repay me. Besides, I’m sure I owe you more than at least one night.

“Misses, and Sir!” Gerry said as she arrived.

“Ahh Mrs. Gerry! Thank you for letting us have a booth in your place.”

The woman coughed and cleared her throat, her green eyes studying him for a few seconds. “Have we met before? I’m usually good with faces and I can’t place either of yours at all.”

“No, but I was told by a very good friend this was a place to come and enjoy an evening with someone I love,” Max replied, grinning. “So we’re here and wanted to share with everyone else in this fine city.”

“Well… you do realize you’ve overpaid… even for everything you asked, that’s easily two or three times the amount needed.”

Max nodded and Tanila reached over, putting her hand on top of his.

“He’s a big softy… that’s what I love about him,” Tanila said. “If you have problems keeping that much for yourself, why not use a portion for the next few weekends and feed those who might not have enough for both drink and food?”

Gerry smiled and nodded. “You two… It’s like you understand what our city is all about.”

Max and Tanila both chuckled, looking at each other and smiled.

“Well, hopefully we all try to model our gods,” Max said.

“Oh, I do, I do,” Gerry replied, bobbing her head. “Well then… give me just a little bit to whip up our best. I’ll get your drinks poured… and if you’re okay with it, announce to those here what you’ve just done.”

Tanila groaned but Max’s smile grew. “I would be fine for that. Just let them know in return, I want a moment alone with her on the dancing area before everyone else joins in.”

Gerry nodded and smiled, leaning closer to Tanila, holding up her hand to whisper. “You need to keep this one! He’s a rare find!”

Max just smiled as his Sonar picked up every word the woman spoke.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Tanila replied. “He’s all mine.”

Gerry bowed once and made her way to the long wooden bar and where a bell hung off to the side.  She gave it a few hard pulls and everyone went silent, even the band fading into barely a whisper. 

“Here it comes,” Tanila groaned, squeezing Max’s hand.

“Patrons of the Fat Goose!” Gerry called out. “Tonight we have a treat for you and all it will cost is nothing!”

Some applause came and stopped after one more ring of the bell.

“In that booth is a couple who know what our city stands for! That young man… who I just now realized I never asked his name has asked for a moment to dance with the woman he loves all by himself!”

Some applauded, a few groaned, but after Gerry rang the bell once more, they all settled down. “And for payment… he has…” she paused, her voice getting softer, drawing them all in, “to buy everyone two drinks on him!”

Cheers and applause came from the entire inn and those closest shouted thanks.

Max nodded and waved and then motioned with his other hand toward the dancing area that suddenly had an open area appear. “If you don’t mind, my love. I think this is our song.”

Rolling her eyes once, Tanila then winked. She slid out of the booth and went with Max toward the dance floor, smiling and nodding at those who cheered and applauded for them.

“I’m so going to pay you back later for this,” she whispered as they reached the empty spot on the floor.

“I hope so,” Max replied before turning toward the band. “Do you all know, She’s a Fiesty Elf, but I Love Her?”

A few people nearby coughed but the band all grinned.

Tanila shook her head, but knew what was coming.

“What… I wanted something lively,” Max said.

“Oh… you’ll get lively,” she replied.

Max bowed as the band started the song.

A loud stomp came, followed by a clap. That action was repeated once more by the band and the patrons of the inn. Right after the fiddle joined, speeding up the melody.  The lute joined in and helped set the rhythm as the dwarf on the drums set a pace that would soon leave many breathless.

And then the band all joined in.

Oh, she waltzed in like a sunrise blaze,
Hair aflame and wild with grace,
Eyes that spark, then turn to frost
I’d chase that storm, no matter the cost!
Raise your mugs, you poor, doomed fools,
For love of hers rewrites all rules!

She’s a feisty elf, but I love her still,
She’ll melt your pride and break your will!
She’ll curse your name, then kiss your cheek
And leave you weak for another week!
Oh, the seasons spin but she won’t stay
Still I’d dance with her any day!

One breath she’s spring, all laughter sweet,
Next she’s summer, too hot to beat,
Then autumn sighs within her eyes,
And winter’s where her silence lies.
But deep inside that fiery heart,
Is kindness rare as dwarven art!

She’s a feisty elf, but I love her so,
Hot as flame and soft as snow!
She’ll stomp your boots and steal your ale
Then wink as if she meant no tale!
Oh, she’s wild as wind through clover’s song
And I’ve loved her all along!

She’ll toss her hair and mock my tune,
And make the night forget the moon!
But when she smiles — gods, beware!
Every man in the room’s ensnared!

She’s a feisty elf, and that’s just fine,
Her temper’s sharp, her heart divine!
For when she laughs, the world’s made right
I’d face ten orcs for one more night!
So pour the ale, let the band play on,
She’s my chaos, my muse, my dawn!

Max laughed as he and Tanila moved to in a circle, with him stomping on the beats. Soon they joined arm in arm, swinging and spinning as a couple before stepping back to where they had started.

He timed everything perfectly, stepping in and spinning Tanila, bending her backward so he could kiss her on the cheek to match the chorus.  Roars of applause came as he stood her up and motioned for everyone to join in.

Those who go there first, rushed into positon and soon the sound of laughter, clapping and stomping exited the inn, calling all who were passing by to see what could make a place come alive.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 15

The sticks felt wrong in Francis's hands. They were too light, poorly balanced, and one was five inches longer than the other. 

They’ll have to do for now. It’s all just another challenge. Something tells me I’m going to get a few repetitions on this moment. 

Francis watched the barbarians spread out around him. Hroden, Vornak, and Eirik formed a loose arc in front. Selka moved to his left, Helga to his right. Harald hung back, spear and shield ready but clearly meant to observe.

A crowd was already forming. Warriors paused their training to watch, apparently drawn by the promise of a southerner getting beaten. Francis could hear their voices, some curious, others already placing bets.

"Twenty copper, he doesn't last a minute!"

"I'll take that bet. The boy's still standing, isn't he?"

Great. An audience. Just what I needed.

Hroden's hand dropped.

Vornak charged first.

The stocky barbarian came in fast, his practice hammer swinging in a wide arc aimed at Francis's ribs. No finesse, just raw power meant to test if he would fold under pressure.

Francis sidestepped, letting the hammer pass inches from his body. He tapped Vornak's shoulder with one stick as the man's momentum carried him past.

"First hit," Francis said, keeping his face neutral

The crowd murmured while a few laughed. Vornak spun around, his face reddening.

Eirik came next, both practice axes moving in a scissor pattern. Francis ducked under the first, parried the second with his longer stick, and drove his shoulder into Eirik's chest. The lean barbarian stumbled backward, and Francis's shorter stick caught him across the thigh.

"Second."

Battle Sense told him that there was movement from his left. Francis turned just as Selka's practice axe came at his head. No warning, no buildup. She was going for a real hit, the kind that would leave most unconscious if it connected.

[ Iron Wall ]

Francis crossed both sticks above his head, catching the axe between them. Selka's eyes widened slightly. 

She put real force behind that swing.

Before she could pull back, Francis shoved forward, breaking her stance. His foot swept her legs, and she went down hard on her back.

The crowd erupted in shouts. Some cheering, others jeering.

Selka rolled to her feet, fury written across her face.

She's not playing anymore. If she was ever playing to begin with.

Hroden attacked while his attention was focused on Selka.

The pack leader moved differently than the others. His attacks were controlled and precise, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next. His practice axe came at Francis in a series of attacks that forced him backward, defensive, working to keep the weapon from landing.

He's good. Really good.

Francis parried twice, blocked once, then had to dodge as Hroden reversed his grip and came back with a strike aimed at his knee. The axe grazed his leg, enough to count as a hit.

"Point to me," Hroden said calmly.

Then Vornak and Eirik came at him together.

Francis moved without thinking, his body reacting to patterns he'd learned through hundreds of deaths. Vornak's hammer came high, Eirik's axes came low. Francis dropped to one knee, letting the hammer pass over his head, and swept both sticks across Eirik's ankles.

The wiry barbarian went down cursing.

Francis rolled forward, came up behind Vornak, and tapped him twice on the back.

The crowd's noise grew louder. Francis caught fragments of conversation.

"Did you see that?"

"He's faster than he looks!"

"Selka's going to kill him!"

That last comment proved accurate.

Selka came at him as if he owed her something. Her practice axe moved in a blur, each strike aimed to hurt rather than test. Francis gave ground, using both sticks to deflect and redirect rather than block directly. The impacts sent vibrations up his arms with each contact.

She's not holding back at all.

[ Guarded Stance ]

Francis's body hardened, his defensive abilities kicking in. Selka's next strike caught his shoulder, but instead of what she had obviously expected to happen, her weapon stopped. Almost as if she had struck stone. Her eyes widened in apparent surprise.

Francis used that moment. He stepped inside her guard, too close for the axe to be effective, and drove his elbow into her stomach. Not hard enough to truly injure, but enough to drive the air from her lungs.

She gasped for air, stumbling a few steps back as she did.

"Enough," Hroden called out.

But Selka wasn't done, ignoring the barbarians words. She straightened, face red with anger or possibly a bit of humiliation, and swung wildly at Francis's head.

[ Riposte ]

Francis's stick caught the axe mid-swing, deflecting it past his ear. In the same motion, he brought his other stick around and tapped her temple. Gently. Just enough to make the point.

"You're dead," he said quietly. "If this were real."

Selka froze as her axe struck the frozen dirt, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. The crowd had gone silent.

"I said enough!" Hroden's voice cut through the tension. He moved between them, glaring at Selka. "Stand down. Now. Do not dishonor yourself or us again."

Selka backed away, breathing hard, her eyes never leaving Francis. The way she glared at him felt like a promise that this wasn't over.

Hroden turned to Francis. "Not bad. But you're not done yet."

Before Francis could respond, all five of them came at him at once.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

Hroden from the front, Vornak and Eirik from the sides, Selka from behind, and even Helga charged, having drawn a practice knife. They moved in coordination, not giving him space to breathe.

Francis activated everything he had.

[ Quick Attack ]

[ Flurry ]

His sticks became a blur. He tapped Eirik's wrist, Vornak's knee, deflected Hroden's axe, spun to catch Selka's weapon with a cross-block, and kicked backward, catching Helga in the shin.

The crowd roared.

Francis kept moving, never staying in one spot long enough for them to pin him down. He wove between attacks, his enhanced perception letting him track all five opponents at once. Every opening, he took. Every mistake, he exploited.

A tap to Vornak's ribs.

A strike across Eirik's shoulder.

A jab to Helga's arm.

Hroden came at him hard, forcing Francis to focus. The pack leader's attacks were relentless, each one setting up the next. Francis parried, dodged, and gave ground when he had to.

Then Selka rushed in from his blind spot.

Francis sensed rather than saw her coming. He dropped low, sweeping his leg out in a wide arc. Selka's feet went out from under her for the second time, and she crashed into Vornak as the warrior tried to rejoin the fight, sending them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs and cursing.

The crowd was loving it. Cheers, jeers, and laughter mixed together in a cacophony of noise.

Eirik tried to tackle him. Francis sidestepped, used the barbarian's momentum against him, and sent him stumbling into Harald, who'd been trying to flank from the other side.

That left Hroden and Helga.

Hroden's axe came at his head. Francis blocked with both sticks crossed, but the force of the blow sent him skidding backward. His feet slipped on the packed snow, and he barely kept his balance.

He's strong. Stronger than the others.

Helga darted in with her practice knife, going for his ribs. Francis twisted, caught her wrist with one stick, and pulled her off balance. She stumbled forward, and he tapped her back with his other stick.

"Out," Francis said.

Helga stepped back immediately, nodding in acknowledgment. She didn’t seem to hold any anger.

Now it was just him and Hroden.

The pack leader smiled. "Impressive. But let's see how you handle this."

Hroden attacked with everything he had. His practice axe moved in patterns that Francis recognized. They were professional, efficient, and designed to overwhelm. Each strike flowed into the next without pause, giving Francis no chance to counter.

Francis gave ground, his sticks working overtime to keep the axe from landing. 

He's testing me. Pushing to see where I break.

Francis waited for his opening. It came when Hroden overextended slightly on a downward strike. Francis stepped inside the attack's arc, too close for the axe to reach him, and drove both sticks toward Hroden's chest.

But Hroden was ready. He released the axe with one hand and caught Francis's wrist, using his superior weight to shove Francis backward.

Francis rolled with it, letting the momentum carry him into a backward somersault. He came up on his feet, sticks still in hand.

The crowd was screaming now, completely invested in the fight.

Hroden charged.

[ Quick Attack ]

Francis moved faster than he had the entire fight. He slipped past Hroden's guard, tapped his ribs once, twice, then spun and brought his stick down on the pack leader's shoulder.

Hroden stopped, lowering his weapon.

"Three hits," the pack leader said, slightly breathless. "I'm dead. Or at least out of the fight."

Silence fell over the Commons.

Francis stood there, breathing harder than he had expected to be, his sticks still raised in case someone attacked. The other pack members were scattered around him. Some were on the ground, while others stood, but they were clearly defeated.

He'd beaten all of them.

The crowd erupted. Some cheering, some cursing, many exchanging coins as bets were settled.

Hroden extended his hand. "You're faster than you look, southerner. And stronger. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"I've had a lot of practice," Francis said, accepting the handshake.

More than you could ever imagine.

Vornak picked himself up, rubbing his ribs. "That hurt. Even with practice weapons."

"You held back," Eirik observed, dusting snow off his furs. "You could've hit harder. Faster, even."

"No point in hurting people who are supposed to fight beside me," Francis replied.

Harald laughed, clapping Francis on the shoulder. "I like this one. He doesn't show off!"

Helga nodded in agreement. "You move well. Better than most southerners I've seen. You'll do."

Selka said nothing. She stood apart from the group, practice axe gripped tight in her hand, staring at Francis with barely contained rage. The humiliation of being dropped twice in front of everyone was written across her face.

She's going to be a problem.

Hroden noticed the tension. "Selka. Stand down."

She spat into the snow and walked away without a word.

"Don't take it personally," Vornak said. "She's got... history with southerners."

"I gathered as much," Francis said. “Hopefully she can get over it.”

Hroden clapped his hands together. "Alright. Rest period's over. Francis, you've proven you can handle yourself in a fight. Now we need to see if you can work with us. Tomorrow, we run formations. Learn how we move as a pack."

"Understood," Francis said.

As the crowd began to disperse, still talking about what they'd just witnessed, Francis dropped the practice sticks and flexed his hands. He felt good. Better than he had in a while.

I proved myself. Now I just need to make it stick. Perhaps one day I’ll figure out this group of people.

Helga appeared beside him, offering a waterskin. "Here. You earned it."

"Thanks," Francis said, taking a long drink.

"You fight like someone who's fought many battles… like someone who's almost died," she said quietly.

Francis nearly choked on the water. "What?"

"You move like you already know what's coming," Helga continued, her dark eyes studying him. "Like you've… seen the patterns before. Most fighters learn from watching or training. You fight like you've already… lived through the mistakes."

She's too perceptive for her own good.

"I've had good teachers," Francis said carefully.

Helga smiled slightly. "I'm sure you have." She turned to walk away, then paused. "Just don't get any of us killed out there."

"That's the plan," Francis said.

As she walked away, Francis let out a slow breath.

One day down. One day to train with them before the raid. Better make it count.

He looked across the Commons to where Selka stood in the distance, still watching him with that same burning hatred.

And somehow, I need to figure out how to work with her. Or this whole thing falls apart.

Francis picked up his practice sticks and headed toward where the pack was gathering.

One day, he’d find a way to be accepted, but if it wasn’t today, Francis knew there would be many more to come.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 090 -

“That is… disturbing,” Jazzjak said as he tapped his furry chin. “A world of those kinds of creatures.”

“But haven’t you had to serve one of those gods before?” Fowl asked.

“I have… but…” Their helper paused and grimaced. “Part of what makes those like me such a good helper, is that over time we start to… reflect aspects of those we serve. The longer I am with you, the more I’ll start to be able to predict what you’ll need, understand your desires, and act accordingly.  I’m sure when you manage to talk with the two gods from your old world about their helpers, they will tell you how valuable one can be.”

“And would their helpers have earned enough power to become gods?” Cordellia asked.

Jazzjak’s head bobbed from side to side, his left ear flopping over. “Most likely… any god who lives 500,000 years would have earned a lot of Divine Points, and that should be more than enough to let a helper reach this stage.”

“So wouldn’t they want a god to fail after they acquired that much power?” Fowl asked.

“No,” Rakonath answered with a grin. “I’m guessing it keeps adding up and gives you an advantage when that finally happens, doesn’t it?”

Max watched as their helper chucked and shrugged. 

“I wish I could answer such a thing, but rules and all,” Jazzjak said with a wink. “Besides, can you imagine the kind of knowledge and experience that a helper would have to start with? I mean, we’re talking about someone who's seen the upper tiers of godhood.”

“Shame we didn’t get one of those,” Max teased. 

“Yeah… a real shame,” Sog added.

“Oh, go hump an ogre,” Jazzjak said.

Everyone chuckled as their helper managed to say one of their phrases without needing help.

“So, back to the point of this meeting,” Tanila said, tapping the table with a finger. “We’re going to face gods like those. And the worlds they own won’t want to work with us. How do we deal with those kinds of worlds?”

“I wish I had the answer,” Jazzjak said, pointing at Sog. “But as your husband and our dearest demon friend pointed out, I don’t have that kind of experience.  Max managed to negotiate with them and convince them that all he wanted was access to the panel so I could help if needed. I’d still love to hear the whole story.”

“Welcome to the team,” Batrire said. “Trust us, we’ve all gotten the ‘it worked out because I’m Max’ line before.”

Ignoring the looks he was receiving, Max shrugged. “None of that matters for now. I thought it was bad enough facing the bird gods on Naga Reef, who wanted to take my power for their own.  I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like as we all start collecting worlds and have to deal with any other gods who are there also.”

“Which is why we’re training so hard,” Cordellia stated. “But what I want to know is, can we bring other gods with us if we need to try and claim power on a world we acquire?”

“My short answer is most likely,” Jazzjak replied. “That would be seen as an attack, though. Imagine if your world suddenly had two other gods show up with… Thuyja? How do you think either of the other gods would have viewed such an act? Trust me, there will come a time when each of you will have to defend your own world and doing so means fighting someone stronger or who brings allies.”

Their helper tapped on his tablet, and an image of Siricco, the falcon god Max had defeated in the arena, appeared. “There aren’t many foolish gods who live long. Someone like Siricco quickly learns the hard way that it only takes one mistake… one miscalculation or choosing the wrong opponent to end their life.”

“Refocusing,” Max said as he turned his attention from the god he had killed. “I’m going to keep sharing everything I encounter because those lessons are probably not ones other gods share.”

“So you don’t think Phaiuis or Ockrim will teach us?” Fowl asked.

Max frowned, waving his hands in the air. “I don’t know. Part of me believes they will because of who I am, but if I weren’t a black skill holder, would we have gotten the help that we did? I’m certain that some gods, like a few that Jazzjak has had, didn’t get the kind of love that we did. Think about Igarra and how she locked the tower so that others couldn’t climb it. Why would a god do that?”

Everyone turned to look at Jazzjak, who held up his paws, palms out. “Don’t ask me!”

“So you don’t have any ideas?” Cordellila asked.

“I mean… I do… but part of me isn’t sure completely,” their helper replied. “She appeared to be focused more on the arena and less on her own world's development. By limiting the growth of her world and gaining most of her Divine Points from the arena and the fights within it as well as any items she trades or sells, it helped make her less of a target.”

“Because no one sees her as more than a trade world?” Sog asked.

“Not exactly,” Jazzjak sighed. “It’s…. She’s a dragon and many wouldn’t know her age. She stayed at tier one which means she’s been pouring her DP into stats, skills and other stuff. Part of me wishes I knew how old she was so I could try to guess what her income was.”

“And she didn’t have any other worlds,” Max said.

“Not necessarily,” Jazzjak replied. “I’m not sure if the system ever transferred ownership of any world to you or simply gave you DP from her and the other gods or however else it happened. The fact you had DP to start with is incredible and I wouldn’t waste time trying to figure that one out.”

“But… what if a god dies and no one defeats him… is that possible? Fowl asked. “I mean what happens to worlds without gods? Or a god?”

Max looked at his friend and smiled. 

“What? Is that a stupid question?” their warrior asked.

“No, it’s a fair question,” Max replied. “I wondered that myself a few times but never considered asking it.”

“A godless world…” Jazzjak muttered. “I’m not sure what that would be like.”

“So you’re saying there aren’t any?” Cordellia asked. “I mean a world where a god doesn’t reign over it and get Divine Points from it?”

Jazzjak shrugged. “Not something I’ve experienced or ever discussed. Most of my time is spent trying to keep the world and the gods I’m responsible for alive. We don’t usually have philosophical questions or moments like these.”

Rakonath’s fingernail tapped the table twice. “I agree. We’re spending too much time on stuff like that. What I want to know is if we’re done here? I have a clutch of eggs to help transport.”

“You sure you don’t want help with that?” Max asked.

His dragon shook his head, still smiling. “No… It means a lot that you would be willing, but what we’re doing is very special to my kind.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re letting them leave,” Fowl stated. “I mean… do you really think they’ll outgrow that area so soon?”

“It’s not about soon but that we will,” Rakonath replied. “The amount of fish and wildlife my kind eats daily continues to increase. While we have the blessings to help increase the spawning of the fish in our waters, eventually we would reach a point where it would take too long for the lake to recover. Just like a farmer who doesn’t rotate his crops and soil, it may lead to a loss of years of food because they didn’t prepare ahead of time.”

“So how many are leaving again?” Cordellia asked, placing her hand on Rakonath’s.

“One hundred and fifty. They’ll also be taking twenty-five eggs with them. Two of my elders will be responsible for the new area, and eventually we’ll see about finding a place on the other continent that more can spread out upon.”

“Do we need to do that?” Fowl whispered to Batrire.

“Eventually,” Jazzjak stated. “While dwarves are slower at reproduction, all of your races will need to explore this world and find new places for them to settle down.  That is when a world starts to… level up, as you call it.”

“Do you know how many other continents are on this world?” Sog asked.

“Technically… yes,” their helper replied. “But I cannot tell you exactly where or the exact number. System rules and all. Part of this is learning to identify areas that might contain different ores or materials, which allow your world to progress. I believe Max mentioned the one world where they have giant… trains, which transport people and goods around the land. You’ll need to help your people to develop shipbuilding, setting up trade routes, or coming up with magical means to transport over distances.”

“The adventurers' guild,” Max whispered to Tanila.

She smiled and nodded. “Oh, I remember the first time you experienced that. I wasn’t certain if you might throw up.”

“Wait, a story I haven’t heard about Max?” Sog called out. “Someone better tell me this one!”

“I guess this meeting is adjourned,” Jazzjak said as he hopped out of his chair.

As the others rose and a few gathered together, Max moved to where Rakonath was. “I wish you luck with this move. Know that if you need me, just call for me.”

His dragon nodded and patted his shoulder twice. “You would be invited if you transformed into our shape, but I’ve seen you fly… and well… it’s not pretty. Besides, we don’t have that kind of time to wait on you.”

A chuckle echoed inside Max’s head.

He is right. You depend too much on the flight skill and don’t move your wings like you should.

That’s because I’m not a dragon…

Which is why you’re not invited. 

Rakonath’s answer was simple yet Max felt the sting of being denied a chance of experiencing it.

“I understand. I’ll be waiting to hear how the new place looks.  Eventually, I’ll head over and check out a few things myself.”

As Rakonath left, Max turned to see Tanila with her arms crossed and staring at him. “Am I in trouble?” 

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific,” she replied. 

“Am I in trouble for something specifically?” Max said, winking at her.

Tanila rolled her eyes. “Yes. You promised to help me with some runes and items. For someone who professes to love me so much, you sure seem to try and get out of helping.”

Max held up his two hands in surrender. “I’ll admit… I might be a little bit more excited about watching Rakonath and his kind fly across the ocean, braving storms while carrying eggs and wyrmlings. But you’re right. I did promise help, so I’ll gladly give it.”

She grunted and poked him in the ribs. “We’re going to have to work on how you respond. For that, you’re stuck with me for the next few days.”

A chuckle came from Fowl, who mouthed you’re in trouble to Max.

Sometimes I swear that dwarf gets smarter every year.

And then he opens his mouth and says something to remove that thought.

Yes… yes he does.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 14

The summons came just after dawn. A bowl of food was delivered with the message that Francis’s presence was requested… or expected at the clan leader's tent. As he got ready, Francis couldn’t help but wonder what was in the poultice the healer Hilde had given him. The skin on his hands was in better condition than he had expected.  

Tormund hadn’t let him use the poultice until last night, mentioning that one of the lessons every blacksmith needed to learn was pain. Each strike of the hammer cost something. At first it was their skin. Then it would be a matter of mental fortitude to push through the pain.  

Francis had been surprised that his skin had even blistered, but he had lost count of the thousands of swings he had taken. 

A young barbarian, barely older than Francis, waited outside his tent to take him to the Jarl and clan leaders.

Here we go.

Francis followed the messenger through the camp, noting how the other barbarians watched him pass. Some with curiosity, others with suspicion. A few nodded in what might have been respect.

Word really does travel fast up here.

The tent was exactly as he remembered. The clan leaders all sat in the same positions they had been, the first time he had come. Glitvall was standing off to the side. Jarl Keara occupied the seat of honor, her weathered face unreadable as Francis entered.

"Francis Lancaster," the Jarl said. "Glitvall has spoken on your behalf. He tells us you wish to join one of our raiding parties."

"That's correct," Francis replied.

"Why?" one of the clan leaders asked. An older man with a scar running from his temple to his jaw. "What purpose does a southerner have risking our warriors?"

Francis met his gaze. "Because in order to help your people and mine find victory, I need to learn how to fight beside you. I've fought alone. I've survived. But that's not enough. If we're going to win this war, I need to understand how your warriors work together."

"Pretty words," a woman with iron-gray braids said. "But words don't keep our warriors alive."

"No," Francis agreed. "They don't. Which is why I’ll make you a promise."

Jarl Keara leaned forward slightly. "What promise?"

"That no matter what happens out there, every warrior who goes with me will return alive." Francis let the words hang in the air. "The next time I stand before all of you, each one of them will be here. Or you can kill me."

Silence filled the tent.

"You can't promise that," the scarred man said. "No one can promise that."

"I just did," Francis said.

And if I have to die on the battlefield to make sure that promise holds, so be it. 

Glitvall's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. The warchief understood, even if the others didn't.

The clan leaders murmured among themselves. Some looked skeptical, others intrigued. Jarl Keara studied Francis for a long moment before nodding once.

"Very well. You may join the raiding party Glitvall has selected. But know this, southerner—if you break your promise, if even one of our warriors falls because of you, your life is forfeit. No second chances."

If only you knew.

"Understood," Francis said, fighting back a smile.

Glitvall moved toward the tent entrance. "Come. The pack is waiting."

As they turned to leave, Jarl Keara's voice stopped them.

"Glitvall."

The warchief paused.

"Your sudden interest in this southerner is... unusual," the Jarl said. "You've trained many warriors, but I've never seen you take such personal interest in an outsider. Why him?"

Glitvall turned to face her, his expression calm. "If you wish to know my mind, Jarl Keara, you have two choices. You can wait for the results and judge me by them. Or you can trust me."

He paused, then added, "If neither of those works for you, then you're welcome to pick up the axes and bring them to the center of the tent. Challenge me as Warchief. See if you can take my place."

The tent went silent.

Francis saw Jarl Keara's jaw tighten, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. For a moment, he thought she might actually accept the challenge. But then she took a slow breath and steadied herself.

"I will trust your judgment," she said slowly. "For now."

Glitvall nodded once and walked out of the tent. Francis followed quickly, very aware of the eyes boring into his back.

***

They walked in silence for a few moments before Glitvall spoke.

"That was bold. Making a promise like that."

"I meant it," Francis said.

"I know you did," Glitvall replied, glancing at him. "How did things go with Tormund?"

Francis considered the question. "Better than expected. I gained six points in both Blacksmithing and Metal Working."

The warchief's eyebrows rose. "Six points in three days? That's... significant."

"Tormund's a good teacher," Francis said. "Though I have a question about him."

"Ask it."

"He has this way of talking… about smithing that makes it sound like he's talking about life. Is that intentional, or am I reading too much into it?"

Glitvall chuckled, the sound deep and genuine. "Tormund is one of the wisest men in this camp. He could have pursued power. In fact, he could have challenged for leadership in his clan. But he stays at the forge, knowing his ability to equip and provide for all these people is worth more than any title."

"So it was intentional," Francis said.

"Everything Tormund does is intentional," Glitvall replied. "The fact that you picked up on it means you were listening. That's good. You'll need that skill where we're going."

They approached the Commons—a large open area where warriors trained, slept, and gathered. Francis could see a group of six barbarians waiting near the edge, their breath misting in the cold air.

Here we go. 

As they drew closer, Francis could make out more details. Four men, two women. All of them looked like they'd been fighting since they could walk.

"Warriors," Glitvall called out. "This is Francis Lancaster. He'll be joining your pack for the next raid."

One of the men stepped forward. He was tall, even for a barbarian, with a thick black beard braided with small bones. A massive axe hung across his back. His eyes were sharp, assessing Francis with the same intensity Francis had seen in Stenson when they first met.

"I'm Hroden," he said. "I lead this pack. You follow my orders out there, no questions. Understood?"

"Understood," Francis replied.

Hroden nodded, then gestured to the others. "That's Vornak." A stocky man with a war hammer and a face that looked like it had stopped a few too many fists. "Eirik." Lean and wiry, with twin hand axes and scars running down both arms. "Harald." The youngest of the group, maybe only a few years older than Francis, was carrying a spear and shield.

"The women are Selka and Helga," Hroden continued. Selka was built like she could snap Francis in half—broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle, and a two-handed axe strapped to her back. Helga was smaller, quicker-looking, with a bow and a quiver of arrows.

"A southerner," Selka said, her voice flat. "With swords."

The way she said it made it clear what she thought of both him and his weapons.

"Is that a problem?" Francis asked.

"Swords are for dancing," Selka replied. "Axes are for killing. You want to fight beside us, you should learn to use a real weapon."

"I'll stick with what I know," Francis said evenly.

"Then you'll die with what you know," Selka shot back.

"Enough," Hroden said, his voice cutting through the tension. "He's part of the pack now. We test him, we train him, and if he can't keep up, he stays behind. That's how it works."

Selka glared at Francis but said nothing.

Eirik, the lean one with the twin axes, spoke up. "What's your story, Southerner? Why are you really here? Most of your people aren’t willing to endure the cold."

"I’ve come here to learn about the army that you face," Francis said. "And to help."

"Help," Vornak rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "Right. Because we need a southerner to save us."

"I didn't say that," Francis replied. "I said I want to help. There's a difference."

Harald, the young one with the spear, looked curious rather than hostile. "There’s a rumor that you’ve been learning to smith? That's what people are saying."

"I did," Francis admitted.

"Why?" Harald asked. “How does smithing help us? Especially when rumors are you wasted more metal than most can count.

Francis smiled and motioned to Glitvall standing next to him. “Your Warchief told me I should learn from Tormund. So I did. If I’ve learned anything in the short time I’ve been here, it’s that I should obey him.”

Helga, the archer, hadn't said anything yet. She just watched Francis with dark, calculating eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but sharp. "Can you follow orders?"

"Yes," Francis said.

"Even when they don't make sense?"

He chuckled and nodded. “Oh, I’ve thought many of the orders I’ve been given don’t make sense, but I’ve followed them.”

Helga nodded slowly. "Good. Because out there, hesitation kills. You don't have time to question, only to act. If Hroden says to strip naked and run through the commons, just do it."

Grins appeared on everyone’s face except Selka at those words.

Glitvall cleared his throat. "You have two days before the raid. Use them to learn how each other fights. Test him, see what he can do. If he's not ready, tell me. I'll keep him back."

"He'll be ready," Hroden said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. "Or he won't be coming with us."

Glitvall nodded and turned to leave, then paused and looked at Francis. "Remember what Tormund taught you. The connections matter more than the individual pieces."

Francis nodded, understanding the message.

This pack. I need to earn their trust. I have to work with them, not just alongside them.

As Glitvall walked away, Hroden crossed his arms and studied Francis. "Alright, southerner. Let's see what you've got. We're going to run through some basics. How you move, how you fight, how you react."

"Now?" Francis asked.

"Right now," Hroden confirmed. "Eirik, Vornak, you're with me. We'll test his defense. Harald, you watch and learn. Selka, Helga, you two set up on the flanks. We're going to see if this southerner can handle being surrounded."

Selka grinned, and it wasn't friendly. "This should be fun."

“Are we going to use weapons?” Francis asked. 

Hroden frowned, his eyes darting between him and the others. “Not real ones.”

He whistled and a teenager ran up.

“Yes, sir?”

“I need practice weapons and shields,” Hroden replied, pausing. “And… find me two sticks that might work for swords.”

A disgusted look appeared on the teen's face but he nodded, running off.

Soon the boy returned with his arms full of practice weapons, their edges hammered to a flat point and two sticks that were different lengths.

“These will do,” Hroden said as the boy dropped the collection.

Francis picked up the two sticks, seeing that at least they appeared like they wouldn’t break. 

Alright. Let's see what these warriors can do.

Hroden gestured to a clear area of the Commons. "Take position. We start in thirty seconds."

Francis moved to the center, watching as the barbarians spread out around him. Three in front, two on the sides. A classic encirclement test.

I've died to worse. Let's see what they've got.

Hroden raised his hand.

"Begin."

Chapter 26 - The Creation of Arin

The road from Greengate wound through farmland for the first hour, flat and well-maintained. Arin traveled ahead of the party, scanning the fields and tree lines for threats. Behind him, the wagon creaked along at a steady pace, Master Brennan sitting nervously on the driver's bench.

The morning was clear and cool. Perfect traveling weather.

Kelsa walked beside the wagon, her hand resting on her sword hilt. Torvin marched on the other side, shield on his back, warhammer slung over his shoulder. Essa brought up the rear, her attention split between watching for threats and keeping an eye on Arin.

This is different from traveling with the woodcutters. More organized. Everyone has a specific role.

Arin ranged about fifty feet ahead, close enough to signal back quickly but far enough to spot dangers before they reached the party. His 360° vision made scouting easier than it would be for a human scout, since he could see in all directions simultaneously.

After an hour, the farmland gave way to forest. The road narrowed slightly, trees pressing closer on both sides. Master Brennan shifted nervously on his seat.

"This is where most attacks happen," Kelsa said, though Arin suspected she was speaking more for the merchant's benefit than the party's. "Stay alert."

Arin's Darkvision was passive, always working in the background, but he found it sharpened his perception even in daylight. Shadows held more detail, and movement in the underbrush registered more clearly. Small animals moved through the forest. Birds flitted between branches. Normal sounds.

Unlike Stealth, Darkvision didn't drain essence. It was simply part of how he saw the world now, and he couldn't imagine giving it up.

Two hours into the journey, Arin noticed something. The bird songs had stopped about a hundred feet ahead. The normal rustling of small creatures ceased.

That silence again. Just like before the goblin ambush.

He returned to the party quickly.

S O M E T H I N G A H E D F O R E S T T O Q U I E T

Kelsa's expression sharpened. "Halt. Defensive positions."

The party responded immediately. Torvin moved to the front, shield coming off his back. Essa positioned herself near the wagon, between Master Brennan and any potential threat. Kelsa drew her sword.

"Can you scout it?" Kelsa asked Arin.

Y E S, he formed, then activated Stealth.

[-3 Essence per minute]

He flowed forward, nearly invisible now, using every bit of cover. As he rounded a bend in the road, he spotted the source of the silence.

Wolves. 

Five of them, positioned on both sides of the road. Not attacking yet, but clearly stalking the party. Waiting for the right moment.

[Dire Wolf - Level 6]

[Dire Wolf - Level 6]

[Wolf - Level 4]

[Wolf - Level 5]

[Wolf - Level 5]

The two larger dire wolves were the leaders, easily twice the size of normal wolves. Their eyes glowed with predatory intelligence. This was a coordinated pack, not a random collection of animals.

Arin studied their positioning. Three on the left side of the road, two on the right. If the party continued forward, the wolves would attack from both sides, splitting their attention and creating chaos.

But we can turn this around. If I take out one of the dire wolves before they attack, the pack might scatter.

He returned to the party and deactivated Stealth.

F I V W O L V S T W O D I R W O L V S L E V L 6 T H R E E N O R M A L W O L V S

"Five wolves," Kelsa translated for the others. "Two dire wolves, level 6. Standard pack tactics, probably."

"Can we avoid them?" Master Brennan asked, his voice high with fear.

"No," Kelsa said flatly. "Once a pack like this picks up your scent, they follow. Better to deal with them now than have them attack when we're setting up camp tonight."

"I agree," Torvin said. "Arin, can ye take out one of the dire wolves before they charge? Might break their nerve."

C A N T R Y U S E S T E L T H

"Good. Do it." Kelsa looked at Essa and Torvin. "Standard formation when the fight starts. Torvin holds the front, I flank right, Essa supports from center. Arin takes targets of opportunity."

The plan was simple and clear. Arin appreciated that.

He activated Stealth again and moved toward the wolf pack. The essence drain would eventually catch up, but this wouldn't take long. He positioned himself above the larger dire wolf on the left side, in a tree branch directly over where it waited.

The creature was focused on the road, watching for the party to come into range. It never looked up.

Arin compressed his mass into a dense sphere and dropped.

The impact drove the dire wolf into the ground with enough force to snap bones. Before it could even yelp, Arin engulfed its head and began the dissolution process.

[+28 Mass]

[+22 Essence]

The other wolves erupted in chaos. The remaining dire wolf howled, a sound mixing rage and confusion. The three normal wolves scattered briefly, then regrouped at the sound of their pack leader's call.

But the hesitation was enough. Kelsa's voice rang out.

"NOW! Attack formation!"

The party surged forward. Torvin led the charge, his warhammer already swinging. He caught the second dire wolf as it leaped for him, the hammer meeting it mid-air and sending the creature tumbling.

Kelsa went right, engaging two of the normal wolves. Her sword work was precise and efficient, keeping both creatures at bay without overcommitting to either.

Essa stayed by the wagon, her holy symbol glowing as she prepared a spell.

Arin flowed toward the third normal wolf, the one isolated on the right side of the road. It saw him coming and snarled, backing away. It showed the creature was smart enough to recognize a threat.

But not smart enough. Arin used Charge, closing the distance in a burst of speed.

[-5 Essence]

He slammed into the wolf's flank, his acidic nature burning into fur and flesh. The wolf yelped and tried to bite him, but its teeth passed through his gelatinous form harmlessly.

[+18 Mass]

[+14 Essence]

The fight was over in less than a minute. Torvin crushed the second dire wolf's skull with a devastating hammer strike. Kelsa dispatched one normal wolf with a thrust through the ribs, then wounded the second badly enough that it fled into the forest.

Essa's spell, whatever she'd been preparing, proved unnecessary. She let the glow fade from her symbol.

"Clear," Kelsa announced, cleaning her blade. She looked at Arin, her expression approving. "Good work. Taking out that first dire wolf broke their formation."

T A C T I C S W O R K D

"Aye, they did," Torvin agreed. He examined his hammer, which had bits of wolf fur stuck to it, and grimaced. "Messy work, but effective."

"Is everyone alright?" Essa asked. When the others nodded, she approached Arin. "You're not injured?"

N O T I N J U R D

"Good. Though I'm not sure how I'd heal you anyway." She studied Arin's gelatinous form with clinical interest. "My healing magic works on living tissue. Would it affect slime biology? Something to experiment with later, maybe."

"Later," Kelsa said firmly. "We need to keep moving. Where there's one pack, there might be more."

Master Brennan, who'd been cowering on the wagon throughout the fight, finally spoke. "That was... that was incredible. You work together so smoothly."

"That's what practice does," Kelsa said. She looked at Arin. "You followed instructions well. Didn't panic, didn't overextend. That's exactly what we needed to see."

The praise felt good, but Arin knew this had been an easy fight. Five wolves against four experienced adventurers wasn't a real test. The real challenges would come later.

They resumed traveling. The forest eventually gave way to more farmland as they approached the halfway point to Millbrook. By midday, they'd covered good distance without further incident.

Kelsa called a halt near a stream, a natural resting point. "Lunch break. Thirty minutes, then we push on."

The party settled into an easy routine. Torvin filled water skins from the stream. Essa distributed rations from her pack. Kelsa scouted the immediate area to ensure they were alone. Master Brennan stayed with his wagon, eating nervously.

Arin couldn't eat, so he used the time to practice reading. He'd brought Jorin's primer, and he found a quiet spot to study it. The section on compound words was challenging but interesting.

"Look at that," Torvin said, sitting down heavily nearby. "The slime's reading."

"He told us he could read," Essa pointed out, joining them with her own lunch.

"Aye, but seeing it is different." Torvin watched Arin for a moment. "Can I ask ye something, slime? And answer truthful, mind."

Y E S

"Why do ye want to be an adventurer? Ye could live quiet, stay with those woodcutters, never risk your life. So why this?"

The question deserved a real answer. Arin thought carefully before forming his response.

N E D T O B E C O M S T R O N G R H A V T H I N G S I M U S T D O

"Things you must do," Kelsa repeated, having moved closer to read. "That sounds ominous."

P E R S O N A L

"Ah." Kelsa nodded, understanding. "We all have our reasons. Torvin's saving money to buy back his family's forge in the north. Essa's working off a debt to her temple. I'm..." She paused. "I'm looking for something too. The point is, we get it. Personal reasons are valid."

"Long as those reasons don't conflict with the party's safety," Torvin added. "If there comes a time when your goals put us at risk, ye tell us. Clear?"

W I L T E L Y U P R O M I S

"Good enough." Torvin stood and stretched. "Best get moving. Want to reach Millbrook before dark."

The afternoon journey was peaceful. They passed through several small villages, each one centered around farming or lumber work. People stared at Arin as the party moved through, but with Kelsa and the others treating him like a normal party member, most of the stares were curiosity rather than hostility.

By late afternoon, Millbrook came into view. It was smaller than Greengate, with perhaps two hundred people, and featured a simple wooden palisade rather than proper stone walls. The gate stood open, and a guard waved them through without question.

Master Brennan visibly relaxed. "Thank the gods. We made it."

"First day's done," Kelsa said. "Good work, everyone. Arin, you performed well. No complaints."

H O W L O N G I N T O W N

"Just tonight. We'll rest at the inn, leave at first light tomorrow for the return trip." Kelsa gestured toward a building with a sign showing a bed. "The Wanderer's Rest. Torvin and I have stayed here before. They're good people."

The inn was modest but clean. Kelsa arranged rooms while Arin waited outside. Several townspeople gathered to stare at him, whispering among themselves. He ignored them.

After a few minutes, Kelsa emerged. "Got three rooms. You can stay in the stable if you want. I didn't think you'd need a bed."

S T A B L E I S F I N

"Alright. Dinner's in an hour if you want to... well, watch us eat, I suppose." She smiled slightly. "You're fitting in better than I expected, slime. Keep it up."

The stable was quiet and dark, exactly what Arin preferred. He found a corner away from the horses and settled in to rest. The day had been successful. No major threats, good teamwork, and he'd proven he could follow instructions and work as part of a formation.

This is what Levi wanted, I think. Me being part of something and working with others toward common goals.

He activated his Status to check his progress.

[Name: Arin]

[Species: Adaptive Slime]

[Level: 9]

[Mass: 199% of base]

[Essence: 85/180]

His mass had grown significantly from absorbing the wolves. Almost double his base size now. He'd need to be careful about that. Getting too large might make stealth work harder.

The essence from the dire wolf had been substantial, though. Combined with what he'd started the day with, he was at about half capacity. Plenty for tomorrow's journey.

As evening settled over Millbrook, Arin heard voices from the inn. Laughter, conversation, and the sounds of people relaxing after a day's work. Normal life.

Someday, maybe I'll be able to join them. To sit at a table, eat food, be truly part of things.

But that would require something he wasn’t sure was even possible.

For now, he was a slime. An adventurer slime, but still a slime.

And that had to be enough.

***

Morning came too early. Arin woke to the sound of the party preparing to leave, their voices carrying from the inn. He flowed out of the stable to find them loading the wagon, which Master Brennan had apparently filled with supplies during the evening.

"There he is," Kelsa said. "Sleep well?"

A S W E L A S S L I M C A N

"Fair enough. We're almost ready. Brennan bought some local produce to take back. Should be an easy trip home."

The return journey began as smoothly as the first day had gone. Morning passed without incident. The party fell into a comfortable traveling rhythm, and Arin found himself relaxing slightly. Maybe this escort work wasn't so dangerous after all.

That thought lasted until early afternoon.

Arin was scouting ahead when he spotted them. Six figures on the road, positioned to block the path. Not monsters. Armed humans like the ones he had met before. Bandits.

[Human Bandit - Level 5]

[Human Bandit - Level 5]

[Human Bandit - Level 6]

[Human Archer - Level 5]

[Human Fighter - Level 7]

[Human Rogue - Level 6]

Six bandits, led by a Level 7 fighter. They'd set up a classic roadblock, with the archer positioned slightly back for support and the rogue would probably hide at some point and then start flanking.

This is bad. Six armed humans against four of us. And we have the merchant to protect.

Arin returned to the party quickly.

B A N D I T S A H E D S I X O F T H E M B L O C K I N G R O A D

"Bandits?" Kelsa's expression darkened. "How many?"

S I X L E D R I S L E V L 7 H A V A R C H R

"Six bandits, including a Level 7 leader and an archer." Kelsa looked at Torvin and Essa. "This is trouble."

"We can't go around?" Master Brennan asked, his voice rising with panic.

"The wagon won't make it off-road," Torvin said. "And they'll just follow us anyway. Bandits don't give up easy money."

"We fight," Kelsa decided. "Standard formation, but defensive. Torvin holds center, I guard right, Essa guards left. Arin, you find that rogue before he finds us."

F I N D R O G U E U N D R S T O O D

"Master Brennan, you stay with the wagon and keep your head down. No heroics."

The merchant nodded frantically.

As they approached the roadblock, the bandit leader stepped forward. He was a large man, scarred and confident. His sword looked well-maintained, and his armor was leather reinforced with chain.

"Nice wagon you've got there," he called out. "Heavy load. Must be valuable."

"We're guild-registered adventurers," Kelsa replied evenly. "Attacking us is a bounty offense."

"Only if someone reports it." The leader grinned, showing missing teeth. "And I don't see any witnesses around here. So here's how this works. You leave the wagon, walk away, and everyone lives. Simple."

"Or," Kelsa said, her hand moving to her sword, "you step aside and let us pass. Save yourself a lot of trouble."

The leader's grin faded. "Last chance, girl. Walk away."

"No."

"Your funeral."

The bandits attacked.

Arin was already moving, Stealth activated, flowing off the road into the trees. He needed to find that rogue before the hidden attacker could strike from behind.

[-3 Essence per minute]

The main fight erupted on the road. Torvin met the bandit leader's charge with his shield, the impact of sword on metal ringing through the forest. Two more bandits engaged him immediately, trying to flank the dwarf.

Kelsa faced two bandits on the right, her sword weaving a defensive pattern that kept both at bay. The archer fired from the back, his arrow catching Kelsa's shoulder pauldron but not penetrating the armor.

Essa raised her holy symbol, and golden light flared. One of the bandits engaging Torvin screamed and staggered back, his eyes burning with holy radiance.

Where is the rogue?

Arin scanned the forest, his 360° vision searching for movement. There. A shadow moving through the trees, circling toward Essa's position. The rogue was going for the healer.

Not if I get there first.

Arin flowed through the underbrush faster than the rogue could move. He positioned himself between the hidden attacker and Essa, waiting.

The rogue emerged from cover, a dagger in each hand, moving silently toward Essa's back. He never saw Arin.

Arin struck from the side, slamming into the rogue with Charge.

[-5 Essence]

The impact sent the rogue sprawling. His daggers flew from his hands. Before he could recover, Arin was on him, engulfing his head and cutting off his startled shout.

[+16 Mass]

[+12 Essence]

On the road, the fight was going poorly for the bandits. Torvin had crushed one bandit's leg with his warhammer and was pressing the leader hard. Kelsa had wounded both her opponents, blood streaming from cuts on their arms. The archer kept firing, but couldn't find clean shots with the melee so chaotic.

The bandit Essa had blinded was stumbling around, screaming. Essa herself was supporting Kelsa with small healing bursts, keeping minor wounds from becoming serious.

The leader saw his rogue go down and his face twisted with fury. "Fall back! Regroup!"

But Kelsa didn't give them the chance. She surged forward, her sword catching one fleeing bandit in the back. The man went down hard.

The archer fired one last shot, then ran. The two remaining bandits followed, leaving their leader to cover the retreat.

The leader backed away slowly, sword still ready. "This isn't over. We know what you're carrying now. We'll be back with more men."

"Try it," Kelsa said coldly. "Next time I'll take your head."

The leader turned and ran, disappearing into the forest.

Silence fell over the road. Three bandits lay dead or dying. The party was bloodied but standing.

"Everyone alright?" Kelsa asked, breathing hard.

"Took a sword strike to the arm," Torvin said, showing a deep cut. "Nothing fatal."

"I can handle that," Essa said, moving to him. Her hands glowed with healing light as she worked.

Kelsa looked around. "Where's Arin?"

I A M H E R E, Arin formed, flowing back onto the road. K I L D R O G U E B E F O R E H E R E A C H D E S S A

"You saved my life," Essa said quietly. "I never even saw him coming."

T H A T I S W H A T S C O U T S D O

"Aye, that it is," Torvin agreed. "Ye did well, slime. Very well."

Master Brennan emerged from under the wagon, where he'd been hiding. "Are we safe? Are they gone?"

"For now," Kelsa said. "But that leader was right about one thing. They know what we're carrying. They might try again."

"Then we move fast," Torvin said. "Push hard for Greengate. Don't give them time to regroup."

The party moved out immediately, traveling at a faster pace than before. Everyone was tense, watching the tree line for signs of pursuit.

But no attack came. By late afternoon, they saw Greengate's walls in the distance. Master Brennan nearly wept with relief.

At the north gate, the guards recognized them and waved them through. Inside the walls, the merchant pulled his wagon to a stop and climbed down shakily.

"I'll report the bandit attack to the guard captain," he said. "And I'll pay the contract fee now, plus a bonus. You earned it." He counted out coins, handing them to Kelsa. "Twenty gold. Thank you. All of you."

After Brennan left, Kelsa divided the payment. "Five gold each. Standard split for a four-person party."

She handed coins to Torvin and Essa, then looked at Arin thoughtfully. "You planning to carry gold inside yourself forever?"

H O W E L S E W O U L D I

"Guild accounts," Torvin said. "Every registered adventurer can open one. The guild holds your money, keeps records, and you can withdraw what you need. Works across any guild hall in the kingdom too."

"It's safer than carrying everything on you," Kelsa added. "Especially for someone who can't exactly wear a coin purse. Come on, we need to report the contract completion anyway. We'll get you set up."

At the guild hall, after reporting to Master Torven, Kelsa led Arin to a clerk's window near the back of the main room.

"New account," she told the clerk, a tired-looking woman with ink-stained fingers. "For our party's newest member."

The clerk glanced at Arin, blinked, then shrugged. She'd clearly seen stranger things. "Name and guild number?"

Kelsa provided Arin's information while the clerk filled out paperwork. "Standard terms apply. Ten percent fee on deposits for account maintenance and cross-guild transfers. Withdrawals are free up to five gold per day, anything larger requires a day's notice." She slid a small leather booklet across the counter. "Account ledger. Keep it safe."

Arin absorbed the booklet carefully into his mass, then extracted the five gold coins Kelsa had given him and pushed them toward the clerk.

D E P O S I T P L E A S E

The clerk counted the coins and made an entry in both her ledger and Arin's booklet. "Balance: five gold. Welcome to the guild banking system."

As they walked away from the window, Kelsa nodded approvingly. "Smart. Keep a few silver on you for small purchases, but let the guild hold the rest. Safer that way, and it builds a record of your earnings. Useful if you ever need to prove your worth to someone."

The others had deposited their shares as well while waiting. It felt strange to Arin, trusting someone else to hold his money. But it also felt like another step toward being a real adventurer, someone who planned for the future rather than just surviving day to day.

"So?" Essa asked once they'd finished. "Did he pass?"

Kelsa looked at Arin for a long moment, then nodded. "Yeah. He passed. Followed orders, worked well with the team, and saved Essa's life. That's more than good enough." She extended her hand, then remembered Arin couldn't shake it. "Welcome to the party, Arin. Permanent position, if you want it."

Y E S W A N T I T T H A N K Y U

"Don't thank us yet," Torvin said with a slight smile. "Now the real work begins. We'll take harder contracts, face worse threats. Today was just the start."

I A M R E A D Y

"We'll see." Kelsa gestured toward the guild hall. "Let's report the contract completion. Then we'll discuss what comes next."

As they walked toward the hall, Arin felt something shift inside him. Not his core, exactly. More like a sense of belonging. For the first time since Levi's death, he was truly part of something.

A party. A team. People who trusted him and whom he could trust in return.

This is what it means to be an adventurer. Not just fighting monsters. Working together and protecting each other.

Levi would have loved this. The camaraderie, the purpose, the sense of building something meaningful.

Arin couldn't bring Levi back. But he could honor his creator by becoming the kind of person, or slime, that Levi had believed he could be.

One contract and challenge at a time, starting now.

Story Feedback (let's make a weekly thing)

Realizing that I'm not perfect and my jumping back and forth between 4+ stories isn't the best sometimes, I wanted to start this thread and ask a few specific things.

First any story is free game - push / ask questions. I want to make the stories the best as possible.

Second - I'm really open. I don't know everything and I'm REALLY bad at editing (ask my long time readers). I literally will write non stop for hours, run a quick grammarly, save it, and move on to next chapter / story.

So Let's go with what we got.

Time loop - Book 2 is almost done on my end - writing the last scenes maybe this week depeneding on thanksgiving and kids.

What's good / bad so far. Obviously some think its a bit too slow and I need to show more of the numbers going - feel free to give specifics if you're willing so i can track down.


Cultivation - Again - first time really trying this. I thought information moved quickly in sects like that (like really fast) so if I'm wrong, I'll gladly change.
Fixing some of the things (think I got spirit stones fixed). They're currency and power (I think i need to point that out more).
Name - I thought I was being funny with the Chen Wei / Wei Chen. But do you feel it would be better to mentally see himself as his OG name? Or as Chen? Obv I wanted a way to refer to Chen's memories and his own thoughts.


Any other story (Arin / Viking / UL1 ) is free game also!

Thanks

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 13

Francis brought the hammer down.

The strike landed on the glowing metal with a dull clang that felt wrong the moment it happened. The iron bent awkwardly under the blow, folding in on itself instead of spreading flat like he'd intended.

"Shit," Francis muttered, pulling back to examine his work.

The piece looked terrible. Misshapen, too thin in some spots, lumpy in others. Nothing like the smooth, even metal Tormund had demonstrated moments before.

Tormund leaned over, arms crossed, and studied the mangled iron. After a long moment, he grunted.

"Well?" Francis asked.

"It's nothing," Tormund said flatly.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," the blacksmith repeated. "Worthless. Can't use it, can't fix it. Best thing to do is melt it down and start over." He picked up the tongs and thrust the ruined piece back into the forge. "Watch again."

Francis watched as Tormund pulled a fresh piece of iron from the pile. The blacksmith's movements were deliberate, unhurried. He placed the metal in the forge and waited, not bothering to explain what he was doing.

The iron began to glow. First a dull red, then brighter, shifting through shades of orange and yellow as the heat built.

"See that?" Tormund said, pointing with the tongs. "That yellow? That's when it's ready. Not before. You hit it when it's red, and the metal doesn't want to move. You hit it when it's white, you've burned it. Ruined. Can't fix burned metal. You’ll have to start all over."

Tormund pulled the glowing iron from the forge and set it on the anvil. The first strike rang out clean and sharp. The metal spread evenly under the hammer, exactly where the barbarian wanted it to go.

"You hit it too hard," Tormund continued, never pausing his work. "Like many who are first starting, you think more force would make it bend faster. All you did was damage it. Can't burn too hot, boy. Not with metal, not with anything."

Is he talking about the metal, or me?

Francis didn't ask. He just watched as Tormund shaped the iron with practiced efficiency, each strike measured and controlled. Within minutes, the piece looked perfect—flat, even, ready for whatever came next.

"Now you try again," Tormund said, handing him the tongs. "And this time, wait for the yellow."

***

By the end of the first day, Francis had ruined six pieces of iron.

His arms ached in a good way from the repetitive motion of hammering, and his hands were starting to blister despite the thick gloves Tormund had given him. Sweat soaked through his shirt, and the heat from the forge made breathing feel like work. Even with his stats, this new moment had pushed him in ways he hadn’t expected.

How do people do this for years?

"You're thinking too much," Tormund said, appearing beside him with a waterskin. "Here. Drink."

Francis took the offered water and drank deeply. It was cold, probably pulled from snow melt, and it felt like life returning to his body. It had a slight aftertaste, but Francis chose not to comment on it.

Hopefully, none of the snow was yellow.

"Thinking is good," Francis said between gulps. "How else do you figure out what you're doing wrong?"

"Thinking comes after," Tormund replied. He took the waterskin back and gestured at the forge. "Right now, you're standing there trying to plan every strike before you make it. Wondering if the angle's right, if the force is right, if the metal is right. All that thinking makes you hesitate. Hesitation means the metal cools. Cooled metal doesn't move."

"So what, I just hit it and hope?"

Tormund laughed. "No. You feel it. The metal tells you what it needs. You listen, you adjust. Can't plan a conversation before it happens, can you? Same with this."

Actually, I can plan conversations. I've had some of them hundreds of times.

But Francis didn't say that. He just nodded and picked up the hammer again.

***

The second day started before dawn.

[ Blacksmithing - 2 ]

[ Metal Working - 2 ]

Francis wasn’t sure if those gains were good or not. Having spent half a day feeling like he wasn’t accomplishing anything, the first notification had come. Tormund had asked what had been wrong because Francis’s next swing was off due to focusing on the words that had appeared.

Still… I doubt I’d be this far if it weren’t for his constant supervision. No one else is getting this kind of help.

Francis arrived at the forge to find Tormund already working, the orange glow of the fire the only light in the pre-dawn darkness.

"You're early," Tormund said without looking up.

"Couldn't sleep," Francis admitted.

Dreams of dying tend to do that… as well as having the physical stats I do.

Tormund grunted and gestured to the station Francis had been using. "Good. More time to practice. Today you're going to learn about flaws."

"Flaws?"

The blacksmith pulled a piece of iron from the scrap pile and held it up. In the firelight, Francis could see a dark line running through the metal.

"This came from a batch of ore we smelted last month," Tormund explained. "Looked good at first. But when we started working it, we found this. A crack, running deep through the whole piece."

The barbarian set it on the anvil and pointed at the flaw. "Now, some smiths would throw this out. Say it's worthless, can't be used. But that's wasteful. Metal's too valuable up here to throw away just because it's not perfect."

Tormund picked up his hammer. "Finding the flaws is important. You can either learn to work around them or start all over. Sometimes starting over is the right choice. But sometimes, if you know what you're doing, you can work with what you have."

He thrust the flawed iron into the forge and waited for it to heat. When it glowed yellow, he pulled it out and began hammering, but his strikes were different this time. Gentler, more precise, working around the crack instead of through it.

"See that?" he said. "I'm not trying to fix the flaw. Can't fix it. It's always going to be there. But I can shape the metal so the flaw doesn't matter. Make something useful despite it."

Francis watched, fascinated despite himself. The crack was still visible, but Tormund was slowly transforming the piece into something that resembled a bracket or mounting.

"What if the flaw is too big?" Francis asked. "What if it's in the wrong place, and you can't work around it?"

"Then you start over," Tormund said simply. "Melt it down, try again. No shame in that. Better to start fresh than force something that won't work."

How many times have I started over? How many deaths did it take before I figured out the right path?

"Your turn," Tormund said, handing him a flawed piece. "Let's see what you can do with this."

Francis took the iron and studied it. The flaw was obvious once he knew to look for it—a thin line running diagonally through the center.

Work around it. Don't try to fix it. Just make something useful.

Francis felt himself learning lessons he already knew but in a different way. Not sure if Glitvall had expected or known this would happen, he heated the metal and began to work.

***

The piece Francis made was ugly, but it held together.

Tormund examined it, turning it over in his hands, then nodded once. "Not bad. I wouldn't use it for anything important, but it'll do. That's progress. You never know when someone needs a hook for a towel."

Francis didn’t laugh, but neither did the blacksmith.

Progress. Guess that's something.

The rest of the second day passed in a blur of heat and repetition. Francis kept learning that not every problem could be solved by hitting it harder—sometimes a lighter touch was what the metal needed. He was beginning to read the color of the iron, to judge when it was ready and when it needed more time in the forge.

He also learned that Tormund rarely gave direct answers.

"Why do we quench some pieces in water and others in oil?" Francis asked at one point.

"Why do you think?" Tormund replied.

"I don't know,” Francis said. “That's why I'm asking."

"You've watched me do both. What did you notice?" the blacksmith asked, still not giving the answers he sought.

Francis frowned, thinking back. "The water cools it faster. Makes a lot of steam. The oil... It's slower. Less dramatic."

"And?"

"And... the pieces you quenched in water seemed harder? But the ones in oil were... I don't know, tougher?"

Tormund smiled. "There you go. That’s about as simple as you can say it. Water makes it hard, brittle. Good for blades that need a sharp edge. Oil makes it tough, flexible. Ideal for tools that require bending without breaking. Different purposes, different methods. Now, some metal is different, but you’re not ready for that kind of lesson yet."

Like people. Some situations need you to be hard, unbreakable. Others need you to bend.

By the time the sun set, Francis's entire body ached again. His hands were covered in blisters that had burst and formed new ones. His shoulders felt like they'd been beaten with his own hammer.

But he'd made three pieces that Tormund deemed "usable." Not good. Not impressive. But usable.

It was more than he'd expected.

***

[ Blacksmithing - 4 ]

[ Metal Working - 4 ]

The third day was different. Armed with a slightly better understanding of blacksmithing and a few extra points in his skills, Francis felt somewhat prepared.

Tormund handed Francis a longer piece of iron and pointed to a pile of firewood stacked against the forge wall.

"You're going to make a poker," the blacksmith said. "For moving logs in the fire. Simple tool, but we go through them regularly. If you can make one that doesn't break or bend after a week of use, I'll call this time well spent."

Francis looked at the iron, then at the poker hanging near the forge. It seemed simple enough—a long shaft with a hook at one end and a handle at the other.

How hard can it be?

"Before you start," Tormund said, "let me tell you about the first poker I made."

Francis paused, surprised. Tormund rarely talked about himself.

"I was about half your age," the blacksmith continued. "Thought I was clever. Wanted to make the best poker anyone had ever seen. Strong handle, perfect hook, the whole thing balanced just right."

"What happened?"

"I spent three days on it," Tormund said. "Got the hook perfect. Spent hours on the handle, made sure it was comfortable to grip. Was so proud when I finished." He paused. "Used it once. The hook snapped off the first time I tried to move a heavy log."

Francis blinked in surprise. "Why?"

"Because I forgot the most important part," Tormund replied. "The join where the hook meets the shaft. I was so focused on making each piece perfect, I didn't strengthen the connection between them. Looked beautiful. Worked like shit." 

Tormund chuckled, giving a rare smile. He tapped the poker hanging on the wall. "This one? Not as pretty. Handle's a bit rough. Hook's not perfectly curved. But the join is solid. That's what matters. It's been hanging here for five years."

I swear this man’s part blacksmith and part philosopher. The connection is what matters. Not the individual pieces.

Francis turned the iron over in his hands. "So don't try to make it perfect. Just make it work."

"Now you're learning," Tormund said. “Show me that you actually have.”

***

Francis started with the shaft.

He heated the iron until it glowed yellow, then began to hammer, keeping his strikes even and measured. The metal spread under each blow, lengthening, thinning slightly but maintaining its strength.

He worked through the lessons in his mind, remembering what Tormund had taught him.

Don't overthink it. Feel the metal. Listen to what it needs.

When the shaft was the right length, he moved to the hook. This was trickier—he needed to heat just the end, bend it without weakening the connection to the shaft.

The first attempt bent too far. He straightened it, reheated, and tried again.

The second attempt cracked slightly at the bend. He cursed, heated it longer, let the metal flow together, then bent it carefully.

The third attempt looked right.

He worked the join where the hook met the shaft, reinforcing it with careful, precise strikes. Not too hard like so many of the ones Francis had delivered on his first day of smithing. He didn't want to weaken it, but he used just enough force to ensure it would hold.

The handle came last. He flattened the end slightly, gave it a gentle curve that would fit a hand comfortably. Nothing fancy. Just functional.

When he quenched it in oil, he knew why he did so. He needed toughness over hardness. The poker hissed and steamed. He pulled it out and examined his work.

It wasn't beautiful. The hook had a slight wobble to it. The handle was rougher than he'd wanted. But the join looked solid, and the whole thing felt balanced in his hand.

[ Blacksmithing Increased - 6 ]

[ Metal Working Increased - 6 ]

Tormund took it from him and tested it, prodding at the logs in the forge. He moved a heavy piece, then another, applying real force.

The poker held.

"Well," Tormund said, examining the tool one more time. "It's not pretty. But it'll do the job." He hung it on a hook near the forge, right next to his own. "That's what matters."

Francis stared at the poker hanging there, side by side with the one Tormund had made years ago. Something about seeing them together—one worn and proven, one fresh and untested—made his chest feel tight.

I made something. Something that'll last. That's... that's different.

"Good work," Tormund said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're not a smith yet, and you probably won't ever be. But you learned what you needed to learn."

"What's that?" Francis asked.

"That some things take time. That you can't force results by hitting harder. That flaws don't make something worthless—they just mean you have to work differently." Tormund paused. "And that the connections between things matter more than the things themselves."

Francis looked at the older smith, wondering how much Tormund actually understood about why Glitvall had sent him here.

He knows something. Maybe not everything. But something.

"Thank you," Francis said. "For teaching me."

Tormund waved a hand dismissively. "Glitvall sent you. I taught you. That's how things work up here." But there was a hint of warmth in his voice. "Besides, you weren't terrible. For a southerner with worthless swords."

Francis couldn't help but smile at that.

As he removed the leather apron and prepared to leave, Tormund called after him.

"Boy."

Francis turned.

"Whatever you're trying to forge out there," Tormund said, gesturing vaguely toward the battlefield beyond the camp, "remember what you learned here. Can't burn too hot. Can't force it. And sometimes the flaws are what make it strong."

Francis nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

He stepped out of the forge into the cold evening air, the heat from the past three days still radiating from his skin. His hands ached. His shoulders burned. His body felt like it had been beaten and reshaped.

But something inside him felt different. Steadier. Like metal that had been properly tempered.

Three days. Three days of not dying. Not fighting. Just... making something.

It was strange how much that mattered.

Francis headed back toward his tent. Tomorrow, Glitvall would probably have news about the raiding party. 

But tonight, he'd made something that would last.

That was enough.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 089 -

Max felt the presence of creatures all around him as he moved through the halls of the castle he was in.

A world filled with vampires, shadow creatures, and what I guess are something similar to a dark elf but worse.

Yet you’re a god to the shadow creatures. Imagine that.

Max fought back the chuckle that wanted to escape, his attention instead focused upon the hallway that was more shadows than light.  Every so often, an archway off to the side would appear, leading into other hallways just like this one.  A maze of darkness and shadows that could easily cause someone to get lost if they weren’t being led by a string that told Max where the room entrance to the god section was.

It’s ironic that while they’re technically my ‘people’ they fear me so much they won’t even come close. Perhaps the previous god wasn’t kind or something else.

The wind picked up and the magical green flames that burned in the sconces shifted their light again. In one of the shadows ahead, Max saw a pair of yellow eyes studying him before vanishing.

At least the bells have stopped ringing.

Max was serious about that comment as his sudden appearance in the city had set off a system of deep bells that had rang for a solid ten minutes. 

This entire world appeared to be in a state of night. The moon, which hung in the sky, hadn’t moved since his arrival. Every creature that had been near his arrival point had scattered, vanishing into buildings or beyond his sonar immediately.

After a few minutes of walking through a city with architecture that felt like someone had been very drunk while designing it, Max took to the sky, rising above the varied shapes and sizes of buildings, and flew to the castle.

Up ahead.

Max nodded to himself, seeing the glowing yellow eyes appear, always moving ahead of him and the path he took.

“You don’t have to hide,” Max called out again. “I’m not here to cause problems.”

The same reply came as it had every time before. No words, only a moment or two of staring before they vanished again.

Well, it would have to be a racial skill since every creature we’ve encountered here has done the same thing.

Being… not a creature. Remember, we’re on a world made of different entities that aren’t like you.  Just like the coral beings we encountered, this world is filled with life. It’s just a different kind.

I remember why we didn’t stay long the first time we came. A place of darkness got old fast. Besides, I think the last time we were here, we saw what you called a vampire.

It was a vampire and you didn’t make friends with it either.

Max chuckled this time, not caring that his voice echoed in the hallway.  

It had attacked first. In fact they all had.

Well, to them, you seemed like a buffet of blood, I’m guessing. Who knows how often someone like you shows up and they get a chance to eat.

Max turned down the archway to his right, following the thread that was growing stronger.  Soon, stairs appeared, leading downward.  They descended like a spiral staircase, except there were no walls around them.  Darkness was instead the barrier and Max’s sonar told him the place he was in was filled with life that he recalled from before.

Screeches came as shapes moved in the darkness.  Thousands of them swirled around him and yet not a single one made their way toward the stairs he was moving down.

Bats… the same ones from the tower.

It seems you might be right. Tell me what kind of world do you think we’re on?

Max knew the answer Bob was looking for. His skills thought made him wonder about just what kind of worlds were out there.

Something similar or worse than Igarras… a world built upon combat?

A world built upon rules that are different from what you know.  This place is a tier 3 world and grants you a large amount of DP every day.  We must be careful not to do something that alters the makeup of this place and affects its income. 

And yet I still have to reach the panel so that Jazzjak can access this world's data from our home. It makes me wonder what each world a god gains through combat is like. How difficult could one be to…

Subjagate? 

I’m not a fan of that word, but sure.

You are technically taking over a world by force and requiring its inhabitants to live according to the potential rules you desire. There aren’t many other words that might describe what you want precisely. Still if you have the power to take a world from a god, you easily have the power to make its inhabitants obey you. The real problem comes with what other gods might be present.

Jazzjak mentioned that since I own this world, my presence won’t be perceived as an attack. Still, it makes me wonder when or if the other gods will be present or on different worlds.

We’ll soon find out. You're going to keep walking down these stairs or just take the easy route?

Knowing Bob was right and that he was wasting time moving around and around the descending staircase, Max stepped off the side, letting Bob control their flight as they moved downward.

All of the bat shapes nearby let out a loud, high-pitched cry that seemed to go on for a while in many directions. Max’s Sonar served its purpose, announcing the floor that was below, and Max moved back to the staircase, which descended below the stone floor that was covered in a variety of bones. He was almost surprised by the number of shapes and sizes that he could sense in the remains.

Proceeding below the floor, Max found himself in a hallway leading to a set of metal doors, similar to those he had found on Radiant Steppes.

These doors had a mural of what Max would consider very grotesque images set into it. He didn’t want to see what his sonar revealed, wondering what kind of being would think such a design was worth having.

Different opinions and beliefs. It might be a warning or it might be considered a treasure.

Max said nothing, moving toward the doors and preparing to open them when a dozen shapes all materialized in the darkness around him.  Red eyes glowed and his sonar revealed that each one of them held weapons. Something dripped from the blades and spear tips, a thick goo of some kind.

“You are not welcome here,” one from behind cried out. “Though you carry the spark of our kind, you are not us.”

Max slowly turned, not summoning a weapon or acting hostile.  He knew the one who had called out to him, sensing it was the shortest one of the group. Each was about eight feet tall but the one he needed to talk with was only about six feet tall.

“And what do you propose to do?” Max asked. “Attack me? I’ve done nothing to you or your kind. I’m simply here to claim what is mine.”

Hisses came from the group and Max sensed them shifting, their weight lowering as their weapons moved into an attack position.

“There is nothing to claim,” the same one said. “We will not work with you nor serve you. It would be better to die. Flee before the others arrive and come to drink your blood.”

Max chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not sure they’re going to succeed. The last group that attacked found out I’m not weak. You know it and I know it. The twelve of you can’t kill me and unless you’ve summoned another god, I doubt anything here will give me–”

Max spun, his artifact in his right hand, and his shield in his other.

The creature that had been hurtling towards him stopped about ten yards away.

Power radiated from this one and Max could sense the difference between it and the other creatures that had surrounded them.  All but the short one had vanished, leaving him flanked on both sides.

That one’s a god.

A weaker god, perhaps. Or able to hide its power.

Max could sense the aura coming from the creature he called a vampire. It was taller than him by a few inches and carried a pair of swords. Flowing long hair was tied neatly behind its head and it wore plate armor that seemed to absorb even the darkness around it.  

It smiled at him, two sets of fangs detectable by Max’s sonar.

“You should run… unlike the rock god, your flesh will not break my teeth.”

Max chuckled and shook his head.  “You do realize that if I beat the rock god, then I’m a lot stronger than him. I’m also fairly certain you probably know who I am and are trying to stall… I’m guessing another god is coming, or perhaps two.”

Even without light, Max could get a better read on the god he was facing thanks to his Sonar. Gone was the slight smile, replaced with a scowl.

“This world doesn’t serve your kind. We seek to remove all like you!” the vampire hissed. “To stand here is an affront to all we believe.”

Thoughts?

Fight? We should win if he can’t get away or we’ll make it through the door and activate the panel.  But we also have to remember that by doing so we might also give them a location of our world.

A chuckle came from Bob as his skill spoke.

Though I’d be interested to see that world matchup. Darkness is their ally and yet they’d be facing seven different gods. Dragons and demons would most likely be a very difficult thing for them to overcome. Not that I’m saying you're kind and the others would be either.

No… I get that. Still, if I want to have better control over my worlds and try to keep the DP from stalling or decreasing, I can’t just avoid all conflict. How about you have a little fun instead?

Bob’s chuckle turned into a roaring fit of laughter inside his head and Max grinned.

“Well, I tried,” Max said, winking at the god that looked ready to pounce. “I guess I’ll let you talk with the other part of me.”

“The other part of–” the vampire god said, jumping backward the moment Max gave Bob control.

Darkness swirled around Max as Bob equipped the Bone Ring of Darkness.  At the same time, his skill activated an ability that they had only used once.

[ Death Magic ]

Max felt like someone was pouring dirty oil that had been frying stuff for a month over his soul. A part of him that had been kept safe from corruption flared and he sensed a change in his skill.

Fear not. The hunger that once consumed me is not in control, but yes… this is only a taste of what would have been had you not somehow changed me.

Bob’s words felt absent of hope. It wasn’t his skill trying to be evil. It was as if everything that made Bob different was removed and all that was left was the skill Max had first started with.

“What are you!?” gasped the vampire god as it pulled back even more, both swords held up, ready to defend itself.

Bob laughed through Max’s mouth and the sound that came from it was different than usual.

“I am what you should fear,” Bob said. “I am the darkness you will never approach but wish you could.”

Max sensed the shorter shadow figure vanish from his Sonar the moment Bob had started speaking.

Silence was his skill's answer as the god before them seemed to glance around, apparently able to sense that whatever aid it might have expected had they fought was gone.

“You… how?!” the vampire exclaimed.

Bob moved. 

Max knew his skill had activated different abilities, including Haste, but everything happened faster than he had anticipated.

His hands held the other god’s wrists, and Max’s body grew as Ultimate Form kicked in.

“You will not force me to consume you,” Bob hissed. “I shall pass into the other room and I will take what is mine, or I will ravage this world and claim every life that is here as mine. Do you understand?”

Those words were followed by the sound of bones breaking as Bob used Power Strike, squeezing harder upon the appendages he grasped.

A pained cry came from the vampire who was caught, both arms spread wide, his face being pulled closer toward Max’s.

“Let him go,” a deep voice called out. “You may take what is yours.”

Bob cackled, still holding on as he slowly turned around.

Max and his skill had sensed the presence of another being behind them appear. Unlike the one who was caught in Bob’s grasp, this god wasn’t hiding his presence or his potential strength.

“Ahh, the real power in this world,” Bob said, staring at a pair of green eyes that were the only thing showing the god who had just appeared. “It appears there is one smart enough to know when to give in.”

Max felt the creature, which was humanoid and yet not, bow. Its wings on its back tucked into place as a muscular body dropped to one knee.

“Forgive him. He does not know the power of what this body carries. Enter the room of the one whose claim you hold and acquire what you are here for.”

“And what if I am here for more than just a simple connection to my current world?” Bob asked, pulling the trapped vampire closer.  

Max could smell the death that this god gave off. There was also the scent of true fear as it tried to fight against the grip that held it.

“You do not act like what you should… and you appear wise enough to know the need of Divine Points. I am Camazo. I will ensure our world gives you what you need. If, at some time, you feel you need more and return, seeking other power, please remember I have done what I can to aid you.”

Bob roared with laughter and then tossed the vampire god into the darkness. “Camazo… I shall remember your wisdom. Very well. I shall take what is mine and expect no problems from this world.”

The god that was kneeling a dozen yards away said nothing, simply bowing his head.

Laughing like a madman, Bob spun, moving toward the metal doors and ripping them open.  

What was that?!

A being who understands what I am and am capable of. Let’s do what we came for. I’ll need to stop drawing upon this skill and let you take over sooner than later.

The corruption?

Yes.

Formation Master - Chapter 6: The Evaluation - Part 2

CHAPTER 6: THE EVALUATION - PART 2

Wei Chen woke to sunlight and the immediate awareness that today would be harder than yesterday.

His body felt better than it had any right to. The qi circulation from yesterday's match had actually helped his recovery, like stress-testing a system revealed where it could be optimized. His meridians were still damaged, but they were adapting.

Always celebrate the small victories.

He sat up and checked his remaining resources. Two spirit stones. Not enough for today's match, not if Chen Hua was as tactical as she'd appeared in her first round.

Wei Chen pulled out Chen Wei's journal and reviewed yesterday's formations. The redirect array had worked perfectly against Liu Hong's aggressive approach. The Mirage Wall had held well enough. The qi trap had been subtle and effective.

But Chen Hua had won her match by studying her opponent, finding patterns, exploiting weaknesses. She wouldn't charge blindly into formations she didn't understand. She'd probe and adapt.

That meant Wei Chen's formations would need to handle unpredictability. More complexity, better responses, adaptive logic.

Which required materials he didn't have.

Wei Chen dressed in his outer sect robes and gathered his formation flags from yesterday's match. Several were damaged from Liu Hong's attacks, but most were recoverable. The formation ink had mostly burned off during activation, but the flags themselves could be reused.

Two spirit stones, five reusable flags, a little ink but mostly empty ink bottles, and six hours until the match.

Not great. But he'd worked with worse constraints.

Wei Chen left his dormitory and headed toward the arena. The morning market was already busy with disciples preparing for their own matches. Twenty-four participants remained from yesterday's forty-seven. Half would be eliminated today.

The arena grounds were quieter than yesterday. Most disciples who'd been eliminated had left, nursing their pride or their injuries. The ones who remained were either preparing for matches or watching others prepare.

Wei Chen made his way to the edge of the combat area and studied the formation flags he'd recovered. Three were perfectly intact. Two had minor damage that wouldn't affect functionality. One was cracked badly enough that using it would be risky.

Five usable flags total. He needed at least eight for the complex formation network he had in mind. The redirect array v4 alone required five nodes, and he still needed the visible decoy formations to make Chen Hua think she understood his setup.

Resource problem. Again.

"Wei Chen."

He looked up. Wang Liu stood nearby, the classical formation master Wei Chen had noticed in the brackets yesterday. Foundation Establishment Stage 1, technically skilled, and someone who'd been watching Wei Chen's match with obvious interest.

"Wang Liu," Wei Chen acknowledged.

Wang Liu gestured to the flags Wei Chen was examining. "Your formations yesterday. The redirect array was elegant in its simplicity. The hybrid barrier-illusion was more sophisticated than most outer disciples could create."

"Thank you."

"I noticed you're short on flags. Five usable, but your formation network yesterday used at least nine nodes across multiple arrays." Wang Liu pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. "I have a proposition."

Wei Chen waited.

Wang Liu unwrapped the bundle, revealing four premium formation flags. The quality was immediately obvious, reinforced cores, precision-etched anchoring runes, the kind of flags that could handle high-intensity qi flow without degrading.

"These are worth twelve to fifteen spirit stones at market price," Wang Liu said. "I'll trade them to you, along with ten low-grade spirit stones, in exchange for one hour of your time after the evaluation concludes. I want to discuss your formation methodology. Specifically, how you optimize qi flow patterns and how you approach hybrid array integration."

Wei Chen processed the offer. Nine flags total would give him more than enough for today's match and reserves for the semifinals if he advanced. The ten stones covered materials. And Wang Liu was asking for knowledge, not charity, a professional exchange between formation practitioners.

"The hour would need to be after all my matches conclude," Wei Chen said. "I can't afford the distraction during the evaluation."

"Agreed. And I want access to your formation notes. Not your competition designs," Wang Liu added quickly. "Your theoretical frameworks. How you think about formations differently from classical teaching."

Wei Chen considered. His actual innovations, the redirect array v4, the specific hybrid designs, those he'd keep to himself. But the underlying optimization principles? Those were valuable but not secret. But trading methodology for resources was smart networking.

"Deal. But I sketch the examples fresh."

Wang Liu smiled. "Fair enough. The journal has personal value beyond the formations."

He handed over the flags and counted out ten spirit stones. Wei Chen accepted both and examined the premium flags more closely. The craftsmanship was excellent. These would hold formations stable even under Foundation Establishment-level attacks.

"Your optimization approach," Wang Liu said. "You're treating formations like engineering and building problems rather than artistic expressions. That's not how the Formation Hall teaches."

"I know. But engineering problems have solutions. Art is subjective."

"And matches are won by solutions, not aesthetics."

"Exactly."

Wang Liu nodded slowly. "Classical formation theory emphasizes elegance and tradition. You emphasize functionality and efficiency. I think there's value in both approaches. After the evaluation, I'd like to explore where they intersect."

"I'd be interested in that discussion," Wei Chen said honestly. Wang Liu's classical foundation, combined with Wei Chen's optimization thinking, could produce interesting results.

"Good luck against Chen Hua. She's tactical and patient. Your usual approach might not work twice."

"I'm aware. That's why I'm changing the approach."

Wang Liu's eyes gleamed with interest. "I'll be watching."

He left, and Wei Chen organized his resources.

Nine flags total—four premium quality, five serviceable. And twelve spirit stones now.

More than enough for materials and emergency reserves.

Networking pays dividends.

Wei Chen made his way to the Formation Hall merchant stall that had been set up near the arena for the evaluation. Several vendors were selling cultivation resources, but only one carried formation materials.

The merchant was the same older man Wei Chen had sold his talisman to days ago. He recognized Wei Chen immediately.

"The outer disciple who fixed Elder Qian's formation," the merchant said. "Your match yesterday was impressive."

"Thank you. I need materials. Mid-grade formation ink, three bottles, and binding adhesive."

The merchant pulled out a small case. "Mid-grade ink, three bottles. Binding adhesive for permanent installations. Total cost: Eight low-grade stones."

Wei Chen counted out the payment. "The ink quality is consistent? No qi disruption?"

"Guaranteed. I supply the Formation Hall directly. Elder Shen would have my head if I sold substandard materials."

Wei Chen took the materials and returned to the arena. He had four hours until his match against Chen Hua. Still plenty of time to prepare properly.

The combat area was open for preparation. Several other disciples were already placing formations, setting traps, or practicing techniques. Wei Chen found a quiet corner and started planning.

Chen Hua would be studying him. She'd watched his match yesterday, seen his tactics, and identified his patterns. That meant using the same formations in the same way would fail. She'd know to expect the redirect array, would anticipate the Mirage Wall, and would be ready for the qi trap.

Wei Chen needed to show her what she expected, then hit her with what she didn't.

He started with the obvious formations. The redirect array in the same triangular configuration as yesterday, positioned near three stone pillars. Chen Hua would see it, recognize it, and plan around it.

The Mirage Wall went up next, with the same six-node configuration and placement. Visible to anyone who knew what to look for, and Chen Hua definitely knew what to look for.

The qi trap he placed in the center, just like yesterday. Subtle, effective, predictable.

Three formations that Chen Hua would expect and prepare for.

Now for the actual trap.

Wei Chen pulled out his journal and reviewed the redirect formation v4 design. The version with attack queuing. Instead of immediately redirecting attacks, it would store them temporarily in a buffer array, then release them all at once.

Chen Hua would probe his defenses carefully. Each probe would add another attack to the queue. She'd think she was testing safely, gathering information. By the time she committed to a real attack, the queue would be full.

Then the redirect would hit her with everything simultaneously.

Wei Chen started placing the second redirect array. This one used a pentagonal five-node configuration instead of a triangle, with additional qi channels for the storage buffers. The nodes were smaller than standard flags, harder to spot, and positioned within the arena floor's natural irregularities.

The formation was more complex than anything he'd built before. Five nodes meant five separate power sources, five points of failure, five channels that needed perfect synchronization. The mid-grade ink helped, flowing smoothly through the intricate patterns.

Wei Chen worked steadily for two hours, checking each connection against his designs. The storage buffers were the critical components. They needed to hold incoming qi without releasing it prematurely while also monitoring the total stored energy to prevent overflow.

By the third hour, the formation was complete but not activated. Wei Chen tested it mentally, running through the logic step by step.

Incoming attack hits formation → Caught by redirect channels → Diverted to storage buffer → Held in stasis → Next attack adds to buffer → Continue until trigger condition → Release all stored attacks simultaneously.

The trigger condition would be the critical timing. Release too early, and the impact would be minimal. Release too late, and Chen Hua might retreat before committing. Wei Chen needed to wait until she was fully engaged, convinced she'd figured out his defenses.

The fourth hour was spent on contingencies. Wei Chen placed a simple trap formation near the arena boundary, just visible enough that Chen Hua might think it was a backup plan. It wasn't. It was a decoy to draw her attention away from the real formations.

By the fifth hour, Wei Chen's preparation was complete. Five formations total. Three obvious ones Chen Hua would expect, one hidden redirect array with queuing logic, and one decoy. He kept his two remaining spirit stones in reserve.

The sixth hour he spent resting and conserving qi. The redirect array v4 would require more power to activate than anything he'd built before. His Qi Gathering Stage 1 cultivation was barely sufficient. He needed every thread of qi available.

Other disciples were finishing their own preparations. Wei Chen watched them work, cataloging their approaches. Most were focused on offense, creating attack formations or trap arrays designed to end matches quickly. A few were purely defensive, building barriers and escape formations.

Chen Hua's preparations were different.

She was placing formations, but they were scattered, seemingly random. No obvious pattern, no clear strategy. Wei Chen studied them carefully and realized what she was doing.

Information gathering. Each formation was a sensor, designed to detect incoming qi signatures and movement patterns. Chen Hua wasn't planning to attack or defend initially. She was planning to study Wei Chen during the match itself, identify his actual capabilities in real time, then adapt accordingly.

She's treating the match like a test environment.

That was smart. Dangerous, but smart. It meant Chen Hua wouldn't commit to any strategy until she was confident she understood Wei Chen's full arsenal.

Which played directly into his redirect array v4's strength. The more she tested, the more attacks would queue up, waiting to be released.

A gong sounded across the arena.

"Participants preparing for quarterfinal matches, ten minutes to completion," the supervising elder announced.

Wei Chen returned to his formations and made final adjustments. The redirect array v4 needed one more verification. He checked each storage buffer, ensuring the qi channels were properly aligned and the release triggers were set to his specifications.

Everything was ready.

"Quarterfinal matches begin," the elder called. "First bracket: Chen Hua versus Wei Chen."

Of course we're first.

Wei Chen and Chen Hua walked to opposite sides of the combat area. She moved with the careful economy of someone who'd fought enough to know wasted motion was wasted energy. Her qi signature was steady, controlled, Qi Gathering Stage 4. Strong enough to be dangerous, experienced enough to be cautious.

The supervising elder stepped forward. "Same rules as yesterday. Formations and techniques permitted. Match ends when one participant yields, is rendered unconscious, or leaves the combat boundary. Lethal force is forbidden."

Chen Hua bowed slightly to Wei Chen. "I watched your match yesterday. Impressive work."

Wei Chen returned the bow. "Your match was also impressive."

"You beat Liu Hong through preparation and superior formations. I intend to beat you through adaptation and patience."

"Good luck with that."

Chen Hua smiled. "I won't need luck."

The elder raised his hand. "Begin."

Chen Hua didn't charge. She didn't attack. She activated one of her sensor formations and waited, studying Wei Chen's position.

Wei Chen triggered his obvious formations. The redirect array shimmered to life, visible enough that Chen Hua would see it. The Mirage Wall activated, creating its invisible barrier. The qi trap began its subtle drain.

Chen Hua nodded slowly, as if confirming what she'd expected. She moved laterally, circling the combat area's perimeter, staying outside Wei Chen's formation range.

Wei Chen remained still, watching. Chen Hua was gathering data, mapping his defenses, looking for patterns.

She launched her first attack. A small qi bolt, barely powered, more of a probe than a real threat. It hit Wei Chen's redirect array and bounced back exactly as expected.

Chen Hua studied the redirect pattern, her eyes tracking the qi flow. She launched another probe from a different angle. Same result, different trajectory.

Three more probes. Each one hitting the redirect array, each one adding to Chen Hua's mental map of Wei Chen's defenses.

Each one also adding to the redirect array v4's storage buffer.

Wei Chen could feel the hidden formation filling with stored energy. Five attacks queued and waiting. Chen Hua had no idea.

"Your redirect formation is well-structured," Chen Hua called across the arena. "But it has a predictable response pattern. I can work around it."

Wei Chen said nothing, letting her think she'd figured it out.

Chen Hua launched a more powerful attack, this time aimed at the Mirage Wall. The barrier caught it, and the illusion made it appear to pass through empty space. Chen Hua's eyes narrowed.

"Hybrid formation. Barrier and illusion integrated. That's… creative." She launched three more attacks at the Mirage Wall from different angles, testing its coverage and strength.

The barrier held, but Wei Chen could see the strain. Foundation Establishment level attacks would eventually break through. Chen Hua was Qi Gathering Stage 4, strong enough to pressure his defenses.

"Your formations are good," Chen Hua said. "Better than most outer disciples could create. But they're static. Once I understand them, I can counter them."

She was right. Standard formations were static. They did what they were designed to do and nothing more. Chen Hua's sensor formations were feeding her information, and she was building a complete picture of Wei Chen's capabilities.

What she didn't know was that the redirect array v4 wasn't static. It was dynamic, adaptive, and currently holding eight of her probe attacks in storage.

Chen Hua shifted her approach. Instead of testing formations, she tested angles. She moved quickly around the arena perimeter, looking for blind spots in Wei Chen's coverage. Her qi flared as she prepared a serious attack, not a probe.

She launched it at Wei Chen directly, bypassing his visible formations. A concentrated blast of qi, fast and accurate.

Wei Chen triggered the Mirage Wall's defensive component. The barrier caught the attack and held. Chen Hua's eyes widened slightly, impressed.

"You placed the hybrid formation to cover multiple vectors. Well done." She launched two more attacks in quick succession, both at different angles, both testing the Mirage Wall's limits.

The barrier was starting to strain. Chen Hua's attacks were methodical, precise, and designed to identify the formation's breaking point without wasting her own qi.

Wei Chen let her continue. Every attack she launched at the Mirage Wall was one less attack she had available for later. And she was committing now, convinced she understood his defenses.

Time to show her she’s wrong.

Chen Hua gathered her qi for a major technique. Her entire cultivation base channeled into a single devastating strike. This was the attack she'd been building toward, the one designed to shatter Wei Chen's formations and end the match.

She fired.

Wei Chen triggered the redirect array v4.

The hidden formation activated all at once. Nine attacks that Chen Hua had launched earlier, all stored in the buffer, all released simultaneously. Her own qi, her own techniques, all coming back at her from multiple angles.

But not at her directly. At her major strike.

Nine probe attacks hit Chen Hua's devastating technique mid-flight. The collision created a cascading qi disruption. Her major attack destabilized, its power scattering as the redirect array's stored energy tore it apart from within.

The resulting explosion of uncontrolled qi filled the center of the arena. Chen Hua threw up a defensive technique, barely managing to shield herself from her own disrupted attack.

The arena went quiet.

Chen Hua stood in the center of the combat area, her defensive shield flickering, her breathing heavy. She'd blocked the worst of the explosion, but the effort had cost her significant qi.

She looked at Wei Chen, and her confidence had given way to wariness and then respect.

"Hidden formation," she said. "You showed me three formations and hid a fourth."

"Yes."

"It stored my probe attacks. I was feeding it qi."

"Yes."

Chen Hua lowered her defensive shield. "That's not standard formation theory."

"I know."

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she launched three more attacks, each one different in intensity and angle. Testing whether Wei Chen had more hidden formations waiting.

He didn't. The redirect array v4 had used its stored energy. It would take time to recharge, time he didn't have in a match.

The attacks hit the Mirage Wall. The barrier held, but barely. One more serious strike and it would shatter.

Chen Hua saw it too. She gathered her qi again, but slower this time, more carefully. She was injured from her own disrupted technique, her qi reserves depleted from the major attack and the subsequent defensive work.

The qi trap beneath her feet had been draining her steadily throughout the match. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that her reserves were lower than she'd planned for.

Chen Hua prepared another technique, but this one was smaller, more controlled. A finishing strike rather than an overwhelming force.

She fired.

Wei Chen triggered the last trick he had. The decoy formation near the arena boundary activated, creating a flash of light and a surge of qi. Chen Hua's attention snapped to it instinctively, her attack redirecting toward the sudden disturbance.

The attack hit the decoy formation and dissipated harmlessly.

Chen Hua realized her mistake. She spun back toward Wei Chen, already preparing a follow-up technique, but Wei Chen had moved during her distraction. He was no longer where she'd expected.

She tracked his new position and gathered what qi she had left. Not enough for a proper technique. Maybe enough for one more strike if she pushed herself.

Wei Chen raised his hand, and Chen Hua saw the small talisman he was holding. One of the redirect talismans from his first day selling formations. A backup plan, crude but functional.

She could attack and hope to overwhelm it, but her qi reserves were nearly depleted. The qi trap had drained her throughout the match. The explosion from her disrupted technique had cost her defensive qi. She was running on fumes.

If she attacked and the talisman worked, she'd have nothing left. If it didn't work, she might win. But that was a gamble based on hope, not tactics.

Chen Hua lowered her hand and took a breath. She'd lost the moment Wei Chen stored her probe attacks. Everything after that had been delaying the inevitable.

She evaluated her situation one more time, confirmed there was no viable path to victory, and nodded.

"Yield," she said clearly.

The supervising elder raised his hand. "Match concluded. Winner: Wei Chen."

The crowd's response was different from yesterday. Not stunned silence, but thoughtful appreciation. Wei Chen had won again, but this time through tactics and adaptation rather than just surprising an aggressive opponent.

Chen Hua walked across the arena to Wei Chen. "That hidden formation. The attack storage system. That's your own design?"

"Yes."

"It's brilliant. And frustrating." She smiled slightly. "I spent the entire match thinking I was gathering information on you. You were simply building up my own qi from me."

"It seemed efficient,” Wei replied.

"You'll need better defenses for the semifinals. The Foundation Establishment cultivators won't be as patient as I was." Chen Hua glanced at the bracket board. "You'll face either Wu Jiang or Mei Lin next. Both are Foundation Establishment Stage 1. Both favor overwhelming force over tactics."

"Thank you for the information."

"Thank you for the lesson. If you're ever willing to share formation designs, I'd be interested in studying your methodology." Chen Hua bowed properly this time, respect earned through combat. "Good luck in the semifinals."

She left the arena, and Wei Chen started collecting his formation materials. The redirect array v4 had burned out completely—not from physical damage, but from massive qi overload when it released Chen Hua's stored attacks all at once. The channels had exceeded their capacity and collapsed from within. The flags themselves were intact, but the formation patterns would need to be redrawn from scratch.

The Mirage Wall had held better. Its qi depletion was from sustained use rather than catastrophic failure. With fresh spirit stones and some channel repairs, it could be rebuilt.

The decoy formation was ash. Single-use by design—it had channeled all its power into the fake sensor pulse and self-destructed in the process.

Wei Chen gathered the surviving flags and checked his remaining resources. Zero spirit stones left. The mid-grade ink was half-depleted. Several flags showed heat stress from intensive qi channeling but were still usable. He had materials for maybe one more major formation setup, assuming he could acquire more spirit stones.

The semifinals were tomorrow morning. Against Foundation Establishment Stage 1. A full realm above his current cultivation.

This would be significantly harder than anything he'd faced so far.

"Wei Chen."

Elder Shen stood near the arena entrance. His face gave nothing away, but Wei Chen caught the slight intensity in his eyes.

"Elder."

"Your formation storage system. That's not a standard technique."

"No, Elder. I designed it specifically for Chen Hua's tactical approach."

"You designed it overnight?"

"I designed the concept earlier. I implemented it this morning when I realized she'd be probing my defenses rather than attacking directly."

Elder Shen was quiet for a moment. "Adaptive formation design based on opponent analysis. Most formation masters take years to develop that kind of strategic thinking."

"I had good motivation. Losing means elimination."

"It means more than elimination." Elder Shen's eyes narrowed slightly. "The semifinals are tomorrow. Foundation Establishment opponents. Your formations today barely held against a Qi Gathering Stage 4. How do you plan to handle a full realm higher?"

Wei Chen considered lying, considered evasion, considered any response that wasn't the truth. But Elder Shen was a formation master, and he'd see through anything less than honesty.

"I don't know yet," Wei Chen said. "But I have tonight to figure it out."

Elder Shen studied him and was quiet. Then: "Formation Hall workshop three is available. Use it. I'll have materials allocated to your account. Don't waste them."

"Thank you, Elder."

"Don't thank me yet. If you lose tomorrow, this conversation never happened. If you win..." Elder Shen paused. "If you win, we'll discuss your future in the Formation Hall properly."

He walked away before Wei Chen could respond.

Wei Chen stood there, processing. Elder Shen had just given him access to Formation Hall resources without requiring anything in return except results. That was investment in potential, the kind of backing that could make or break a cultivation career.

But more importantly, he'd done it. Beaten two opponents in the combat bracket. The evaluation rules were clear: winners advance to the specialty showcase. That was the goal. That's what he'd needed from the start.

One more match. Just one. Beat a Foundation Establishment cultivator tomorrow, and he'd reach the showcase. Then he could demonstrate his formations properly, without combat pressure, and prove his value to the sect.

The finals? That was beyond the plan. The bracket structure meant whoever won the semifinals would face each other, but reaching the finals wasn't required for the showcase. Just reaching the semifinals was enough.

Get through tomorrow. Reach the showcase. Everything else is extra credit.

But the thought felt incomplete. Zhang Ming was in the other bracket, and he'd been watching every match. If Wei Chen reached the finals—if both of them did—that confrontation was going to happen regardless. Better on Wei Chen's terms than Zhang Ming's.

Plus, there was something satisfying about the idea of beating someone who thought formations were beneath real cultivation.

One step at a time. Tomorrow first.

Wei Chen gathered his materials and headed for Formation Hall workshop three. The sun was setting, and the outer sect was quieting down for the evening. Most disciples were either celebrating today's victories or recovering from defeats.

Wei Chen had one night to design formations capable of withstanding Foundation Establishment power.

One more match. Just one. 

Then the showcase was guaranteed.

It was time to get to work.

Formation Master - Chapter 5: The Evaluation - Part 1

CHAPTER 5: THE EVALUATION - PART 1

The supervising elder stepped onto the arena floor and raised his hand for attention. The ambient noise from waiting disciples dropped to a murmur.

"Combat demonstration will proceed in elimination format," the elder announced. His voice carried across the arena without strain, amplified by formations Wei Chen couldn't quite identify. "Single elimination. Lose any match, and you're dismissed from the evaluation. Survive to the final round, and you advance to the specialty showcase."

Wei Chen processed that. Single elimination. No second chances. The evaluation was more cutthroat than he'd expected.

"Preparation time is allocated before each match," the elder continued. "Participants may use any techniques, tools, or formations they possess, provided they were created by the participant or legally obtained. External assistance during combat is prohibited."

That was the opening Wei Chen needed. Formations he'd created himself were explicitly allowed. The rules didn't specify complexity or innovation, just legality and origin.

Good.

"Combat brackets are posted," the elder said, gesturing to a large board being carried onto the arena floor by two servants. "Participants have six hours before the first matches begin. Use your time wisely."

The crowd surged forward as disciples rushed to check their bracket positions. Wei Chen waited for the initial chaos to clear before approaching the board. No point fighting through a crowd when patience would give him the same information.

When he finally reached the board, Wei Chen scanned for his name.

Participant 47: 

Wei Chen (Qi Gathering Stage 1) 

versus 

Participant 22: Liu Hong (Qi Gathering Stage 5)

Four stages higher. That was a significant gap. In a pure cultivation contest, Wei Chen would lose in seconds. Liu Hong would have better qi control, more refined techniques, and four times the power reserves.

But this wasn't a pure cultivation contest.

Wei Chen studied the rest of his potential bracket. If he won the first match, he'd face either a Qi Gathering Stage 7 or Foundation Establishment Stage 1. The bracket structure meant fighting progressively stronger opponents, assuming he kept winning.

The evaluation wasn't just testing competence. It was a test of adaptability under escalating pressure.

The combat area was roughly forty feet in diameter, marked by formation lines that glowed faintly with contained power. Wei Chen could feel them humming—barrier formations designed to keep techniques from escaping and injuring spectators. The lines themselves were inscribed into the packed earth, the work of formation masters far more skilled than anyone competing today.

The surface was hard-packed dirt, worn smooth by hundreds of previous matches. Scorch marks dotted the ground in irregular patterns—old burns from fire techniques that the maintenance crews hadn't fully cleaned. Dark stains near the eastern boundary might have been blood. The arena remembered every battle fought within it.

Eight stone pillars ringed the perimeter, each one carved with stabilization runes. They anchored the overhead barrier formation and also served as structural supports for the tiered seating that rose behind them. Wei Chen studied their positioning. Twenty feet between pillars. Good geometry for formation placement.

The air smelled of old sweat and qi residue—the lingering energy of techniques thrown and absorbed by the arena's containment systems. A faint metallic taste sat on Wei Chen's tongue. Combat spaces always tasted like this, like tension made physical.

The ground showed wear patterns from previous matches. Areas where disciples typically stood, moved, or positioned themselves. Those patterns revealed behavioral predictability. Wei Chen filed that information away.

The crowd had grown since morning. Disciples filled the lower tiers, their conversations creating a constant background hum that rose and fell like waves. Some were here to compete. Others were here to watch, scout opponents, or simply enjoy the spectacle of outer sect disciples trying to prove themselves.

Vendors had appeared near the arena entrance, selling spirit water and cultivation snacks. The smell of roasted spirit nuts mixed with the arena's permanent scent of old violence. Somewhere in the upper tiers, disciples were already making bets—Wei Chen could see contribution tokens changing hands.

The elder viewing platform was more populated now. Formation Hall's Elder Shen sat among them, his looking bored, but his eyes tracking movement on the arena floor. Other elders reviewed notes, discussed candidates, or simply waited for something interesting to happen.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the arena floor. In an hour, the overhead illumination formations would activate, but for now, natural light created bright zones and dark patches that any tactical fighter would factor into their positioning.

Wei Chen took his place in the staging area and waited for his match to be called.

Six hours of preparation time. That was generous for most disciples but essential for Wei Chen. He needed to place formations, test their stability, and create contingencies for different opponent approaches.

Wei Chen returned to the waiting area and pulled out Chen Wei's journal. He had four talismans prepared, but those were for the specialty showcase. Combat required something different. He needed formations that could be deployed quickly, would work reliably under pressure, and could handle an opponent with significantly more power.

The redirect formation was his foundation. It had worked on Zhang Ming when Wei Chen was barely recovered from qi deviation. Against Liu Hong, it would need to handle four times the qi intensity.

Wei Chen started sketching modifications. The basic redirect used a three-node triangle array. Simple, stable, but limited in capacity. If he expanded it to a five-node pentagon array, he could handle more incoming power without the formation destabilizing.

The trade-off was setup time. Five nodes meant more flags, more ink channels, more complexity. But six hours was enough time to place it carefully.

Wei Chen's second formation would be the Mirage Wall. The hybrid barrier and illusion combination. That had proven effective in testing, and the psychological impact of an invisible defense would throw off most opponents who relied on visual confirmation of their attacks landing.

The third formation would be a modified qi trap. Something to gradually drain Liu Hong's power. Not enough to be obvious, but enough to create an advantage as the match progressed. Attrition warfare.

Wei Chen checked his materials. He had the mid-grade formation ink from Elder Qian's payment, enough flags for three separate arrays, and seven low-grade spirit stones to power everything. Not ideal, but workable.

He looked up and saw Zhang Ming across the arena, staring at him. Zhang Ming's expression was calculating. He'd registered for the evaluation, too, which meant he was in the bracket somewhere. The board would show where.

Wei Chen walked back to the bracket board and traced the paths. Zhang Ming was Participant 8 at the Qi Gathering Stage 8. His first opponent was Qi Gathering Stage 4. Easy match for him. If both Wei Chen and Zhang Ming won their first rounds, they wouldn't face each other until the third round.

That assumed Wei Chen survived the first two rounds.

Zhang Ming was watching him still. Wei Chen met his eyes across the arena. Neither looked away. The message was clear: Zhang Ming wanted Wei Chen to fail publicly. The debt was settled, but the humiliation wasn't forgotten.

Wei Chen returned to his materials and started preparing. He had six hours. Time to make every minute count.

The first hour was spent on the redirect formation. Wei Chen chose positions near three of the stone pillars, creating a triangle array that covered roughly half the arena. Each node required careful placement, with flags driven into the ground at exact angles to maintain geometric stability.

The formation ink came next. Wei Chen used the mid-grade ink to draw qi channels connecting each node. The lines had to be precise. Too much variation and the formation would leak power. The mid-grade ink helped, flowing smoothly and drying with consistent thickness.

By the second hour, the redirect formation was complete but not activated. Wei Chen tested it mentally, running through the logic. Incoming qi would hit the formation, get caught in the pattern, spin through the redirect channels, and launch back at the attacker. The five-node configuration could handle up to Qi Gathering Stage 7 attacks before destabilizing.

That gave him a two-stage buffer above Liu Hong's cultivation level.

The third hour was devoted to the Mirage Wall. This was trickier. The hybrid formation required six nodes in total: three for the barrier component, two for the illusion component, and one central control node. Wei Chen placed them in an overlapping pattern with the redirect formation, using two of the same stone pillars as shared anchor points.

The control node was the most complex. Wei Chen drew the qi channels with careful attention to the dynamic allocation logic. The formation needed to shift power between barrier and illusion based on incoming threats. That required the control node to monitor both components constantly and adjust in real time.

Wei Chen worked steadily, double-checking each line against his designs. The Mirage Wall had worked in the Formation Hall workshop. It needed to work here too.

By the fourth hour, both primary formations were complete. Wei Chen had used two hours more than he'd planned, but the placement was solid. He activated both formations with threads of his qi, watching them shimmer to life.

The redirect formation's nodes glowed faintly, almost invisible unless you knew where to look. The Mirage Wall's barrier appeared and then vanished as the illusion component engaged. From outside the formation, that section of the arena looked completely empty.

Wei Chen stepped inside the Mirage Wall and looked back. From his perspective, he could see the faint shimmer of the barrier. From outside, other disciples walking past didn't even glance at it. The illusion was working.

Good.

The fifth hour was for the qi trap. This formation was simpler than the others, just a three-node array placed near the center of the arena. The trap would create a subtle drain on any cultivator standing within its radius. Not enough to be obvious, but enough to matter over a long match.

Wei Chen placed it carefully, using the lowest-grade formation ink he had for this array. The trap didn't need to be sophisticated; it just needed to be functional. The less attention it drew, the better.

By the sixth hour, Wei Chen had three formations placed, tested, and ready. He'd used five of his seven spirit stones to power them, leaving two in reserve. His qi reserves were lower than he'd like from all the activation work, but that would recover before the match.

Wei Chen sat near the edge of the arena, reviewing his strategy. Liu Hong would enter expecting a quick victory. Qi Gathering Stage 5 versus Stage 1 was normally a mismatch. Liu Hong would probably open with an aggressive technique to end things fast.

That attack would hit the redirect formation and bounce back. That would confuse Liu Hong and make him hesitate. During that hesitation, the qi trap would start draining his power. Liu Hong would attribute any weakness to his own technique use and push harder.

His second attack would hit the Mirage Wall. The invisible barrier would stop it, and the illusion would make it look like Wei Chen had dodged. Liu Hong would adjust his aim and attack again, but the barrier would hold.

Eventually, Liu Hong would realize something was wrong. By then, the qi trap would have drained enough power that Wei Chen's formations could handle whatever Liu Hong tried next.

The strategy was sound. The execution would depend on Liu Hong's reactions and Wei Chen's ability to adapt in real time.

Wei Chen pulled out a ration bar from his pouch and ate it mechanically. Food was fuel. He needed his body to be functional for the match.

Other disciples were finishing their preparations around the arena. Some were meditating to center their qi. Others were practicing forms and techniques. A few were just sitting, conserving energy.

Wei Chen noticed one disciple near the bracket board, studying it intently. The disciple was younger, maybe sixteen, with the nervous energy of someone who'd never fought in a formal evaluation before. He kept looking at his bracket position and then at his opponent across the arena.

Wei Chen remembered being that nervous. Different life, different body, but the feeling was universal. First time facing something important, knowing failure meant consequences.

The difference was that Wei Chen had already failed once. He'd died at his desk in a corporate office, achieving nothing that mattered. This time, he had formations, preparation, and a plan. That was enough.

A gong sounded across the arena. The supervising elder returned to the center.

"First matches begin in thirty minutes," the elder announced. "Participants 1 through 10, prepare for combat."

Wei Chen wasn't in the first group. He checked the bracket. Participants were being called in order, which meant he'd fight somewhere in the fifth group. That gave him time to watch other matches and see how the elders judged performance.

The first match began with Participant 1, a Foundation Establishment Stage 1 disciple, facing Participant 30, a Qi Gathering Stage 9. The Foundation cultivator won in under a minute, using overwhelming power to simply crush his opponent's defense. The Qi Gathering disciple tried three different techniques and none of them made a difference.

The elders watching from above made notes but showed no reaction. This was expected.

The second match was more interesting. Both participants were Qi Gathering Stage 6, evenly matched in cultivation. The fight became tactical. Feints, counters, positioning. It lasted five minutes before one disciple landed a decisive blow.

The elders leaned forward during this match. Wei Chen caught Elder Shen making a comment to another elder, though he couldn't hear what was said.

Close matches drew more attention than obvious mismatches. That made sense. The evaluation was testing potential, not just current power.

Wei Chen filed that observation away. His match against Liu Hong would be a mismatch in cultivation but not in result. If he won using formations, that would demonstrate innovation and preparation. That might impress the elders more than simply overpowering a weaker opponent.

The third and fourth matches proceeded similarly. One mismatch, one close fight. The pattern suggested the bracket was designed to mix easy wins with competitive matches. That way, the evaluation tested both raw power and fighting skill.

"Participants 11 through 20, prepare for combat."

Still not Wei Chen's turn. He watched these matches more carefully, looking for patterns in how disciples approached their fights.

Most opened with aggressive techniques. Cultivation world logic: demonstrate strength immediately, overwhelm the opponent before they can mount a defense. That worked when you had the power advantage but created predictable patterns.

Participant 15 was different. She was Qi Gathering Stage 4 facing a Stage 6 opponent. Instead of attacking, she defended first, studying her opponent's technique. After three exchanges, she found an opening and struck decisively.

She won. The fight took seven minutes, and the elders took more notes than usual.

Fighting smart matters more than raw power.

"Participants 21 through 30, prepare for combat."

Wei Chen's group. He stood and made his way to the arena entrance. Liu Hong was already there, stretching and circulating his qi. His signature was strong, steady, the confidence of someone four stages above his opponent.

Liu Hong saw Wei Chen approaching and smiled. Not friendly. Predatory.

"You're Worthless Chen," Liu Hong said. "I've heard about you. Survived qi deviation, fixed Elder Qian's formation. Some people think you're clever."

Wei Chen said nothing. There was no benefit in engaging before the match.

"I'm going to make this quick," Liu Hong continued. "Nothing personal. I just don't want to waste time on someone who doesn't belong here."

Wei Chen met his eyes. "You might be surprised."

Liu Hong's smile widened. "No. I won't be."

The supervising elder called them forward. "Participant 22, Liu Hong, Qi Gathering Stage 5. Participant 47, Wei Chen, Qi Gathering Stage 1. Enter the arena."

They walked to opposite sides of the combat area. Wei Chen positioned himself carefully, standing near the center where his qi trap formation was strongest. Liu Hong took a ready stance, qi already flowing visibly around his hands.

The elder raised his hand. "Formations and techniques are permitted. Match ends when one participant yields, is rendered unconscious, or leaves the combat boundary. Lethal techniques are forbidden."

The elder's hand dropped. "Begin."

Liu Hong moved, exactly as Wei Chen predicted. Aggressive opening, meant to overwhelm. Fire-aspected qi wrapped around his fist as he charged forward, closing the distance in three steps.

Wei Chen didn't move. He triggered the redirect formation with a thought.

Liu Hong's attack hit the invisible array positioned between them. The fire qi struck the formation nodes and suddenly reversed direction, amplified by the redirect channels. Liu Hong's own technique came back at him twice as fast.

Liu Hong's eyes went wide. He threw himself sideways, and the fire qi scorched the ground where he'd been standing.

The arena went quiet.

Wei Chen remained still, watching. The qi trap beneath Liu Hong's feet was already working, a subtle drain that Liu Hong wouldn't notice yet.

Liu Hong recovered and stared at Wei Chen. "What was that?"

Wei Chen said nothing. Explaining would waste qi and give Liu Hong time to think.

Liu Hong circled, more cautious now. His qi flared brighter as he prepared another technique. This one was more refined, a concentrated blast instead of a wide attack.

He fired, and the blast hit the Mirage Wall. The barrier caught it, and the illusion made it appear to pass through empty air behind Wei Chen. Liu Hong saw his attack "miss" and adjusted his aim.

Three more blasts. Three more hits on the invisible barrier. Liu Hong was starting to look confused.

The qi trap was steadily draining him. Wei Chen could see it in the way Liu Hong's qi signature was dimming slightly, not enough to be obvious but enough to matter.

"Stand still," Liu Hong growled. He charged again, this time with a physical technique backed by qi enhancement.

Wei Chen finally moved. He stepped to the side, not because he needed to dodge but because it would look more natural than standing perfectly still while an invisible barrier did all the work.

Liu Hong's punch hit the Mirage Wall again. The barrier held, but the impact was stronger this time. Foundation-level physical techniques applied that much force.

Liu Hong pulled back, breathing harder. The qi trap had drained enough that his reserves were noticeably lower. He was starting to realize something was wrong.

"You're using formations," Liu Hong said.

"Yes." No point denying the obvious.

"Where are they? I don't see anything."

Wei Chen smiled slightly. "That's the point."

Liu Hong's face flushed. He didn't like being made to look foolish. His qi surged as he prepared a stronger technique, pulling deeper from his reserves.

The qi trap drained more aggressively in response. Formations were systems, and systems could be optimized. The more qi Liu Hong spent, the more the trap could absorb.

Liu Hong launched his strongest attack yet. A combination technique, fire and force together. It would have overwhelmed most Qi Gathering cultivators.

Wei Chen triggered the redirect formation again. The combined attack hit, spun through the redirect channels, and came back at Liu Hong with full force.

Liu Hong couldn't dodge this time. The distance was too close, and he'd committed too much power to the attack. His own technique struck him full force, throwing him backward. He hit the ground hard and slid across the arena floor, not moving.

The supervising elder raised his hand. "Match concluded. Winner: Wei Chen."

The crowd was silent for three full seconds.

Then the noise started. Disciples talking over each other, pointing at the arena, trying to understand what had just happened. A Qi Gathering Stage 1 had defeated a Stage 5 in under five minutes.

Wei Chen deactivated his formations with careful precision. The redirect formation faded first, then the Mirage Wall, and finally the qi trap. He collected his flags and as much formation ink as he could recover. The materials were too expensive to waste.

Liu Hong was being helped to his feet by a medical cultivator. He looked stunned more than injured. His pride had taken more damage than his body.

Wei Chen walked to the arena exit. As he passed Liu Hong, the older disciple grabbed his arm.

"How?" Liu Hong asked.

Wei Chen considered not answering. But Liu Hong had fought fairly, and there was no malice in his question. Just genuine confusion.

"Preparation," Wei Chen said. "I had six hours. I used them."

He walked back to the waiting area. Other disciples moved out of his way, staring. The ones who'd been dismissive earlier were now watching with calculating looks.

Elder Shen was leaning forward in the viewing area, talking animatedly with another elder. He was no longer bored.

Wei Chen found an empty spot and sat down. His qi reserves were lower than he'd like, but not critically so. The formations had done most of the work. That was the point.

Zhang Ming was watching from across the arena. His expression had gone from smugly anticipatory to carefully neutral. He'd expected Wei Chen to lose in the first round. Now he was recalculating.

Good.. If I can keep him guessing, he might not bother me for a while.

Wei Chen pulled out his journal and started sketching modifications to his formations. The redirect had worked perfectly, but the Mirage Wall had taken more hits than he'd planned for. Against a Foundation Establishment opponent, it might not hold up. He needed to optimize the barrier component's power distribution.

"Participant 47."

Wei Chen looked up. A sect administrator was standing nearby.

"Elder Shen requests your presence after the evaluation concludes," the administrator said. "You are not to leave the arena grounds until you've spoken with him."

"Understood."

The administrator left. Wei Chen returned to his notes.

Elder Shen's interest was expected. The Formation Hall elder would want to know how a Qi Gathering Stage 1 disciple had created formations capable of defeating someone four stages higher. That conversation would determine whether Wei Chen's innovations were seen as promising or problematic.

The matches continued. Wei Chen watched them with half his attention while working on formation improvements with the other half. Some fights were impressive. Most were predictable.

Zhang Ming's match came up. He faced his Qi Gathering Stage 4 opponent and won in thirty seconds through pure overwhelming force. No technique, no strategy, just raw power application. The crowd applauded politely.

The elders made notes but didn't lean forward.

Wei Chen understood. Zhang Ming had won, but he'd won the way everyone expected. There was nothing remarkable about it. Just another cultivator with family resources and decent talent following the standard path.

By evening, the first round was complete. Twenty-four participants remained from the original forty-seven. Wei Chen was one of them.

The supervising elder announced the second round brackets. Wei Chen checked his position.

Participant 47: Wei Chen (Qi Gathering Stage 1)

 versus 

Participant 15: Chen Hua (Qi Gathering Stage 4)

Chen Hua. The female disciple who'd fought smart in her first match and won despite being two stages below her opponent. That meant she was tactical, patient, and capable of finding openings that others missed.

This would be harder than Liu Hong. Chen Hua wouldn't charge blindly. She'd probe, test, and adapt. That meant Wei Chen's formations would need to handle multiple approaches rather than a single predictable pattern.

The matches would resume tomorrow morning. That gave Wei Chen tonight to modify his formations and prepare for a smarter opponent.

He gathered his materials and headed for the exit. Other disciples were leaving too, talking excitedly about their matches or commiserating over losses.

"Wei Chen."

He turned. Elder Shen was standing near the arena entrance, waiting.

Time for the conversation that would determine his future in the Formation Hall.

Wei Chen walked over, keeping his face neutral.

Elder Shen studied him. His eyes were sharp, assessing. This was a man who'd seen thousands of disciples and could separate genuine talent from lucky flukes.

"Your formations," Elder Shen said. "You created them yourself?"

"Yes, Elder."

"The redirect array. That's not a standard design."

"No, Elder. I modified it."

"The barrier-illusion combination. I've never seen that integration before."

"It's based on notes from a previous attempt that failed. I solved the resource allocation problem."

Elder Shen's expression didn't change. "You're Qi Gathering Stage 1. Barely recovered from qi deviation three days ago. You should not be capable of creating formations of that complexity."

Wei Chen said nothing. There was no good response to that statement.

"And yet," Elder Shen continued, "you defeated an opponent four stages above you. Using only formations. In under five minutes."

"Yes, Elder."

"Explain how."

Wei Chen chose his words carefully. "Formations don't require personal cultivation to function. They require an understanding of principles and proper implementation. I have weak meridians, so traditional cultivation is slow for me. Formations are more efficient."

"Most formation disciples with weak cultivation create basic arrays. Yours were advanced."

"I had good notes to work from and time to think about the problems."

Elder Shen was quiet for a moment. Then: "Who taught you formation theory?"

"No one, Elder. I learned from manuals and practical experience."

"Lin Mei gave you provisional access to the Formation Hall two days ago. You've had the manual for less than forty-eight hours."

Wei Chen realized he'd underestimated how closely Elder Shen was paying attention. The Formation Hall elder knew exactly what resources Wei Chen had access to and when.

I think about formations differently than most people."

"Differently how?"

"As systems. Input, process, output. Once you understand the underlying logic, you can modify it."

Elder Shen's eyes narrowed slightly. Not in anger, but in consideration. "That's not how formations are traditionally taught."

"I know, Elder."

"It's also not wrong." Elder Shen was quiet again, deep in thought. Finally: "Tomorrow, you face Chen Hua. She's smart and careful. Your formations won't surprise her the way they surprised Liu Hong."

"I'm aware, Elder."

"Win that match, and we'll discuss your future in the Formation Hall properly. Lose, and this conversation never happened." Elder Shen turned to leave, then paused. "Don't die doing something stupid. I dislike wasted potential."

He walked away before Wei Chen could respond.

Wei Chen stood there for a moment, processing. Elder Shen's interest was both opportunity and pressure. Win tomorrow, and the doors will open. Lose, and he'd be just another failed outer disciple who'd gotten lucky once.

No pressure. Just like another deadline with impossible odds.

Wei Chen left the arena and headed back to his dormitory. The sun was setting, and the outer sect was quiet. Most disciples were either celebrating their victories or nursing their defeats.

Wei Chen had work to do.

Tomorrow's match would require better formations than today's. Chen Hua would be prepared and cautious. Wei Chen needed formations that could handle unpredictability.

He reached his room and pulled out Chen Wei's journal. The redirect formation had worked perfectly. 

No changes needed there.

The Mirage Wall had held but barely. It needed stronger power distribution to the barrier component. Wei Chen sketched modifications, adding a secondary qi channel that would reinforce the barrier when it detected incoming damage.

The qi trap had been effective but too subtle. Against a more cautious opponent, it might not drain enough to matter. Wei Chen considered making it more aggressive but decided against it. Subtlety was still better. If Chen Hua noticed the drain, she'd retreat and reset.

What he needed was a fourth formation. Something unexpected. Something that would work even if Chen Hua figured out his other arrays.

Wei Chen thought back to his redirect formation v4 design. The version with attack queuing. That could work. Instead of immediately redirecting attacks, store them temporarily and release them all at once. Chen Hua would carefully test his defenses, and each test would add ammunition to the queue.

Then, when she committed to a real attack, the redirect would hit her with everything at once.

Wei Chen started sketching. This formation would be complex and expensive in terms of qi stones, but he had two remaining from today's match. Enough for tomorrow if he was careful, but he would feel better if he could get a couple more somehow.

By midnight, Wei Chen had the new formation designed and tested on paper. The logic was sound. Implementation would take most of tomorrow's preparation time, but it would be worth it.

He set aside his journal and lay back on his bed.

Three days ago, he'd been about to be expelled. Now he was advancing in the outer sect evaluation, had Elder Shen's attention, and was developing formations that didn't exist in standard teaching.

Progress measured in impossible victories.

Wei Chen closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be harder than today. Chen Hua wouldn't charge blindly. She'd probe, adapt, and learn.

But Wei Chen had six hours of preparation time and a formation design that could handle adaptive opponents.

That would have to be enough.

Sleep came eventually, and Wei Chen dreamed of formation patterns flowing like code, optimizing themselves in real time.

Once again, tomorrow would determine everything.