Hmmph... this junior is a good seed [Cultivation Management Quest]

Good Seed Submission: I hope having 2 poison masters is okay? @occipitallobe

Got to say, I fricking love the Byzantine names.

This is the first writing of any note I have I offered on this site. Hats off to the QM for the novel format encouraging those who are primarily lurkers and voters like myself to get involved and contribute a little something. I tried to mimic the sort of 'epic' style you get in Xianxia novels, but not sure if it quite works.

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Minervina Barda was always intimately familiar with death.

As a mortal girl, she helped her fishermen father pull in each days catch and would find herself mesmerised by their desperate flapping as they choked breathlessly in the open air. She would count those peaceful moments as the best part of her day if it were not for the long firelit evenings spent learning herblore by her beloved grandmother's side. She wished for nothing more in her life than an endless parade of these quiet, satisfied moments. Had Heaven not intervened perhaps that might have been the end of her story.

The Barda family were simple folk, a side branch of the main family who's cultivation had dwindled over the long centuries of persecution and harrowing trials heaven has forced upon the Golden Devil Clan. While their blood ran strong and their skin still shone an unearthly bronze, much of the family had given into despair and chose to abandon their ancestral arts for the lives of peasant farmers and merchants, seeking respite from Heavens hatred in obscurity.

This came to an abrupt end five years ago, when their humble hall was destroyed by a single misplaced blow in a duel between a pair of powerful Cultivators during the centennial war that shook the whole territory to its foundations. Obscurity, it seems, is scant protection from the wrath of the mighty.

She watched her father die breathless, his lungs crushed by a fallen wooden spar, as helpless and silent as the days catch. She set aside her dream for a quiet life that day and beseeched her grandmother for a way to seek vengeance on the heavens themselves. Mourning and wrathful, the old woman brought out the families last secret heirloom, a vast scroll detailing the Barda families cultivation arts. The Scarlet Crow Scroll contains 1111 different means of poisoning one's enemies, along with numerous ways an unscrupulous Cultivator can use venom to empower themselves or beguile their foes.

Equipped with this ancient knowledge, a thirst for vengeance and a quiet will, she presented herself as a Disciple to the Elders of the Clan, the first Barda to do so in 5 generations.

Two years have passed since that day, and her lineage initially brought her much scorn and hardship. She dealt with her rivals among the neophytes with a scornful smile and silence. They thought her weak and harmless until the worst offenders woke up to find themselves blind and deaf, their faces utterly swollen up by the terrible toxins she somehow slipped them.

Nowadays her fellows largely stay away from her, and she has begun to catch the eye of some of her elders. Climbing to the 3rd Heavenstage in your 22nd year is not an unparalleled achievement in this gifted clan, but it's notable for someone who had a late start. Minerva however, is now more focused on developing a suitable herb garden for her personal use and acquiring new, stronger venoms for her mixes, all the better to temper her body and scourge those who would stand in her way.

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Concept: Young girl from a 'fallen' branch of the clan takes up their lost ancestral arts in a quest for power and vengeance in the aftermath of a calamity. All the things a good Xianxia protagonist is made of.

Dao: After taking some initial wary steps on the Dao of Vengeance, Minervina has set aside that path as reductive and beneath her. While she still harbours a desire to strike back at the clans enemies in the oncoming Trials, she instead confidently treads a Dao of Transformation. This is a drive to understand and eventually control the transformative process, both in the natural world and the human spirit.

She has reached the Orthodox peak of the Second Great Realm but has recently decided to reach for the first of the Unorthodox pillars as well.


Current Status Current Status going into Turn 10: 224 Years Old, Great Circle of Foundation Establishment (7 aligned Pillars), Healthy
Cultivation Years: 381
Impact: +9
Titles and Alias's: The Golden Viper, The Slaughter in the Sands, The Witch of Terror, The Poison Witch, The 4th Scorpion.
Starting Perk: The Scarlet Crow Scroll (Powerful Technique Bonus) A treasure trove of lore and techniques compiled by the long dead Cultivators of the Barda family, focused on the sublime use of venoms to temper the body and destroy your enemies.

Stats
Name: Ambrus Nike
Age: 120
Personality: Stoic, serious type.
Appearance: has lost an eye and an ear, with extensive scarring making up one half of his face.
Cultivation: Qi Cultivator 9th heavenstage
Cultivation Speed: fast (Base is slow, but can significantly speed up his cultivation speed by eating souls. roll a die or something to see how high his talent is for any given turn i suppose) (In addition has a "cool thing" that speeds up his cultivation even more)
Cultivation intention: To hit the 9th heaven stage and spend a full turn preparing himself to ascend to the next level.
Specialization: soul path user
Brief history: Ambrus was rambunctious as a child. He is a child of a powerful merchant clan and so it came as a disappointment when it was discovered that his aptitude for cultivation was so abysmal. Ambrus was quickly outpaced by his peers in cultivation as he faltered upon the very first bottleneck of cultivation in the third heavenstage. Dejected Ambrus took up the profession of hunting to get away from the shame he felt from being left behind. It was not until almost a decade later that Ambrus awakened to his bloodline ability, soul eating. It had always been a sore spot for his family that so few of them bore the bronze bloodline trait that most other great merchant families of the clan possessed. Upon research Ambrus discovered that on of his anscestors had lain with a demi-human of dubious origin. Disturbed at this new knowledge, Ambrus experimented with his new ability and found it allowed him to get over his lack of talent by eating the souls of those with more talent than he. Though the effects are temporary, Ambrus has reentered the cultivators life in earnest. He now seeks to develop a technique that can imitate his bloodline trait to help those as unfortunate as he.
Ambrus is currently a bandit hunter in the divided mortal kingdoms. He has been met with success in his hunts, treasure in his pockets and a soaring cultivation for his troubles.
Goals: Develop a new style to help the clan's lesser talented
Funds: Moderate(goes from None, Mortal, Very Low, Low, Moderate, Above-Average, Well-Off, Wealthy, Rich, Stinking-Rich, Trouble-Magnet)(compared to others in same realm)
Profession: Hunter
-skilled tracker:His decades of experience hunting for the clan have made him efficient at tracking down prey.
-soul eater: he has developed a technique to allow him to eat his victims souls. The efficacy of the souls boost depends on the cultivation difference between Ambrus and the soul when it was alive.
--Talent boost: Ambrus uses a soul he has consumed to temporarily boost is talent to the level of what his victim had when alive. The greater the gap in talent, the greater the effect.
--power boost: In a pinch Ambrus can dissolve a soul he is digesting for a talent boost to instead greatly increase his combat power. Once used, Ambrus can not eat another soul for a minimum of a month.

Notable Treasures:
- Soul Waterskin (Cool thing): a magical drinking bag that had stored several souls, allowing him to more quickly advance his cultivation. In future, he will be able to store souls of his enemies in the Qi Condensation stage within it.

Connections:
-Guards: Ambrus's need for souls leads him to take positions where he can fight others. He will occasionally assist the guards in hunting criminals.
-Various Merchants: Friends made several the merchants who supply Ambrus with much needed medicine for all the fights he has(Gain a supply of medicine)
-Hunters of the Divided Kingdoms: Ambrus has spent more than a decade hunting bandits in the mortal kingdoms. He has made staunch allies of his comrades.
-Parents: Ambrus's parents are wealthy merchants of the clan. he hunts to provide materials for the crafters of his family.
-Former classmates: Ambrus's cultivation was extremely slow before he discovered his bloodline ability and as such they have most all outpaced him. Fortunately he maintained connections with them (is able to call on them for his hunts)

Current desired omake bonus: Lifesaving treasure

Here is my omake on my Good Seed. Mostly just an expansion of the background I made for him.

Telios could feel his body burning and melting as he inched forward across the burning ground, towards the more protected regions of the clan's holdings. Yet, he knew that he was unable to make the journey, too weak, too fragile, too useless and too foolish to survive that which had taken his family. He could see in his mind his mother and father melting as their bodies were bathed in golden fire, that caused even the hard metal of their skin to melt and run as though it was a liquid. In his mind the images played without end as more and more relatives threw themselves at the attackers and were simply destroyed. Most melted into ash and molten metal, while a few; the lucky few were given a faster death as the attackers removed their limbs with gleeful expressions, they smiled even as blood, human blood splattered their faces and bodies.

The ground crunched and shifted as a hand, unyielding and impossibly, strong grabbed his shoulder and pulled him from the ground careless of his injuries and breaking mind. It brought him face to face with a man wearing golden armor, engraved with sigils that pronounced radiance and glory and yet when he looked upon them, only evil and horror was seen within them. The wearer's actions in the murder of family and friends had created a kernel of hatred strong enough to ward his young mind from the seductive promise of glory that the sigils that the creature wore spoke of, instead Telios saw a twisted version inherent within and his mind already on the verge of shattering, shattered further as he looked upon the sigils of glory and radiance.

Glory was twisted into dishonor and corruption, reveling a twisted truth that sought to blind everyone to its lies. Radiance twisted into its dark counterpart as it became a blinding light that blinded instead of revealed and shrouded the true truth in glided light. His mind and body burning alike in the fires that sought to consume all that he knew, even as he resisted for he could do nothing else, for resistance was his birthright even if he did not know the truth. He fought back for his sanity and life, yet no matter how he struggled the creature that held him laughed and mocked his efforts.

With a cruel smile that put the lie once and for all to its humanity the creature that had once been human reached out towards his neck, fire crackling within its hands even as its golden armor shined brighter as energy crackled around and danced within the air. As a bolt of fire and lighting, glowing golden reached out for his face as the one that held him laughed its corrupted laugh.

With a jolt, Telios awakened, body aching with remembered pain and suffering, even as the dream slowly faded into the background that it always did, he recalled the same parts that always remained. Never, not once in the years since that day had even the slightest part of the sigils faded into the depths of time, forever forcing him to understand a single fundamental truth of the world and that it was corrupted at its heart. Radiance and Glory were lies beyond any other, illusions to pervert the world and humanity, false ideals to strive to reach, for he had seen the truth of such things in its most primal and knew what it truly meant.

If it was glorious and radiant to assault those that had done nothing to warrant such actions, then he would gladly suffer disgrace and find solace within the shadows. If to be righteous one must enforce a stagnation then he would fall to the deepest pits. He refused to accept that such descriptions were true and in his dreams he remembered words of how the Heaven's wished for this fate on his people. Like with the sigils, he never forgot those words and their meaning, for if Heaven itself supported the corrupted in their attacks then Heaven itself was corrupted beyond saving.

Where in his dreams he died to the corrupted in an infinite array of painful and terrible ways, he refused to let it break his will and mind. For in life and this world he was saved from death by the clan and he would not waste the gift that they granted him. For he knew that he was not a master of anything, he was not the best fighter, not the best builder and in fact as far as he could tell he was average at everything, with a single exception.

He understood what others struggled to teach and explain, even with a single conversation he could pick up and comprehend skills that others spent months learning. He might not have their skill at hand to call upon, but he understood the skill and with time could teach himself to become better without fear for he knew the skill. Where other children spent their time healing with their families or dealing with their fear, he pushed forward. Day in and day out he worked to learn all he could, from the blacksmiths whom he watched hammer metal into shape, to studying the arrays that he could find. Nothing was beyond his interest for he could understand it all.

Where others needed weeks to understand the basics of a skill, he learned within a few hours from simple observation. Before the attack, he had studied and done well, but nothing more than needed and with his mind it was easy for him to make do with little effort in most areas, but now such was unacceptable, he had to be stronger, better to ensure that his life was not wasted. He had read and learned what he could and knew very well the damages that the attack had resulted in and by simply math had determined that in saving him, several others could have been lost. Of course he understood and knew that such averages with little understanding were more than not likely to be meaningless in the long run, but the understanding that his life could possibly have costed the clan several others, ensured that he could only ever move forward to become better lest those that might have died for him be a sacrifice without return.

No longer, could he afford complacency in his life and so he changed. Gone was the slightly lazy child that simply did the bare minimum of what had to be done and in his place a new child rose to the new challenge of his understanding. Spending hours a day training his body even as the young age of 10 once his body had healed enough to handle the strain. Even with his daily training he refused to waste his gift and spent hours of the day whenever possible watching, learning and understanding how others worked and how they fashioned the items that the clan used in so many different areas of life.

For the next four years every single day he spent upwards of twelve hours learning and watching others to learn their skills and to work on the skills he had long since learned. Day in and day out his routine formed around a simple desire, to grow as a person. Beyond the twelve hours that were spent to learn new skills or to hone old skills, he spent four more hours to hone his mind and body. Each day was a struggle as he pushed himself to learn more, improve more and do more every day.

Where most waited until they were sixteen to begin cultivation, he refused to waste time for every night in his nightmares he saw the twisted reflection of grand ideals, corrupted and tainted by a force of total control, and so stole secrets when he could from others beginning their cultivation and in secret began to draw upon the power of the world at the age of fourteen. Yet, even with the new skill requiring time to hone, he refused to let his other skills fall into uselessness and so he increased his time awake and forced his body over the course of months to become accustomed to an amount of sleep that would break most people if they tried. However, sleep was but a waste for he could not improve or grow while asleep and so it must be reduced to the bare minimum and so he pushed forward with the same focus that he applied to everything. From eight hours per day, to four hours per day, then even further to eight hours per two days and finally four hours per two days. He took the slight reduction in focus in hand via mental exercises to train his mind to focus past the tiredness.

Now, two years since that point he had changed greatly from the weak and useless child he had once been and now was almost full grown and could begin to truly advance in his work. As he cultivated he refused to limit himself as always and so whenever he could he used all three of the main paths, only refusing to use the blood path for such an action was twisted for it was a perversion of true understanding. Where others of the clan sought power, to fight back against the threats he sought power for understanding and knowledge, his choices were made for the long term gain and in the end he rejected the short term gain in favor of the greater gain in time.

As he grew in power, he worked to fashion his innate skill into a potent power in its own right. Aspects of skills that he had learned in his wanderings and efforts merged seamlessly under his direction, forging hybrids from each other and improving their own nature as he refined that which he had learned. As he worked to improve himself in all areas, he found a new understanding of humanity in his work. An echo of something grand and true, something to strive for beyond purging the corruption at the heart of the world. When he looked upon another working at their job, he saw shadows that did not exist of things that could not be and would not be, yet he saw something in those shadows and knew that his skill was truly grand in its own right.

Yan was a member of the golden devil clan for two years and from his personal experience he can conclude that the average cultivator of the clan is nicer and more prone to cooperation then cultivators outside the clan or at least cultivators from the story's he heard off in his village –as he was a mortal peasant Yan doesn't know much about cultivators outside the clan- and its seams to work for them.


But then again maybe they are more successful because of their bloodline and not because they are nice, Yan will lie to himself if he would say that he isn't jealous of their powerful bloodline not that he would want their bloodline but a powerful bloodline of his own would be welcomed.


When he entered into the clan his first action was trying to find a technique for hiding so he would never need to be afraid someone more powerful then him would find him, he was able to find one that suited him and after a month of practice he was able to see the result, he was faded into the background less noticeable, of course with only a month of practice only mortals could be fooled by it –and even then only one in ten wasn't able to detect him- but it was a start.


The second thing he did was try to look into the more social aspects of intrigue techniques for he knew the power in being able to tell a good lie but unfortunately there he had ran into a problem the clan didn't have many techniques of the kind he was looking for and it wasn't hard to know why the cleans bloodline was too recognizable and for them to have any use of those kind of techniques in enemy territory they needed a different technique to hide their bloodline that the clan figured it wasn't worth it and went in different direction, of course they had some techniques resembling what he wants but unfortunately not any that he had affinity for.


The rest of his time at the clan he dedicated to cultivation and combat training, his chosen weapons were two short swords that even now rested on his lap in their sheaths and a number of throwing knifes, the training the clan provided was group training, how to use formations and how to fight as a group and some one on one training, were he was trailing behind not because of his skill but because he couldn't match the advantage the bloodline provided to his opponents.


But there was no use crying about it, the world was unfair and he will have to deal with it and so he will cultivate twice as hard, speaking of cultivation Yan reaches out to a drawer were he keeps his cultivation resources and pulls out one of the precious low grad spirits stone he got and switches to a more comfortable way of siting and starts to draw the energy in the spirts stone and the surrounding into himself.


No matter how much times he will cultivate Yan doesn't think he will ever get used to the sensation of power flowing through his veins, when he cultivates he feels like a god, like he can do anything he want and he often has to remind himself that he is no got and is in fact one of the weaker people in the clan.


After ten to twelve hours of cultivating there is a knock on the door of his shack which pulls him out of cultivation, Yan picks himself up from the floor shakes the dust off of him-the spirit stone has long since dissipated- and goes to open the door.


when Yan opens the door he sees Cai Lang a somewhat younger disciple of the clan Yan has befriended earlier that year and his first friend in the sect, Yan had trouble befriending fellow disciples with his status on an outsider.


"yoo Yan I didn't interrupt your cultivation did I? I'm sorry man" Cai Lang said with his usual cherry voice.


"no, no I was on the verge of finishing up anyways I will probably just cultivate again later, so what bring you to my humble abode Lang?".


"well I am going to a party of fellow decibel's and I figured I would invite you, I know you need to make more friend and this can be a great opportunity for you".


"hmm…. I suppose I don't have anything better to do, sure I'll come just let me lock the door" Yan rippled and went to a different drawer and retrieved a key, after going outside and locking the door- more of a formality between cultivators- Yan turned to Cai Lang and said "alright, I'm ready lead the way".


And as Yan followed Cai Lang to the party he reflected on his life in the clan and concluded that all in all it was a pretty good life.



Just to help with your surprise about the number of good seeds here is the first (second now) omake for them, I haven't decided what I want as the reword and so I will wait until the cultivation speed/age is decided before choosing.

The day dawned, bright and early--the same as it ever did in this place, for the Organ Meat Desert is a dry and barren wasteland, denied even the most rudimentary blessings of season and rain. The heat rapidly built up on the Callista Manor, the fortified settlement etching out the ultimate limits of the lineage's ability to hold and support territory. A modest place--only a thousand square kilometers ensconced within its walls, but it was home

The Array Engineers along the walls looked up at the rising sun, nodding sagely to themselves as it rose on schedule--cries steadily went out across the outposts of the walls, and the spell-formations throughout the Manor changed to respond to the trials of the day. A shimmering heat-haze splashed against newly refocused walls, deflecting the worst of the heat. Throughout the land, other formations engaged--spirit stones delivering vital Essence to the network as fountains burst to life, springing up and delivering their bounty to the stables, the grain and vegetable fields, the orchards.

The expense was something no Barbarians would ever countenance--what travesty is this? To maintain such trivial comforts for a year? One could easily raise a dozen Qi Condensation Cultivators to power--and such policies were considered standard issue here? If one wished an agricultural society, they should seek the strength to take good land from their foes!

And yet--as the Manor's populace awoke, the sounds of harvest songs and the ringing of tool-steel filling the fields and frontier--who could not feel pride about their works? This was what it meant to Defy the Heavens--to not simply accept a cruel land at face value and succumb to barbarity--but to reshape it into a place where songs could be sung, and the weak need not live in fear of being devoured by Beasts or Blood Cannibals or simply enslaved by cruel demigods for their own fell purposes?

There was power in this, real power. That the Heavens considered such thoughts to be heretical was simply more proof of the perfidity of the Celestial Machine.

"Young Mistress?" The voice spoke up, jolting Rina from her reverie. She whirled in place, flushing at the sudden approach of her maidservant in the middle of her little daydream. "Umm, yes!?" She stammered. "Everything's good! I'm good! I'm ready to go, is there something else?"

"The caravan is about to depart" Her servant supplied after giving Rina a moment to collect herself. "I will escort you there if your preparations are complete."

Rina nodded at that, and tugged at her scarf--it was a soft thing of good linen. Protecting her neck from any sand and easy to use to cover her mouth and nose if things got all blowy--always a risk out in the deserts between the settlements after all, even if the caravan was well protected and well secured by a strong escort. It was a tradition after all--that all children bearing the Blood of Bronze be brought to the clan's great fortress--at least for the first year of their life as they be instructed in the rudiments of formation fighting, combat with the spear and shield, as well as be taught an understanding of how to operate the Clan's many basic spells in the event of an emergency. Some were even headhunted during that period to receive special training! Sometimes even apprenticeships with one of the Elders or Centurions! was on the table too and that was a certain way to gain esteem!

Well, presuming she was able to meet their standards anyway, and that was... Questionable.

Because Rina was born too early--drawn from her mother after an injury suffered from a Cannibal raid, she was a small, barely alive thing apparently, and while the heroic effort of the doctors was enough to save her life, she had always been smaller than her peers, poor of vision and health. Then provided tutoring at home instead of the local schoolhouse like all of the other residents of the Manor, which meant she didn't really know anybody and oh dear she really wasn't sure she was ready for this.

She stopped for a moment, her maidservant waiting patiently as Rina steadied her breathing, the lightheadedness of a nascent panic attack subsiding in the face of focus. She was not without value--her skill in mathematics and calligraphy were both rated as excellent, she was literate both in the Clan's script and Barbarian glyphs. While her health was not the best--she was a good pick for the engineer track--and Cultivation could go a long way to addressing little health defects like that, especially with the Blood of Bronze manifesting in truth.

She would be fine, a nice, pleasant position on the clan's logistics would allow her to maintain the honor of House Callista and what self respect she managed to hold. So with those thoughts in mind, Rina exhaled slowly, steeled her spine, and looked back up. "Apologies" She mused--her Maidservant nodded and continued leading the way again.

Rina may not be as strong as some candidates were--but she bore the Blood of Bronze like any other true born member of the Golden Devils--they had shaken the very Heavens once! She could do nothing less than her best when the time came to be called upon to take up her own duties!

Now if only she could think like that all the time, instead of only when she made a special effort to do so...

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What else was there to say about the journey to the great fortress? The shining beacon of civilization in this benighted land? Great walls of granite sheathed in a coat of reflective Bronze, sizzling with enough force of essence to discourage even the most dimwitted beast. The walls mounted with war machines and courageous Cultivators of the Clan and their bannermen! A citadel which had never fallen since the Clan set down roots in this place. Great towers dotted the cyclopean artifice--each the physical location of one of the renowned Burning Glass Javelins that made up the Spear Array's ammunition!

But within the protection of the great walls lay the greatest treasure of the Clan--a microcosm and scale model of the world the Clan wished to build. Verdant green as far as the eye could see--a fertile country in the depths of the desert, not losing out even to the renowned paradise lands of the Green Scale Plains! Vast roads connecting villages and towns to one another, enchanted to ease the stride of those who tread upon it. It is a point of the Clan's pride that even should all else be lost--even should the stars descend and lay waste to all peoples of this realm--so long as the Dawn Fortress stands, the fire of civilization burns bright!

Rina leaned out the window of her carriage to better view the spectacle--she was not alone by all accounts, she could see other faces looking out of their own transports out of the corner of her eye, gaping at the delivered promise that the frontier settlements could only dream of.

Ahead lay the Mustering Ground--gathering place of the Legions when called to war--a vast promenade that could comfortably house every single active duty Cultivator of the Clan. Every road in the Dawn Fortress led to this one, central location--and it was here that the great Orientation would begin.

It was not an empty place at this time--a veritable Legion of soldiers stood at attention in this place, as the caravan began to fan out, the carriages and carts slowly disgorging its load of teenage children to gape at the sight of such a colossal force of Cultivators. Thousands of them, standing in full battle uniform, spears at attention and shields held in hand.

The new Aspirants slowly gathered in place--Rina was no exception, though she had to slip her way towards the front of the pack to see herself, standing shorter than most of of her peers. She got a few looks--some more pitying than others--but it wasn't too big a deal as far as she was concerned.

The sound of a horn being blown, and the Legion flows like a single body, a sea of impending violence parting for the sake of a greater power.

He walked forward, approaching the Aspirants. An older man, clad in a coat of black and silver--bent at the waist with his hands clasped behind his back, almost as though he was peering down at you all. He was aged--but not wizened as one would expect from his posture, and his steps were heavy as a mountain.

Nobody dared whisper--any man capable of commanding the respect of a Legion was one to be feared. Had one of the Elders descended to greet the Aspirants? Was this what was happening?

He stopped at the front of the formation--one that reformed in his wake as though it had never moved. His eyes turned to survey his audience. A smile--She was not certain one could call it grandfatherly, but it did carry a certain level of affection within it.

"Well Met, Aspirants of the Clan." He spoke, his voice clear as crystal, easily heard--no shouting or any special tricks as far as Rina could tell... But that just made it more impressive--it meant that he could speak to an entire gaggle of children without shouting! "Each and every one of you has been recognized as a figure of potential--be it through blood lineage, superior scores in your yearly examinations, or other distinctions of merit." He nodded in a knowing fashion there. "It is a start, and a fine one--but know that merely beginning a journey is not yet cause for praise."

He took a step forward. "In the coming years, you will be taught in the rudiments of our Clan's arts. You will study spear and shield, you will drill in formation, you will learn of the lore expected of a Cultivator of our Golden Devil Clan. All the while, you will be tested to determine your own unique aptitudes, your talents, and most importantly of all, your breaking points." His gaze hardened--and Rina felt a cold sweat on the back of her neck at merely the suggestion of this man's disfavor. "You all seem concerned about that last part, hmm?" He raised an eyebrow, and leaned forward ever so slightly. "What we exercise is not merely the appearance of Defiance--our very blood and culture is rejected by the Will of Heaven--a weakness of character may be something that could be forgiven a Barbarian in the favor of the Celestial Machine, but we are held to a higher standard. To know one's weaknesses is to identify where the Will of Heaven will strike--and a blow predicted is one more readily parried. Rest assured, we will find yours, and you will know them before your training is considered complete."

He smiled then, though at this angle, it appeared more like a waiting beast, anticipating its next meal.

"I am Grand Elder Konstantinos" He spoke--and the world rippled with that declaration. "You are a fortunate batch of seedlings indeed, for I have determined to take time out of my own affairs to foster the development of this generation. I will be providing monthly lectures here, at the Mustering Grounds for the next five years. While attendance is not mandatory..." He chuckled to himself. "It is--how shall I say it... Strongly Encouraged. The first three months will be provided free of charge for all Aspirants in recognition of your good fortune to be entering at this auspicious time--afterwards, a fee of Contribution Points will be required to gain access. These may be acquired through completing tasks of note for the Clan--a number of assistant positions are presently available for scribes and runners, while housekeeping is and remains a reliable source of modest income for those willing to get their hands dirty."

"Oh, that's good--I can do that!" Rina thought to herself--seizing up for a minute as she felt the Grand Elder's eye lock onto her--she couldn't help but feel he was projecting... Amusement? Or dear, that couldn't be a good sign.

"With that said, there is much to do, and I will not take any further time from you all. This is a critical period in your future growth, where you set the foundation for everything you will do in the future. Work hard, Cultivate well, and perhaps one day, you may be able to address me as a peer."

The Grand Elder had said his piece, he raised a closed fist in salute, and Rina got to witness a human just hovering up into the air and flying away. All on their own!

That was the power of Nascent Soul! The peak experts of the continent! Mighty paragons who could bend the laws of the world to their own ends! One of those actually attended her orientation meeting! Was this a lucky chance? Was it just something she got to tap into early or something?

She was excited! She had a chance to be great!

A group of Centurions emerged--experts in the second Great Realm of Cultivation, granted command of groups of their lesser allies and expected to oversee most of the clan's day to day business. Names were called out, and Rina leaned forward, ears peeled, waiting for her own.

"Rina Callista!"

"Yes!" Rina squeaked out, immediately tensing as the expected call arrived. She flushed as she heard the giggling and laughs of the other children around her, but ran over to the Centurion who called her out--a few other people with them.

"Right, you're the last one of this group." He added, gesturing. "Right this way."

'This Way', apparently, was to a small pavillion set up just on the edge of the Mustering Ground, containing a great Array on the hardwood floor, three slivers of some strange crystal embedded into sockets at certain points of the array. "First things first, we need to figure out what your initial specialties are." He gestured to one of the children in the group. "Marcus, you're up first." He was a tall, strong young man--not the best clothed though, and he didn't have the Bronzesign that revealed a scion of the main bloodline. A bastard? A commoner who showed promise being brought in? "Combat Training?" The Centurion asked first, gaining a nod in return. "Spent some time with the town militia, I can use a spear and a scorpion well enough." The Centurion smiled at that. "Better than some can do--how about literacy?"

A number of questions are asked and answered--this Marcus fellow apparently was a well trained volunteer, strong and able with weapons. Less flattering was that his education wasn't the best--he could read the Clan's script but barbarian glyphs were beyond him. The Centurion still seemed satisfied enough though, and gestured him stand in the middle of the array.

"Right, I'll get you to just hold still there..." He drew a knife, took one of Marcus' hands, and pricked his fingers, one by one. "I'll get you to put your hand on the glyph's key rune there, while we test for your overall receptiveness.

"Don't you mean Talent?" Marcus asks. The Centurion frowns. "We don't like using that term officially." He explained. "How capable you are at drawing in Essence isn't the same thing as how good you are at using it. It does have its upsides--someone with good Reception is cheaper to develop, which puts you higher on the list when the Council decides to try a Promotion Trial, but not every person with quality Reception is actually strong" He smirks. "The Tale of the Greedy Razor Prince was based on a historical event after all."

Oh, right, the guy who found a spirit vein and shaved it apart, devouring it and rapidly reaching Core Formation due to untold, heaven-defying Talent. And how he was brought low by a scratch team of Centurions who banded together and surprising him with the Kataphraktoi Formation, gouging the arrogant barbarian and splitting him in twain from the force of the blow. Yeah, you could see why they didn't like using "Talent" then.

Marcus seemed to be satisfied with that tale, and placed his hand on the core rune. The Array quivered, and the stones slotted within crumbled to dust as their power was extracted and thrown directly into the boy's body.

He grimaced, but kept his hand to the Array as his power swelled.

The Centurion simply observed, and nodded when the whole business was done. "Pretty decent--you've got a trace of the Blood of Bronze in you that should manifest itself within five or six Heavenstages, and your Reception isn't bad either." He takes a note down in his ledger. "I'll put you on the Legionnaire track, long as you're willing to put your back into it, you've got a shot at Centurion some time down the line yourself." He smiles, and pats the boy on the shoulder, gently nudging him away from the Array as he replaced the spirit stones. "Next up... Rina Callista?"

Rina nodded, springing up and forward--he took a look over her and grimaced. "Huh, they not feeding you well where you live girl?"

Rina slumped a bit there. "No, I was born this way."

The Centurion winced. "Ouch, rough deal. Combat training?"

"Not much, I've been trained in some bladework but I wouldn't call myself adept in that field."

"Double yikes." The Centurion added. "Literacy?"

"That, I can do--I'm fluent in our own language and the Barbarian tongue" Rina began to list. "I'm also familiar with both written languages, completed second tier mathematics, and first tier history."

"Bookworm type, huh?" The Centurion relaxes at that. "No big deal, sounds like you're going to be a shoe in for the Array Engineers." He brings his knife up, and Rina pales a little, but offers her hand to be pricked.

It doesn't hurt as much as she was expecting, to be fair--just a little pinprick. Rina bore it with the stoicism expected of a lady of her breeding, and set her hand upon the Array.

Heat filled her body, cheeks flushing with power as lightning jumped from the stones in the Array into her hand through the blood connection. She bit her lower lip as the power blasts through her arm, her skin darkening in hue as an unexpected chain reaction began to unfold. The power reached her shoulder, and followed ancient channels into her body, irrigating her spiritual landscape as they gathered towards her stomach. She felt pressure build there for a moment--but only a moment, as an ignited fire blasted into being, and radiated through the rest of her body in steady waves.

She shook in place, and when the Array released her, dropped to her knees.

"Oh... Uh..." The Centurion called out. "I... Might have to talk to somebody about this..."

Rina looked up, seeing a lock of bronzed hair danging before her eyes there. "I'm... Okay?" She squeaked out.

"Oh you're better than Okay" the Centurion explained. "You just broke through to Essence Gathering in the middle of your Reception Test. Not unheard of naturally--but you've also got some of the highest concentration of the Blood of Bronze I've ever seen."

"is that why I feel so heavy?" Rina asks, trying to get to her feet--and largely failing, feeling like a large dog was sitting on her.

"Probably, normally the Blood only really triggers in the second or third stage, when you've already gotten used to supplementing yourself with Essence." He finally collects what he was going for, whispering a few words into a slip of paper, folding it, and casting it out of the Pavillion, where it just sort of flew off into the distance. "Right, we'll get you all sorted out... Good news though! The Vanguard is always looking for Aspirants with strong Bronze Concentration!"

The Vanguard--the heavy infantry of the Legions, first into battle, last to leave.

This wasn't what Rina wanted from life at all!

Everyone was born to a certain role in life. All the world is a singular, grand performance in life, dictated by the Will of the Heavens. There are the Righteous, the Heroes, those who rose up from the salt of the earth and rose to reach the heights of Mt. Tai. Whether this was in one of the greater Seas, the Worlds beyond the Great Turtle, or even even here, the Organ Meat Desert that was what remained of what once was the Third Son.

But what is a hero without the perfidious villain? Upon what would the truly righteous grind themselves? For the role of the villain is a necessary one in the eyes of the Heavens; created to pursue power through quick and cruel means, rise up, and become the whetstone by which those who had taken the correct path to power would sharpen themselves into tools of True Justice. All the while providing the sublime play that those who wrought Fate and Destiny had created.

Even those invaders from a distant star had not been exempt from the majesty of the True Justice! Viciously, those bronze-enfleshed devils had conquered the Third Son's remains, and drunk on their transient victory had sought to overthrow the very Dao of the universe! And for their arrogance, they were cast down by a Righteous Coalition of their victims.

All things, in their place.

All things, have their role to play.

For even those who would rebel against Heaven only ever do so from within the Buddha's palm.

But, I don't like it.

A young girl thought to herself.

The Golden Demons had ever rebelled against the Heavens. For uncountable generations, they had been driven back, sabotaged, and every hundred years had been culled time and again by those beyond the Third Sea. An obvious conclusion was that this was punishment for their great arrogance; an eternity to be ground under the heel and taught humility by the very land they had sought to subjugate and shape into their will. An object lesson for the rest of the land to know better than to ever reach beyond their station.

Deep within the heart of the Organ Meat Desert is a single town, bereft of wealth. A waystation along the Golden Demon Clans routes through the region, it primarily earns wealth by the graciousness of those caravans that pass along that stone road, and selling the beast cores of the demonic beasts that are culled by the inhabitants. A point of order in the chaotic, depleted wastes. However, all places such as this are rich in a single currency.

Stories.

Legends of the viciousness of the Battle Blood cannibals, merchants nursing drinks and wounded limbs as they tell tale of encounters from their marauding bands. Here the Via's weakness becomes apparent. For all the order that is forced upon the unforgiving, cruel desert by its presence, for all that it wards against the mindless beasts that prowl the wastes - they attract those of the low and cunning Cannibals who are on the hunt for man-flesh to better their own truly unrighteous cultivation.

Weeping from the expatriates of the Shen Kingdom, cursing the death of their beloved ruler and the usurpation of his mad son. The bright future that had been dangled before their eyes only to be snatched away, and their intent to plead before the Golden Demon Clan to bring about justice for their loss. For the Shen Kingdom was one of the territories closest to the border with the Jingshen Clan, and one of the rallying calls of the usurper had been to denounce the former King for his embracing of the Golden Devils, spitting upon Heaven's Providence, and surely such an agitators intentions could not be more clear?

Grim determination and wariness from the battered and weathered Westerners; those who had braved the Turtle Shell Mountains to carry the goods of the Sorrowful Blacksmith Sect to the desert in order to sell the wares of those who had kicked out the ones under whose roofs they now took shelter. Merchants one and all, they understood deeply the value of their position, and that the powers of the Organ Meat Desert would not use them as vengeance by proxy . The place of Bronze is to bend, but never falter. And the Golden Demons were feared throughout the continent for their terrifying discipline and self control even in battle.

Those who dwell within the town also had their own stories to contribute; songs of praise for bronze-fleshed demigods striding through the sands, laying low demons in the guise of men and beast. Eternal resistance against the Heavenly Dao, even cursed until the end of time as they were. The cruel Hundred Year Trials-

And it is there that young Aretaphila's hand shatters the mug in her tanned hand, eyes narrowed into a glare as cider spills over her and table.

I don't like it. The young girl thinks, before rising to return home, coin left upon the table for the owner as apology.

They were all in this together, after all.


The Myia estate sat within the heart of the town, a humble thing of ten square kilometers. It was sufficiently large to house the lineage and enable the Town's lords to sortie to any potential point of trouble physically within moments. Though the true strength of their lineage meant that the scions of their line had a range that could extend much farther, a lesson had been learned at length by the Myia scions and the Elders of the Golden Demon Clan at large. Rumors of the Myia's existence inevitably would reach the ears of the Clans various hunters, and would in turn lead to the extinguishing of their bloodline.

Upon the settlement of the Clan in the Organ Meat Desert, it had been decreed by the Clan Elders that the Myia were forbidden from expressing their true strength save when deployed within a mass of sufficient Hoplite warriors. The treasures of the Golden Heart Demons were few enough, even with the resilience of those of Bronze.

Every day that passed had Aretaphila hear tales of the Myia's legendary deeds upon the battlefield. The esteem and expectations laid at their feet, even as they died in meeting them. As a child, Aretaphila had loved those stories, telling of incredible strength and heroism. Stands against the Clan's perfidious enemies, their skills and songs overwhelming any ten enemy Barbarians of equal cultivation. Of the cruelties visited upon them by the self-declared Rigteous Sects, jealously hunting her people. Nightmares brought about by tales of unending hunger for her family's flesh, and the eternal grudge sworn against the Great Mountain Bell Sect, who prized their bodies far more than the gifts of the Secret Realm that rewarded the murder of her Clansmen.

Aretaphila had hated the roles that the Heavens forced upon her people, and on some level respected the cause that had brought the Golden Demons to this place. But as time went on, she saw a cruel parallel;

The expectations placed upon her future endeavors by wizened Centurions that passed through the Myia Lands. The fact that her family were treated as a precious resource, jealously guarded by the Clan Elders, forever forbidden from growing too much lest their secret of their existence reach the ears of the greedy and unjust.

A single note buzzed through the air, loud and clear, carried by the wind in a fit of rebellion. The golden haired girl smirked confidently.

The rebellious will of her forbears manifested within her most strongly.


"I volunteered for this honor, Young Miss." Came the dispassionate voice of the carriage-driver, breaking the silence of the carriage-ride through the desert. Having arrived on the day of her sixteenth birthday, the time had come to take Aretaphila to the heart of the Golden Heart Demons' power, where she would be tested and trained to obtain the power she needed to shirk the role that would inevitably be thrust upon her.

"Yeah?" The tanned girl muttered back from within the carriage, arms crossed behind her head as she leaned back alone, "Why? Gotta protect the newest little bell or something?"

The sound of gongs was the man's chuckling reply.

"What?" Aretaphila replied, her expression furrowing at the apparent dismissal, "You looking down on me or something?"

The laughter abruptly ends, "No, no, not at all." The creaking of wheels turning is the only sound to reach the young girl's ears for some time, before the driver continues, "I simply was someone who owed your family a debt that can not be repaid, Young Miss." Aretaphila remains quiet, "I was there three years ago, during the Hundred Year Trials an-"

"That's enough." The sonorous sound of the girl's voice cut through the air, muffled only by the specialized formations upon the carriage so that it would not carry as far as it truly could, "My mother was not even born with this body, so she saved your life?" Aretaphila's voice is bitter, "Then I guess you're a pair with my Father, then."

There is a dip, a lurch as if a great weight is pressed down upon the carriages front before hidden formations flash with bright light and the release of energy, and the vehicle corrects itself before its occupant can truly lose her balance. Even so, a shred of killing intent leaks through, the vast majority dissipated across the desert as if it had been pointed Westward.

"Yes." Came the Centurion's voice, bitter and grating, "We are both two men too weak to protect a single, wonderful woman."

The remainder of the journey passes in silence, and then they are upon the Bronze-girded Walls of the Dawn Fortress-Heart of the Golden Demon Clan.


"The Grand Elder is most impressive." An Aspirant of similar stature to Aretaphila herself mutters in awe as the bronzed old man nonchalantly flies through the air, the young boy staring in slack-jawed awe.

The girl snorted, "He's not bad." Aretaphila would reach that level herself one day. She needed to be at least that strong if she were to ever achieve her dream. The boy turned back to her, his olive-skinned expression warped in indignation. One which the young Myia faced with a raised brow before a name was called and the boy's anger evaporated. With a smile on his face and a snort of dismissal, Aretaphila's conversation partner departed for the Centurions who had apparently summoned him.

"Lame," She muttered, despondent.

She hadn't even been able to beat him up and show the nerd who was boss!

"Aretaphila Myia!" A voice called out, loud as a gong, and with that sound susurrus of whispering broke out among the crowd around her, the sea of bronzed skin Aspirants glancing around, all so much taller than her. The thought of their attention caused her to hesitate, a worm of fear buried within her Dao-Heart before a will of metal smothered it.

There was only one way to make a good impression. If the young girl was to decide her own role, then the first step was to make sure others could not decide it for her. For the first time outside the muffling formations of her Family's estate Aretaphila took a deep breath, and let her body speak, "I'M HERE!"

With a beautiful, ringing note her voice rings through the Mustering Ground, stilling the crowd of Aspirants around her. A moment later, the attention of something far greater than Aretaphila fell upon her, and the gathered Golden Demons split in a facsimile of the coordination shown by the Legion just a short while ago. A corridor is formed through the sea of bronzed flesh, and despite herself the young girl smirks confidently.

A beautiful soprano carries through the air, two wondrous voices joined in harmony as one.

It vanishes with the unbidden thought, and Aretaphila marches through the crowd to the waiting Centurion, hand on her hips. Nearby stands the short boy who she still owed a beating, but the elder cultivator simply nods and gestures for the group to follow him as they head deeper into the complex, where a large pavilion awaits, upon which is a massive formation; it's secrets indecipherable to Aretaphila's eyes.

"Aspirants." The Centurion calls out, his voice clenched tight, "Now that you have formally taken your first steps to becoming true Legionnaires the time has come for us to determine where you shall best serve, and what form your initial training shall take." The green-covered man glared at them impassively, "Your group has been chosen with the expectation that you shall form a Contubernium together, capable of taking independent action as part of a larger Centuria once your initial training has been deemed satisfactory."

A shaky hand rises up through the crowd of Aspirants, and Aretaphila sees that its owner stands head and shoulders above the next tallest of her companions. A curled mane of spun gold falls from her shoulders, twisting in the wind as the elder Centurion slowly turns to face her in eerie silence, "Speak."

"I-I was just wondering," the tall girl says, her hand shooting back down to wring against its opposite, "I know t-that there are more than eight positions within a Legion proper, a-and I don't see how just this many of us c-can possibly play the role of Contubernium, S-sir."

There is a moment's pause before the Centurion nods, "A fair question," The elder cultivator looks upon the eight Aspirants before him, "A Centuria is made up of ten Contubernium, lead by a Centurion in overall Command, and backed by the Optio who can select specialized Contubernium on an ad hoc basis to fulfill specific roles for the unit, employing their specialties to best effect."

"But a-aren't Centuria meant to move as a single unit, S-sir?"

The officer pauses once again, "The Legion is unified, but not monolithic Aspirant." His voice grinds the words out slowly, gaining a tone of warning, "Do not interrupt a superior officer when he is speaking to you in the future, lest you face reprimand. Discipline of the self is the reason for our Clan's survival in this world, even as the Heavenly Dao seeks to remove us for having the temerity to be better than the mad dogs that would seek to drag us down to their level. Never forget that."

A mass of golden curls flutters up and down as the girl nods enthusiastically to the Centurion's words, and Aretaphila feels her lips twist into a frown at the overgrown mass of a young girl acting like some kind of dumb mutt. Honestly, she'd have killed for a build like that instead of constantly waiting for a puberty that might never come because of her constitution!

"Aspirant Desmos, you shall be the first to undergo the Reception Determining Ritual." The patina-covered soldier calls out, and the short boy strides out confidently towards the older man, who deftly withdraws a sharped knife from his belt before leading the Aspirant to a plinth in the center of the Pavilion, "To begin; What do you considered yourself talented in?"

"Beast slaying, Sir." Desmos responds eagerly, "I'm also really good at camping."

"Literacy?"

"I, uh, didn't really see much use for it when practicing everything else?"

The Centurion nods, "There will be time to fix that, Aspirant. Your hand." With some nervousness, Desmos extends his limb, and the soldier's knife pierced the flesh of the younger boys five fingers, before guiding them over a faintly glowing rune in the center of the plinth. After a moment's hesitation, the Aspirant slams his hand down upon it with a loud shout, and there is a burst of lightning, accompanied by the crumbling of a trio of spirit stones worked into the plinth. The errant energy snaps and snakes its way up the boy's limbs pretty dramatically, while the Myia scion looks on.

Energy ceases to flow, and Desmos falls to his knees, panting with exertion.

"Good reception, high quality Blood of Bronze. Promising, Aspirant Desmos." The Centurion grunts approvingly, before grabbing the boy by the arm and lifting him up, "Lighter than expected build. I'll put in a recommendation for you to be considered for the Immune track after you've spent sufficient time as a Munifex."

The young boy marches away from the plinth; a proud yet weary smile upon his lips.

"Aspirant Myia." The Centurion calls out next, and Aretaphila stares hard at the older man's face, attempting to discern any sign of that recognition.

To her great surprise, the expected expression never comes. With a strange sense of disappointment joined with excitement, she strides forward to the officer, her fist held out in salute, "Sir."

"Hand." The Centurion replies instantly, and the young Myia obeys the command, her saluting fist turning into an open palm. There is a brief moment of expectation for pain that does not materialize, the keen edge of the blade never seeming to be touched by blood as it's owner returns the weapon to it's holster. Aretaphila nods confidently, her heart beating in her chest with nervous anticipation.

She knew, of course, that with her line's constitution manifesting itself even as a mortal, she would have a high receptiveness. But Aretaphila did not desire to be just receptive. If she were to obtain her dreams, then she would need to be more, so much more than that. In the seconds it takes for her footsteps to carry her to the plinth where three new spirit stones had appeared, Aretaphila Myia has considered a hundred different potential results, each one more flavor of terrifying failure, and as that fear begins to take root-

"What we exercise is not merely the appearance of Defiance--our very blood and culture is rejected by the Will of Heaven--a weakness of character may be something that could be forgiven a Barbarian in the favor of the Celestial Machine, but we are held to a higher standard. To know one's weaknesses is to identify where the Will of Heaven will strike--and a blow predicted is one more readily parried. Rest assured, we will find yours, and you will know them before your training is considered complete."

The Elder's words come to her mind, followed after by those of another.

"The reason why we don't use Talent, Little Bell, is because that implies that our success is determined by means outside our control. The Fate decreed upon us by the perfidious Heavenly Dao would shape our cultivation from our very birth. But that is not the way of us or our people, my daughter. We resist. We struggle. We choose to succeed, in spite of the Heavens. Not because of them."

Aretaphila nods. That's right. The results of this test don't matter at all.

The wriggling doubt in her breast is crushed, the beating of her heart replaced by a clearing ringing.

"What matters is what I do with it."

Her hands clasp the Primary Rune of the array, and there is far off shattering sound as the heavy spiritual qi trapped within the stones are released with an unexpected violence. Thunder and Lightning burrow deep into the bronzed flesh of the young girl, peals of thunder meeting high and clear notes, mixing and intermingling into a beautiful sound, full of wonder and defiance. Thunderstorms of doubt are blasted away, leaving a sharp and terrible melody that chimes where a young girl's heart used to be.

"Well said, Aspirant." The Centurion's words enter Aretaphila's ears, mingling with the rapidly fading song, "Your spirit marks you as one of ours as surely as the Blood of Bronze in you." Within the notes of the older man's words, the young girl hears the faintest heartfelt approval.

"M-my talent, Sir?"

"There was never any question of finding a place for you, Aspirant." The Centurion replies confidently, "The Myia have never failed to be any less than paragons of our people."

A frown begins to form unbidden on the young girl's face, "Because of the Clear Summer Bell's Constitution?" Pigeonholing aga-

Patina-covered lips split into a wide grin, "Constitution? No, Aspirant, because if there's anything more stubborn and willful than a Legionnaire, it's only going to be a Myia."

Aretaphila stares in shock. The expected resentment never materializes. In it's place, to the young girl's surprise, is a feeling of acceptance. Of welcome.

That believed forever lost feeling of family.

Oh. I'm home.

A.N.: Hmm, guess Alectai has me beat by a hundred words or so! Blast. Well, still glad I could write this out and get it out before the end of the day! Here you go, @occipitallobe !

Achille Adephos
Unbridled and Unbroken


Achille Adephos carefully moved with the practiced ease of someone many times his age. The needle within his hand elegantly carved an array onto a small metal bird. After dozens of hours, he had completed it.

Achille retrieved a small spirit stone from his pocket, placing it within the hollow metal bird. A whirring sound poured out of the bird as it came to life, flying about his room and occasionally letting out chirps.

Achille watched with a contented smile as the bird flew around his workshop, the dull bronze of the bird contrasting to the sunny yellow of his brightly illuminated room. He suddenly frowned, standing up and grabbing the bird. A small burst of Qi applied to the array and the bird ceased movement. Achille reached within the bird, grabbing the spirit stone within.

A small hair-crack in the array had been leaking Qi. At that rate, the array would have failed within only a few hours. Achille did not mind. He would merely do better next time.

"Achille, come for dinner!" his mother voice called

Achille sighed, placing his bird-array down on his workbench. Streams of bright sunlight poured in through the windows, illuminating the many, many loose sheets and documents that contained Achille's array ideas. As much as he would like to spend twenty-four hours a day working on his formations, he still had a duty to his family.

Achille opened the door of his workshop, briskly walking out of it and towards the kitchen.

Sitting at an oversize dinner table was his mother and father. Achille's father Barak Adephos sat on one hair, his green patina, the signature of those with the Bronze blood standing out in the dull colours of his home. Barak Adephos was at the Mid realm of Foundation Establishment despite being over three hundred and thirty. His father's lack of any appreciable talent was the reason Achille and his family lived in a small house at the edge of the clan's land despite being descendants of one of the most powerful bloodlines in the clan.

Achille's mother, Meline Adephos sat next to his father, smiling warmly at him.

"Achille, what did I tell you about working late," Meline admonished. "You know what they say. 'A man who misses meals misses success'!"

"Yes, mother," Achille replied, bowing his head respectfully.

Achille's mother sighed, placing a bowl of Dawn-cry congee in front of him. Achille sighed. As much as he hated the taste of the dish made from desert flowers, his mother swore by its health benefits and he had been forced to eat it daily for his entire life.

Slowly and robotically, Achille shovelled the greenish mushy substance into his mouth, trying not to gag at the sandy texture and nauseating taste. The dinner passed in silence, as these dinners often did. Achille did not mind the silence. His mind worked best in silence, the biological computer subconsciously refining ideas and concepts that would become Achille's next projects.

"You're going to be thirteen soon," Achille's father said.

". . . Yes, I am." Achille confirmed, before turning his head back to his food.

"When someone says something like that, you're supposed to say something like 'why are you asking'," Barak said, sighing after minutes of silence

"I don't get it. If you wanted me to know something, why didn't you just tell me instead of waiting for me to ask something," Achille said, not raising his head from his food.

" . . . I don't know, it's just the way you talk to someone," Barak said, placing his head in his hands.

"It's a waste of time," Achille said. "We've wasted more than four hundred seconds already that we could have saved if you had just cut to the chase."

"It's not that simple. When you're talking to someone you have to observe niceties, be polite, and slowly lead them to things," Barak said.

This time Achille did not respond, attempting to finish his food as quickly as possible.

"Alright, I was going to say, that your Great-Great-grandfather will be coming to see you on your thirteenth birthday," Barak said. "He does that for all those of his bloodline."

Achille nodding his head unmoved. Achille's Great-Great-Grandfather was Ioannes Vatatzes, the most powerful elder in the sect, boasting a cultivation of Great Circle Core Formation. He was the Protostrator of the Golden Devils, head of its armies. However, for all his lauded cultivation, he was still just an ordinary person. Someone blind to arrays and their subtle, unique beauty.

When Achille had been little, his parents had often left him on his own while they were busy. The young but mind-bogglingly intelligent boy had spent his youth reading books his father left around on arrays, drawing up his own prototypes. Before he knew it, his malleable infant mind had adapted to arrays in a unique way, learning to read and understand them the same way a native speaker could instinctively understand words or a musician could hear individual pitches in a way the layman could not.

Arrays were the clan's bread and butter, but they were outsiders to the art. They had to painstakingly study for decades to learn even the most basic of formations.

When Achille had been nine, his parents had taken him to see a demonstration. A talented young formation master had been showing off a newly created array he called the Quicksand array. It was meant to gather water and sand and artificially create deadly swamps of quicksand. Achille had taken one look at it and determined it would not work. The carvings meant to halt the intake of water from the environment were hand-carved so crudely that some were almost a whole millimetre too large. It was a mistake that would be fatal to the performance of the Array.

"Mr., your Array won't work!" Achille had cried out.

"Really? And you think a mortal child like you knows more about arrays than a Centurion like me?" the array-crafter had scoffed angrily, having felt insulted by Achille's challenge.

"The lines at the bottom are not uniform," Achille said. "Can't you see that?"

The array-master had taken out a toll and measured the lines of the array, eventually deciding that Achille was wrong. When the array had been activated, courtesy of a small pile of spirit stones, it quickly began to flood, failing to stop gathering water.

"Father, why didn't he just read it and see the error?" Achille had asked his father.

"Read it? Achille, you can't just read arrays. It requires precise and accurate measurements. You need special tools to make sure everything is exactly right," his father had explained.

At first, Achille had not been able to comprehend the idea that others could not see what he saw like a blind person could not fathom what sight was like. Yet, eventually, he began to understand.

He was special. Unique. Alone.

No matter how impressive Achille's Great-Great-Grandfather was, he was a blind man compared to Achille.

Having finished his meal, Achille returned to his workshop. There was work to be done

-----

On the morning of his thirteenth birthday. Achille stood alone atop his home's room. Within his palm sat the bird-array he had been working on. A freshly carved array-plate replaced the faulty one and Achille was eager to test it out. A burst of Qi to it's back and the array's whirred to life, the metal bird leaping off his palm and resuming the flight Achille had cut off previously.

Achille watched as the bird flew towards a wrinkly palm. Achille's eyes widened and he looked around noticing an elderly man seated next to him.

The man was old and bald, deep wrinkles adorning his face. The green patina of the clan covered his face and skin in splotches, yet paradoxically his beard was a brilliant, glimmering bronze that shone and glistened in the sun.

The old man looked at Achille's bird deeply, humming and hawing as he inspected it.

"You're interested in arrays, boy?" the man asked, amused. "I'm shocked to see one so young yet already so skilled in our clan's ways."

Most would be distrustful of mysterious strangers, but not those of the Golden Devil Clan. All those who held the old Bronze blood within their veins were as one and there was no room for mistrust amongst the clan.

"Yes," Achille asked simply. "Who are you?"

"I am your Great-Great-Grandfather," the old man chuckled. "You may call me Elder or Prostrator."

"Yes, Prostrator," Achille said, giving him a formal salute.

"Now boy, you are thirteen no? Soon you will begin your training as a Legionnaire. I always come to meet my descendants before they join the Legion to offer some choice words of advice," the Prostrator said. "Above all else, remember this. You are not alone. So long as the Bronze blood flows through you, then you are part of something greater. We fight in mighty formations and under world-sundering arrays. A Golden Devil is never alone, and so long as we stand together, not even the will of Heaven can strike us down.

As he spoke, a majestic aura rose up from the Prostrator. It was the aura of a veteran, a leader, a general. Someone who had fought a hundred battles, spilling blood side by side with his clanmates and fellow Legionnaires. This was the Prosecutor, the man who led the Legion, above even Centurions like Achille's father and the Legates who stood above him.

Yet, Achille knew that the Prostrator was wrong. He was alone. Like the fable of the one-eyed king living in a world of the blind.

Somehow the Prostrator seemed to sense his thoughts and let out a rumbling chuckle, his bronze skin vibrating.

"You don't believe me, do you boy? I suppose no matter how much I try to teach the younger generation, some lessons can only be learnt, not taught. Lecturing always was more of Manuel's strong point," the Prostrator said. "You like array's boy? Why don't you let me show you the mightiest array the clan has."

The Prostrator waved his palm, the air rippling like the surface of a stormy sea as Qi roiled out of him. Dense black text began to fill the air as if ink was bleeding out of the sky itself. The ink formed a massive circle, millions upon millions of tiny characters, command, Arrays.

For the first time, Achille was left dumbfounded. How could such an array even exist? What principles were behind its creation? Although he could read it, he could not understand it. The array was far too complex. So powerful it made the projects he had been oh so proud of look like trash.

For the first time, faced with an Array beyond him, Achille panicked.

"What is that? How does it work? Who made it?" he asked, bombarding his ancestry with questions.

"This is called the Shattering Glass Spear Array. It is an array that covers the entire region. It turns the sand of the desert into Glass Spears that can kill a Core Formation cultivator from miles away," the Prostrator explained. "It was made by the combined efforts of hundreds of top array-crafters, each one a master in their own right. Yet, when all of them came together, Bronze working next to Bronze, a miracle was crafted!"

Achille fell to his knees, his mind desperately attempting, and failing, to unravel the array before him.

Slowly the array faded from the air, accompanied by the rumbling chuckle of the Prostrator.

"That little show probably cost me dozens of spirit stones, but if it helped the youth of our clan, I'm sure old manual won't mind," the Prostrator smiled.

Achille stood up, having failed to comprehend the profundity of the formation It seemed to run on spirit stones, yet there was also an atmospheric component-

Achille shook his head, cutting himself off from heading further down the rabbit hole. Slowly, the young teen looked up at the bronze-bearded old man. Achille bowed his head in shame.

"To think such an Array could exist- and to think I was so arrogant before. I suppose this is what my father meant when he said 'I had eyes but could not see Mount. Tai'" Achille admitted to himself sadly.

How could he continue to call himself an array-crafter when he was so-

A strong metallic hand ruffled his hair.

"Don't be so down, boy. You may face setbacks and disasters, but you are one of us! Regardless of what your last name says, you're a Vatatzes. When a Vatatzes gets pushed down, we stand right back up and spit in the faces of those who pushed us down, be it the heavens themselves or merely an enemy sect!" the Prostrator said.

Achille looked upwards, the sight of the immaculately groomed Prostrator backed by the light of the sun, and for the first time he felt,

'Maybe I'm not as alone as I thought'.

-----


Achille sat once more at his brightly lit workplace. Several bird-Automaton floating around his room, chirping brightly. Achille had noticed that the pleasant melody of the bird songs helped him work.

And what work it was. A massive sheet of paper lay sprawled across the floor, covering a good ten feet. A pile of tools lay next to it, various ink brushes and pots, measuring tools and books. This was his Magnum Opus.

Ever since he had seen the brilliant, all-encompassing beauty of the Shattering Glass Spear Array, he could not forget it, even in his dreams. The endlessly complex array dominated his thoughts and consumed his mind. Achille could only understand a fragment of the array, but from it, endless ideas had sprung from his mind.

Eventually, he had created the concept of this Array, remembering the words of his old ancestors. It was to be called the Glass Spear Unbridled Array. Unlike any other array Achille knew of, it could be used by cultivators of any level. When faced with more Qi than it could handle, the excess power would be converted into more array, creating a self-repeating pattern of expansion. It was an array fit for anyone and everyone in the sect, from the lowliest of Legionnaires to the highest of Elders.

The array would gather the dust that spilled endlessly from the desert and fashion the useless sand into spears of great might that would lance out at those who dared approach it.

Achille's hand-finished placing the last touches in his notebook. The little green book contained each and every array he had ever created, from the light-colour array he had carved onto his toys as a child to the arrays that covered the Automatons that filled his workshop.

Achille stood up, walking over to where the massive paper sat. His trained and callused hand picked up a thick brush as he dipped it into a pot of black ink. It was time.

Hours turned into days and days into weeks as he slowly and painstakingly wrote out the array that had previously only existed within his mind. Not a single mistake or error covered the array by the time he had finished. Tens of thousands of inked characters and commands covered the array, interweaving inter a lattice that appeared to be the shape of a wavy desert dune.

Finally, Achille had finished his greatest Array yet. Normally, Achille would have simply moved on to his next project, but the words of his Great-Great-Grandfather stuck with him. He was not alone, and even if he was, he would defy that fate.

Achille walked outside his workshop, into the dimly light and dull house he lived. Sometimes they felt like two different worlds. Achille walked into his mother's room, where she was seated in meditation.

"Mother, there is something I would like to show you," the boy said, bowing his head in greeting.

Achille's mother, Meline opened her eyes wide in shock. That was a first. She stood up from her meditative position and she looked expectantly at her son.

"Really? What is it sweetheart?" his mother asked after waiting for him to continue for a minute.

Achille shook his head, a smile inexplicably forming on his lips.

"Come. You'll see!" he said, grabbing his mother by the hands and leading her into his workspace.

Achille's mother looked around his workshop, her eyes flicking to the chirping birds flying around, and then to the massive array that covered the floor. She let out a small gasp in admiration as she began to admire the Array.

"It's wonderful, dear," Achille's mother said, smiling sweetly. "I'll be able to brag to all my sisters about my little genius!"

Achille blushed slightly in embarrassment, turning his head away from his mother, who hugged him tightly.

"Let's show your Father," Meline said.

Achille shook his head in exasperation. When his mother got going, few things could stop her.

---

Achille walked down the long, sandy roads of the clan's lands. Today he began mandatory legion training. His father had given him a brief explanation of the upcoming procedures, but many of the details still eluded him.

As Achille walked, he caught sight of merchants from the Hua Empire, garbed in the dusky brown robes that they were known for. The subtle smell of spices drifted out from the merchant's wagon. Achille's stomach rumbled. The delicious foreign luxuries of the far-flung empire far outpaced his mother's congee, 'healthy' as she claimed it to be.

"How much for a meal?" Achille asked the merchant's, mouth-watering.

"Twelve Drachma for a cut of Beef, fourteen for Mutton," one of the merchants replied.

Achille reached into his pouch, grabbing a handful of the small gold coinage. Though cultivators traded in spirit stones and beast cores, rare medicines and herbs, mortals like these still used good old gold coins such as the Drachma that most in the desert used, a currency introduced by the Golden Devil Clan.

The merchant grateful accepted the coins, reaching into his wagon to retrieve a leg of beef carefully soaked in rare verbs. The mouth-watering scent drifted to Achille's nose. Achille hastily bit off a chunk of the meat, feeling the tender animal flesh practically melt in his mouth.

"This is quite good," Achille asked. "What is it?"

"This is called Hua Lumb, it is a traditional food in the Hua empire," the merchant explained.

Achille nodded happily. Now he knew what to look for next time he visited a Bazaar. Having finished his meal, Achille finally arrived at his destination.

A massive gated field filled with dozens of bronze-skinned children, surrounding a man dressed in the armour that would denote him to be a Centurion, someone at the same level as Achille's own father.

"You're late, Aspirant," the Centurion said coldly, his voice projecting across the field.

"My apologies, Sir!" Achille said, formally saluting the Centurion, who ignored him.

"Now, all of you come with me," the Centurion ordered briskly.

Achille and the other children trailed behind the Centurion as he led them off the field towards a massive bronze spire. Thick gates covered it, and ever more Centurions surrounded the fortress of solid metal.

This was the heart of the clan, the Dawn Fortress. Here resides the leadership of the clan, old monsters who age numbered in the triple quadruple digits.

Achille and the other entered the fortress, their blood boiling. For what Golden Devil Youth would not be in awe of the monument of glory in the center of the clan's land?

The Centurion led them into a hall. A large array covered a platform. Achille could tell just by looking at it that it would measure the purity of one's bronze blood. Achille's own bloodline was top-notch in the clan, meaning he had nothing to worry about. However, there was still the ever-present worry Achille would be like his father and fail to inherit the power of the Bronze Blood.

A man walked out into the room, his feet floating in the air. Achille whistled silently. Although Achille had never seen him, the sheer presence and dignity the man walked with could only mean one thing. This was the de--facto head of the Golden Devil Clan, Grand Elder Manuel Konstantinos.

"Welcome all of you Aspirants. Today is a very special day. Today is the day you begin your journey as Legionnaires. The bonds you forge here will carry on with you till death. Once, I myself stood where you stood, where all Golden Devils stood and I took this very test. No matter your results, know one thing. You are a Golden Devil, and from this moment onwards, you will also be a Legionnaire. A member of the most glorious army to ever walk this world! When you stand united with your Centuria even gods shall be felled!" the Grand Elder declared, his every word reverberating in Achille's very soul.

The speech left Achille's blood boiling with patriotism. The history of the Legion surely stretched back eras. Achille had the feeling he was a part of something more than himself.

"Achille Adephos!" the Centurion barked, shocking Achille out of his patriotic fervour. Achille's first and last name both started with an A, the first letter of the Clans alphabet, so he always went first in lines like this.

"Aspirant, begin with what you consider to be your greatest skills," the Centurion asked.

"Arrays, sir!" Achille said. "I am also a fair hand at metal-casting and item forging."

"Any combat training?" the Centurion asked.

"Not much sir. I can handle a spear decently, but little else," Achille admitted.

"Education?" the Centurion asked, continuing.

"I can read Peng And Hua, and of course I can read our language," Achille said. "I am well educated in science, mathematics and chemistry, all the skills one needs to make Arrays, sir."

The Centurion nodded and he scribbled on a sheet of paper.

"Now, place your hand above this array," the Centurion said. Achille did so and he winced slightly as a dagger pierced his fingers.

"Impressive, you must be the kid of some big wig. This is extremely high purity blood. The Bronze should manifest in the second Heaven-stage," the Centurion said, whistling slightly.

"I'll put you down for the Array Engineers. They're always looking for more," the Centurion said.

Achille nodded and saluted. That had pretty much been what he had expected. Still, the idea of being able to give it his all in array-crafting surrounded by peers and like-minded individuals sounded great to Achille. Not only could he serve the Clan, he could do so while also pursuing his own passions.

Achille smiled. This was only the beginning of his cultivation Journey.

----
Damn, that took way longer than expected. This is my own little contribution to the omake universe being built up. If there is anything within it incorrect/against canon, I will edit and fix it, @occipitallobe

Alectai, you may defeated the Rebel Cause, but we still live on!