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!
