The closer Blake got to the merge-mists, the quieter everything became. No cracking of old stone or creaking metal, no rustling of the weeds in the wind. Even his footsteps sounded a little muted.

  The merge-mists formed a wall in front of him, located just behind the water-harvesting nets. It wasn’t exactly like fog. It was like if someone had captured a thundercloud and tied it down to the surface of the world.

  He didn’t even slow down as he followed the road into the mist. This was as far from the city as he’d been in years, and certainly the farthest he’d ventured into the mists.

  The moonlight and sunlight faded, replaced by an eerie white glow that seemed to come from everywhere, leaving no shadows and making it difficult to gauge depth. Blake’s hair prickled, goosebumps rose all across his skin, and his horns began to ache.

  The road faded, dipping into the ground, replaced by a soggy bog. He tried to follow a path on the driest land, but that wasn’t always possible, and soon, both of his boots were full of dirty, undrinkable swamp water. Thornbushes scraped at his legs and the occasional skeletal tree tried to poke his eye out.

  And then there was the air. It tasted like rot, each breath felt like it was half made of water, and the clouds stuck to his skin, soaking him without ever feeling like it was raining.

  “Couldn’t have found any worse of a place,” Blake muttered.

  Most merge-mists are like this, Ethbin said. They hover in place, turning the land below into a bog. Your best bet is to find a tall tree and ride out the night off the ground. If we don’t have to face a monster today, it’s better.

  “Agreed,” Blake said. None of the trees here were strong enough to support his weight, but deeper into the mists, they seemed to grow taller, turning into enormous leafless mangroves. “So, about Honour gathering? Like…what creates it? Where does it go? And what is it?”

  Lots of questions, Ethbin warned. You don’t want to strain me, because you’ll be without a guide.

  “Apologies. Okay, first, what is it?”

  A type of vital energy. Necessary for life, though very few people ever realize that they can draw on it, or know that it even exists. The best way to develop a connection with Honour is by losing all your mana. When there’s nothing else, then you can sense it. You can thank Svarikson for that.

  “What creates it?”

  Technically, you create it. But you pull it in through your siphon. Perhaps you’ve heard the siphon called a dantian? Or, perhaps the Nords called it the kjarnur?

  “In passing. Don’t know what it does.”

  I won’t confuse you with how it interacts with mana, then. Only with Honour. I need you to imagine a tiny entryway located behind your navel.

  “An entryway? Like my—”

  Don’t go there.

  “I was going to say ‘mouth.’ Dirty-minded old crank.”

  Just imagine it. About two-finger widths back from your navel, three below.

  Blake used the same strategy that he used to envision his black mana, but it didn’t work perfectly when there was no mana. Or, simply, he had nothing to see, since there was no usable Honour in him.

  Honour, capital H, can easily be derived from your personal honour, lowercase h. It is a conceptual, difficult to grasp matter, and I admit, it will take time until you can gather Honour outside of battle. Earlier, you didn’t worry about where the Honour was coming from, you just sensed it within you, because some had already crossed through your siphon. With Honour, instead of drawing in mana or qi from the outer world, you are pulling it across from a spiritual echo of yourself.

  “I have no idea what that means,” Blake replied.

  For now, you can think of your Honour echo as an infinite sea to draw from. The problem with Honour is that, unlike mana, you can’t just gather more from the air, and you can’t use any Harvesting techniques. The limit of how much you can use and when you can use it comes from how much you can open your siphon. It is not something to be done with an exhausted mind.

  Blake jumped over a ridge of mud topped with thornbushes, almost like someone had tried to farm them, then landed in a puddle. “But—”

  There are three easy ways to open your siphon and draw on your Honour echo, Ethbin said. The Honour Trigram, as written on my ring. There’s loyalty. You can draw Honour by serving your lord, or if you are a lord, protecting those you watch over. Then there’s bravery—facing a powerful foe, that’ll do it as well. And lastly, Honour tends to surge when you have worth. When the Way registers your impact on the world around you—and a positive impact.

  “All that was written on your ring?”

  No. Ethbin sounded somewhat exasperated. Just the three words.

  “But how do you measure any of that?”

  You don’t. The Way does. It is responsible for all reality—it is the universal law of all reality. These relations between all beings are mutual duties necessary for harmony. It is ingrained in the fabric of the universe. Life is radiant and spiritual, sacred to the Way, which is something the Nords seem to have forgotten. The Way in itself is somewhat conscious, and it rewards you for upholding the Honour Trigram with energy.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Blake nodded. This was a lot to take in. His footsteps seemed to grow quieter, and in the distance, he was pretty sure he could hear the clack of some giant insect’s wings. He didn’t even want to know what it was.

  I suggest you find a place to rest, Ethbin said. Since I am not yet worn out—though I am close—I’ll keep watch. I’ll wake you if you need to fight or run.

  “Thank you,” Blake said.

  He made straight for the massive mangroves. They were about twice the height of an old oak, but their tips were shrouded in the mists, and he really couldn’t see how tall they truly were. He climbed their snaking roots until he reached a cradle of branches that he could sleep in without falling out.

  In all truth, he wasn’t sure if he should be trusting Ethbin, but he also knew he wouldn’t survive very long here if he was exhausted. He needed to rest. He remembered the warm, comforting embrace Ethbin had given him, and he held onto it.

  I can radiate the opposite, too, Ethbin said. I can cast out an aura of fear, and it is usually enough to dissuade low-stage monsters.

  It took Blake a little while to fall asleep. Maybe an hour, maybe two. His heart was racing, and his hands were quivering, and the excitement never really left. His dreams were agitated and his mind wouldn’t shut up, but it was better than nothing. At least his body was less exhausted.

  When the sun rose, turning the mists a hazy white and making gray light filter over everything, Blake sat up.

  “Anything try to eat me?” Blake asked.

  A couple bog-snakes and a howler. They almost drew close enough that I contemplated waking you.

  “Actually, jokes, I don’t want to know what those are.”

  You’ll find out soon enough.

  Blake jumped down from his hiding spot and landed in a crouch. “...Understood.” He clutched his length of rebar, then leaned against the trunk of the tree. He’d probably gotten far enough into the mists, now. “Alright, then. Can we talk about my advancement progress?”

  If you’d like. I’ve recovered a little energy overnight.

  “What stage am I at?”

  First stage of Honour Condensation. You can thank Svarikson, and truly, thank him, because there’s no need to start with a shoddy condensation base. He ripped the mana out of you, putting you back to a workable state. Now we can start properly—using Honour. There’s no going back. Once you open your siphon to Honour, you won’t be able to draw on ambient mana, and you won’t need to.

  Blake grimaced. “Are the stages different for Honour?”

  Only in name, unless cultivation has changed a whole deal in the past however long it’s been. Let’s see…stage one and two. Breathing Mastery, and Mind and Will Focussing—

  “Wait, wait, I’m going to stop you there. I remember the low stages from reeducation, but I have no idea if they’re the same as what you know. You know, with you being a few thousand years old and all that.”

  So, over the next few minutes, Ethbin made Blake draw a chart in the mud, covering the first seven stages:

  After a few seconds of staring at the chart, Blake put his hands on his hips. “How could Svarikson have stripped away my knowledge of breathing, though? I still remember the breathing techniques the Fate Monks taught us in the reeducation schools. Or, the experiments with willpower and mana-pushing.”

  During Mana Condensation, the stages go hand-in-hand with the mana you accumulate while learning them. You lose the mana, you lose the stage. In theory, it’s easy to get back to where you were, since you already know the basics, but you’re going to need to learn how to condense Honour.

  "Condense…" Blake said. "So…I need to find a reliable way to gather Honour?" He had paid attention to those words in reeducation too, but it just didn’t make sense.

  You need to control Honour and store it, instead of just hoping it appears in your channels when you need it. But we have work to do. Before you can learn a proper cycling technique that works outside of combat, you will need to develop your core sea and open the rest of your meridians.

  “Can you...tell me how to do all that?”

  That would put me to sleep for a few days. However, I can help you to find a solution. The heat of combat is the crucible upon which many cultivators find a greater understanding of their abilities.

  “Then I'm going to keep walking until I find something to fight.”

  That would be appreciated. However, you will not thrive off the wilds for long. In time, you will need the established structures of other cultivators to help you, and I can only do so much. Eventually, you will need to find yourself technique slates and sparring partners.

  "So I should plan on returning to the city?"

  A city, yes. Perhaps not the one you came from. And you should plan on joining a sect.

  "My abilities would get me killed in a sect, wouldn't they?" Blake turned sideways to dodge a tree, then ducked under a clump of hanging vines. “If they don’t find out that I was the guy who stole from Svarikson and turn me in.”

  There were sects and guilds. Sects tended to be martial orders, where people learned fighting and became great warriors. Then there were guilds, which focussed more on crafting and commerce, but almost never held power. They tended to employ cultivators who didn’t enjoy fighting.

  I’m sure Svarikson and the Green Bears have enemies who would welcome you…but not in your current state. One of our focuses must be on hiding your Honour getting you strong enough.

  "How?"

  Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Heads up. I think we’re approaching something.

  "What? You can’t just—”

  The trees rattled, then burst apart. A vine-covered wolf sprang out of the muck, splattering him with mud and swamp water. Its head came up to his chest, its fur was matted and brown, and the vines seemed to be growing out of its flesh. Not quite a demonic fiend, but a monster nonetheless.

  Its jaw was wide, and it lunged for Blake's neck. He raised his staff, then wedged the bar into the beast's maw. Its teeth, sharpened points of petrified wood, clanked off the rebar. One snapped and shattered into dust.

  The wolf howled and jumped back. It raised its haunches and folded its ears back, snarling and gurgling.

  Exactly what I was hoping to find, Ethbin said. A howler.

  "You hope for weird things!" Blake shouted, jumping to the side.

  It's only a Mana Condensation stage three beast. If it kills you, that'd be such a shame. If it was stronger, I'd advise you to run, but we should be fine.

  "Oh, great," Blake groaned. He lifted his staff back up, then pointed it at the wolf. “Well come on, then…no free breakfast for the swamp puppy.”