Blake should have tended to his injuries as soon as he returned to his room, but he was more interested in the aftermath in the plaza. He ran to his room’s balcony and looked out over the town square before him.

  Civilians rushed away, moving to the edges, and Heron and Mingel had already left. The Path Paladins stood guard for a few minutes, speaking quickly with each other. One was younger, and the other, the one who’d stepped in to protect him, was much older. They almost seemed like a master and apprentice.

  But they were supposed to attack him, weren’t they? To be upset with him for being a fiend, or something like that? Instead, they’d helped him.

  He chewed the inside of his lip. Either Wind-Eyes was wrong, or the Paladins were up to something.

  A crew of mortals retrieved Konuth’s body then cleaned up the blood. They scrubbed and churned the gravel until there was no sign that anyone had died. And when his body was gone, the entire Trade went back to normal. People walked around, moving between booths, buying and selling furs and other gear.

  Blake hung his head and slammed a fist down on the railing. So much had happened…but he was still trying to figure out why.

  Mingel had made him promise, and it was almost as if she’d been planning to give herself up. But for him?

  Or was it out of self-preservation, fearing what Heron would do if she lived?

  And then Konuth had taken both of their places…

  I really wanted to be part of something bigger, he’d said. To have a purpose in life, to be remembered.

  Blake knew he wasn’t supposed to blame himself, but how could he not, when his actions had just gotten an innocent man killed? And whatever the hell was going to happen to Mingel afterward…

  He walked back into his room, flopped down on the couch and curled into a ball, then reached for Ethbin’s ring. “You there, gramps?”

  I’m here, Ethbin replied.

  “I…”

  I know.

  Blake unfolded himself onto his back. “Has something like this ever happened to you?”

  Like I said: it happens to all cultivators. You either die, or those around you do. There’s no avoiding it. What happened to you was similar to the first time someone died because of me, too. I didn’t see the machinations until it was too late, and I didn’t understand the systems of a planet me and my lord had found ourselves on. I got into a fight, and I beat everyone who challenged me—naturally.

  What I didn’t realize was that for everyone who I defeated and left alive, their lord was killing them afterward, anyway. My mercy did nothing.

  “But that’s not your fault, that’s the fault of an angry, overzealous lord.”

  I should have gone after him instead. I shouldn’t have ignored their world’s customs. I should have, should have, should have, on and on…

  “You still think about it?”

  Ethbin chuckled and said, No. Not often. But I mean to say: don’t fight someone unless you’re willing to kill.

  “You think Mingel is dead?”

  Perhaps. I don’t know what Heron will do to her. It is out of your hands now.

  “I hate this so much,” Blake said, splaying his arms out to the side. “I want to burn it to the ground. I don’t want my world to live like this. There has to be a chance Earth could go back to what we had before. There has to be a way to get rid of the cultivators, right?”

  Ethbin said nothing.

  With a sigh, Blake rolled over, wiped his eyes, then pushed himself up. He walked back to the balcony. Some of these civilians were probably residents of Earth, too. Some might have been from other worlds, but some had to be from earth.

  There had to be some who were willing to fight.

  Clenching his fists, he turned away from the balcony and marched back to the washroom. He rinsed out his wounds, bandaged what he could, then picked up the Body Tempering guide and flipped through it.

  Next was Muscle Reforging. The book gave the same suggestions as Bone Reforging, of slowly reforging his muscles with mana, but that wasn’t going to cut it for Blake. The problem was, he didn’t have any more funds for Fiendsmoke, and he wasn’t sure if it would even work. According to Ethbin, using an acidic or corrosive substance on his muscles wouldn’t be as easy. He would be better off soaking himself in some kind of venom.

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  It didn’t sound pleasant, to say the least. But at the same time, he wanted nothing more right now than to punch Heron right in his smug nose. And now, he had a time limit.

  He made it through Condensation in less than a month, but that didn’t necessarily apply to Tempering. Condensation had been a matter of catching up. He hadn’t needed any external resources. Tempering was going to require catalysts for every phase.

  But before he could even begin formulating a plan, the room’s door swung open, and Froskur and Iver stepped in, both silent. They glanced at Blake, and he stared back. “Guys…I—”

  “We know, Senior Brother,” Iver said.

  Blake glanced down at his own rank seal. Tempering two. Iver and Froskur were still only at Tempering one. But it didn’t make it any less awkward to hear them call him ‘senior brother.’

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Froskur said, then marched off to his bed and dropped down. “The sect’s standing has improved thanks to your victory. You are ascending in the world, and if you can defeat Heron, you will surpass us all.”

  Neither of the boys said anything else.

  “Something tells me the blame still partially falls on me…” Blake muttered. “At least, the way everyone in the sect sees it.”

  The path of the knight is often walked alone, Ethbin replied. You can have friends or power, not both. You’ll always leave something behind.

  Blake swallowed. He couldn’t reply directly.

  ~ ~ ~

  That evening, Blake wandered Mergewatch. It felt like a burden had slightly lifted from his shoulders, with him not having to look out for an angry Svarikson. But something worse lingered there, pressing down even harder. He still kept his eyes out, but without the land-master chasing after him, and with his duel planned with Heron in three months, he didn’t look over his shoulder as much.

  It shouldn’t have felt freeing, but he couldn’t help himself. For a moment, he considered running from the Hunters’ sect right now, abandoning them, and simply making his own way.

  But he couldn’t deny that their resources were helpful, and he’d need more technique slates, which he couldn’t acquire on his own yet.

  Nevermind the potential reward for him defeating Heron. If he could win the battle next Trade, he would have access to the manaship. The guilds there had to have insane rewards and boons—much better than anything the Hunters could offer him. More technique slates. Elixirs that did more than just infuse him with raw mana. But something told him that deal wouldn’t stand if he dropped out of the Hunters’ sect.

  So he would stay. For now.

  As he wandered, the sky lit with lights. Most of them came from the Mergewatch Inn, from the Hunters’ sect balcony. They were paper lanterns, each with a rune on the side, and the hot air inside them made them float. Apparently, it was a funeral tradition of the Nords. They used to send dead sect members off in mana-powered skiffs, launch them up into the sky, then incinerate them with flame-based techniques.

  But as the galaxy evolved, so did war. People rarely recovered bodies after a battle. So sending floating paper lanterns into the sky was the closest ritual they could approximate.

  Blake had seen it a few times from the ground, with the manaship spewing little lights out its sides, but he’d never understood what it meant before now. Apparently a death like this was a common enough occurrence.

  He wanted to honour Konuth, but he hadn’t known how, and really, they hadn’t been as close as some of the other sect members. It wasn’t right to pretend that he was the same as Iver or Froskur.

  So instead, he wandered the streets, looking up at the lanterns, and looking for the only other loose end he had left—Mingel.

  He knew roughly where the Green Bears were staying. The sect had plenty of longhouses in the city, which they actually owned, and Blake knew where she and Heron were staying.

  You can’t save everyone, Ethbin said as Blake searched.

  “Yeah, but I can try.” Blake hung his head. “I heard what you said. I’m gonna try to listen to your advice. ‘I shouldn’t get into a fight if I’m not willing to kill.’ I didn’t even think about that with Mingel. Fates, I literally just felt angry because she wasn’t as Blended as me.”

  Don’t get yourself in trouble. It’s not worth it.

  “I’m just—”

  You better not be thinking with your scrote.

  Blake went red in the face. “Why do you have to say things like that?”

  Well?

  “No, I just want closure.”

  Blake stopped at the first of the Green Bear longhouses he could find. It wasn’t exactly hiding—there were green banners hanging from the eaves, and bear head ornaments on the spine of the roof.

  Blake cautiously knocked on the door and found himself face-to-face with a guard.

  “It’s…you,” the guard said. “What do you want? Get lost, fiend-blend, before I call for help.”

  Blake chuckled. “Calling for help? You’re at Tempering three. You’re stronger than me.”

  The guard said nothing. That was probably smart. In fact, he was probably the smartest person in this entire city for staying quiet.

  “Look, I wasn’t trying to start anything,” Blake said. “I was just coming to congratulate your champion on a well-fought match.”

  The guard sighed. “You’re looking for another fight with Silverbeard? Don’t give him a reason to attack you in ‘self defense,’ kid. Just go.”

  Blake considered for a moment, then realized he agreed. The guard was right again. “Okay, true. Fair enough. But do you have any idea what will happen to her? Is she going to die?”

  “Why do you care?”

  Blake sighed. “Look, is she?”

  “No. She’s too valuable to Heron. But I cannot promise anything else.”

  Blake breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, good.” A second weight lifted from his shoulders. At least that wouldn’t be pressing on his conscience. At least she’d live, no matter what else happened.

  “Now go, before Silverbeard finds out you came knocking.”

  “Yes, sir.” Blake gave a quick bow. “Thank you.”