Blake returned to the hunters’ pavilion with a bundle of furs in his arms, a backpack full of beaks and talons, and a pocket full of shroomclaw spore-cores. He wouldn’t get as many points for the unsanctioned missions, but he’d still get something.

  It was evening, and there was a quarter-inch of snow dusting the ground. Out here, it felt colder than in the insulating mists, but where his regular mortal body would’ve shivered, he barely reacted to the temperature other than registering it. It wasn’t a problem, despite his light tunic.

  He set his missions and loot down at the counter in a heap, then rang the bell. An attendant ran over and looked over his stack of furs and beaks. He stuck a hand out to prevent the shroomclaw cores from rolling off the table.

  “Honoured Brother,” she said, bowing her head. “This is an impressive haul.”

  Blake dipped his head. “Sorry about the processing. I got a little bit…carried away.”

  “It is this one’s pleasure, Senior Brother,” she said. Blake noted that she was basically a mortal—and a Blended. She was only Condensation two, and didn’t seem to be going anywhere despite looking a few years older than him. But, because she was a human blended with some crystalline blue creature that he couldn’t identify, he figured he was safe to assume she was from Earth.

  While she processed his mission slips, Blake said, “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be from Earth, would you?”

  “Y—yes, Senior Brother, this one is,” she said.

  “I’m not going to be mad if you talk normally,” he said. When he got no response, he asked, “Do you like your job? You’re just a worker here, right, not an actual member of the sect?”

  “Do you know of a better job, Senior Brother? This one gets food and shelter, and enough hacksilber to send back to her family.”

  Silber. He winced. “What if they didn’t rule the planet anymore?”

  “And then what?”

  “You don’t want to take back—”

  “I’m comfortable,” she said, then placed a bag of wooden contribution point chits down on the counter. “This one apologizes for the outburst, Senior Brother.”

  “That wasn’t…an outburst?” Blake tilted his head. He didn’t know why he was even poking so hard, but it just felt right. People shouldn’t have to act like this just because they didn’t have a fancy wax seal. “Aren’t you tired of talking like that?”

  “This one is used to it, Senior Brother.”

  “But—”

  “Enough, please. This one does not want to get in trouble, Senior Brother.”

  Blake grimaced. “Sorry. Sorry.” He took his bag of contribution points. There were about seventy in the bag. Enough to last him a little longer at the sect. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I just— You know what, nevermind. Sorry.”

  He turned away, spent a few chits for a long shower, then returned to his room for the evening. He spent a few minutes staring up at the ceiling before he wedged a blanket under the door and whispered, “Ethbin, are you there?”

  I am here.

  “Did you have a reason for getting as strong as you did in your life?”

  Yes.

  “Can you say…?”

  I could, and without cost.

  “But you won’t?”

  Let me tell you a story, Blake, Ethbin said. I once knew a great Umber-kin seer who was so unwavering in his faith. He believed that the Nascent Soul cultivator ruling his planet was a god. No matter how much anyone tried to dissuade him, he kept to his beliefs. Nord seers tried to convince him of the Manafather, Cohong priests tried to lecture him on the Dao, and so on. Well, what shattered his faith wasn’t any debate about gods or the Great Way, but when his ‘god’ died in a duel after angering a Spirit Severing cultivator much stronger than him.

  This seer was lost for a long time. He wandered, looking for anything else to fill that void in him. He needed something to believe in. But his mistake was looking for that belief outside himself. His god was dead, and it was his duty to find his own purpose, not to let someone else give it to him. He spurned his duty for many years, and eventually, he died sick and alone.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Blake winced. “I’m not sure if I understand.”

  I can’t give you your purpose. No one else can, either. You have to find that for yourself. It’s your duty to find something that you would die for. Would you die defending a collection of empty provinces collected into an economic zone? Would you die to free your world?

  “I…don’t know.”

  It’s always the same, Ethbin said. That faint warmth settled on Blake’s shoulders again. Blake, you remember the best of your old world. But I’ve seen some of your memories. It was imperfect. It was so much more than imperfect. I can’t say if this is better or worse. But I can say that bringing back the old world won’t fix everything.

  Blake sighed. “Thanks, Gramps. I—I’ll think about it.”

  You had better. Because that’s part of the first stage of Foundation: Echo Hardening. If you cannot tell me why you cultivate, you will never focus your willpower, and you will never advance any higher.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning, Blake visited the armoury. He searched the halls, hunting for a new weapon. There had to be something that caught his eye, something worth advancing with.

  As he perused the staves on display, he whispered, “Ethbin? If Elder Ulfreld wants me to win, which I think he does, why not just give me equipment?”

  That would be unwise, Ethbin said. As the elder of a pavilion, he cannot show too much favouritism. But more importantly, your equipment will not register nearly as well if you haven’t earned it. The Great Way governs all of reality. A weapon made for you, as the result of your own effort, will always be more effective than a weapon given to you—the Way rewards achievement.

  Blake raised his eyebrows. “Alright, I suppose. So I shouldn’t be buying pre-made—”

  “Who are you talking to, Junior Brother?” a voice rang out behind him.

  Blake whirled around. Wind-Eyes stood behind him, his arms crossed and a stern expression on his face.

  “Sorry, sir. I was just talking to myself,” Blake said.

  “Looking for a new weapon?”

  “It turns out this staff was rated for Body Tempering, not Foundation,” Blake said. “I’m going to need something new eventually.”

  “Indeed,” Wind-Eyes said. He motioned with his hand. “Come with me.”

  “Sir?”

  “Come.”

  Blake followed after Wind-Eyes, more curious than anything, then approached the counter at the front of the armoury, where the attendant sat. “I would like to see the progress of my spear, Junior Brother,” Wind-Eyes told Blake.

  “Technically,” Blake whispered to Wind-Eyes, “I’m more advanced than you now. So, not really junior…”

  “You will be Junior until I say so,” Wind-Eyes whispered back.

  The attendant glanced at them cautiously, then dipped his head to Wind-Eyes and said, “Yes, Senior Brother, right away.” He scrambled away into a room behind the counter, then returned a moment later with a spear’s shaft in-hand. “Here, Senior Brother. We are about halfway complete.”

  “Thank you,” Wind-Eyes said, motioning to the spear. “When this is finished, it will cost me nearly five hundred contribution points. It is made from a mana-soaked trunk of a swamp mangrove, born and bred on this planet. The etchings on the side are to be filled with silversand from the river deltas of Kinghaven, and they’re working on the tip as we speak.”

  “I…don’t understand, sir.”

  “The point, Junior Brother Bjarke, is that you can commission a custom staff for yourself much like this.”

  “I would require a down payment,” the attendant added. “Fifty points.”

  “I—I could do that,” Blake said.

  “And we would not be able to begin work on it until the start of next month,” the attendant added. “We already have a backlog.”

  “That’s acceptable,” Blake said, before really considering. He was running out of time, and the next Great Trade was fast approaching. He might not have time to finish it before his duel with Heron. “How long would it take?”

  “A few weeks, depending on how much extra you’re willing to pay.”

  Blake exhaled in relief. That was manageable. “Alright. I can pay.” Blake counted out fifty contribution points and set them down on the counter. “Should I give you the commission details, or…”

  “We’ll take those closer to when we start making the staff.”

  “Ah, okay. Thanks.” Blake dipped his head, then followed Wind-Eyes as he left the armoury and stepped outside. “Sir, why are you helping me?”

  “Why? Without guidance, young sparks like you burn up quickly. There’s a high chance that you will die in the coming weeks at the hand of Heron.” He crossed his arms, then tapped Blake’s badge. “You are reckless, and you’ve likely permanently stunted your cultivation with whatever elixirs you are using to advance. But I understand the necessity, and if I can give you a fighting shot later in life…then it is what you deserve.”

  “Deserve?” Blake winced. “I’m not sure if I’ve done anything to deserve help.”

  “After you taught them a lesson, those ten hunters training with me have been causing significantly less problems in sparring classes.”

  “Right.”

  “And you deserve a fair shot against the likes of Heron. I know you didn’t choose to fight him, but you will meet him nonetheless.”

  Blake nodded. “I understand, sir.”

  “Now, keep training, keep trying to improve as best you can, and when this is all over, if you survive, I’ll consider that repayment.”

  “Thank you, sir.”