Heron’s head whipped to face Ulfreld, but he kept his sword pointed up at Blake’s chin. “Wait your turn. I was getting to you. But first, allow me to deal with this creature.” He glanced back down at Blake.

  “You would do all this to kill him?”

  “Two birds with one stone. I need your sect out of the way, and the sooner I kill him, the better.”

  “You had your chances before.”

  “And you think I didn’t try? I had assassins on the task for months, but he’s too slippery.” He twisted his sword, scoring the underside of Blake’s chin. “I had a suspicion he’d come running back here as I eliminated the competition.”

  Ulfreld scowled. “It’s just Shell. It’s nothing. The Hunters will give it up because they don’t care. It’s not worth anything.”

  “Then all the better for me. It could be the start of my new sect’s empire.”

  “You’re delusional,” Ulfreld spat.

  “Perhaps.” Heron glanced down at Blake. “I was going to Harvest the boy to make a point, but I think I’ve gotten my fill of mana from these other cultivators, and I’ve heard the stories. The last thing I need is to Harvest whatever fiend-i-ness he’s got in him and have it fail on me. But I can still kill—”

  Ulfreld flicked his finger. Three of his swords snapped out, racing toward Heron. They struck the Green Bear’s blade on the fuller, driving it back and away from Blake. Heron himself stumbled backward.

  “You think you can defeat me?” Heron exclaimed. “You haven’t made any advancement progress in years, and it shows.” He pushed his cloak away from his shoulder, revealing his rank seal. Core Formation two.

  Blake winced. Of course Heron had gotten stronger.

  “I don’t think I can beat you,” Ulfreld said. “I know he can. In time.” He glanced down at Blake.

  “Him? He’s a Blended. He’s an entire tier weaker than me. I just crushed him. It turns out I had no reason to fear, none at all!” The way Heron’s voice wavered told Blake he didn’t entirely mean it. But Blake was more worried about living and saving his friends. Froskur and Iver were still alive.

  “You talk too much,” Ulfreld snapped. He launched more swords in from the side, and Heron whirled his blade to deflect them, creating a basket of silver light around himself, before leaping toward Ulfreld. He landed in a crouch, trying to drive his knee down onto Ulfreld’s head, creating an explosion of dust around the impact point. Ulfreld had ducked to the side, but he was flagging. His chest heaved. His breath rattled.

  He was aging, and Heron wasn’t. Ulfreld was slower. Weaker.

  But he’d put himself between Heron and Blake. “Go!” the elder yelled. “Save yourself, Junior Brother.”

  Blake gasped. As soon as River’s echo skill came off cooldown, he triggered it again, repairing a few of his injuries, getting himself into a condition where he could move again, then flipped himself onto his front.

  Only to find Wind-Eyes staring right at him.

  The man groaned, and his eyes were glassy, but he was still alive. Barely. He reached out toward Blake, holding out his spear’s shaft. “Take it,” he grunted. “Take my weapon.” Behind them, metal clanged and techniques screeched as Ulfreld and Heron clashed.

  Blake glanced at the weapon. “I…I can’t. It’s not—”

  “I had it modified weeks ago, Junior Brother. As soon as they refused your commission.”

  Blake’s eyes drifted along the spear’s blood-coated glassy surface. His stomach dropped. Instead of wind-like patterns, something that would have helped Wind-Eyes channel his air-aspect techniques, he had carved snakes. It was hard to see in the flickering light, but they’d been filled with gunmetal gray sand and covered in some kind of resin.

  And there was no spearhead. It was purposeful. This wasn’t a spear at all, but rather, a staff.

  “You—” Blake cut himself off. He couldn’t refuse a gift, but how powerful would a gift be? The Way rewarded weapons you earned, not were given. “But—”

  “You think you didn’t earn this, Junior Brother?” Wind-Eyes whispered. “You trained for months. You were my best student. You kept the others in line and pushed them, too. You even tried to have one of your own made, which they rejected. You earned this more than anyone.”

  Blake nodded, then grabbed the new staff. If he attacked now, could he…help Ulfreld win?

  Could he kill Silverbeard right there?

  “I see that look,” Wind-Eyes gasped, his voice growing weaker. “Not yet.”

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

  “Why…?”

  “You won’t win. Not in your condition. Not even if you were uninjured. Heal, train, prepare. Your mana isn’t strong enough. You need the will to cultivate—advance to Foundation two.” His hands slipped out from under him, and he fell down onto his stomach. “And get your friends out of here.”

  “I—”

  “Junior Brother.” Wind-Eyes coughed, head falling down onto the floor of the armoury. In a weak voice, he whispered. “All the time you spend trying to get back what’s been taken from you…more has already slipped away. Don’t…”

  Before he could finish, his eyes glazed over. He was gone. Dead.

  “I’ll make you proud, Senior Brother.” Blake tightened his fists, rage bubbling inside his gut. He wanted nothing more than to swat Heron across the room and kill him. Or at least die trying.

  He’s right, Ethbin said. Blake, do not die here. Your Honour is too weak to fight and bind Heron’s techniques. You need to advance to Foundation two. It might not seem like a big leap, but if you can focus your willpower, it will give you the edge you need. Survive. Meet him at the trade, and duel him properly.

  Blake grimaced. He had a habit of not listening, but where had it got him? Sometimes it helped, sometimes his recklessness had been a boon, but now wasn’t the time.

  He stood up, using Wind-Eyes’ staff to hoist himself.

  Ulfreld glanced back at him. “Go!” the elder shouted. He bled from a cut on his arm and a gash on his forehead, but he still fought, deflecting swipe after swipe from Heron, keeping the man occupied.

  Heron had no wounds. Each second, he grew more and more angry. He shaped a wall of white mana beside him, blocking a sword, and struck another flying sword with a palmful of white light, sending it skittering across the floor. And he hadn’t even used his ability yet—the ability to create a clone of himself.

  Face twisting into determination, Blake bent down, searching for River. She bounded through the smoke at the back of the room and climbed up to his backpack. As soon as he had her on his shoulder, he sprinted over to Iver’s unconscious body. He was still breathing, and Froskur leaned over him.

  “Get him up!” Blake shouted to Froskur.

  Heron tried to circle around Ulfreld, but the elder sent a sword flying out to the side, blocking the way.

  “Can you carry him?” Blake asked the frog-blend boy.

  “Yes!” Froskur replied. “But there’s no way out.”

  “Yes, there is.” Blake triggered the Serpent’s Cloak and launched himself through the wall at the back of the room, shattering the wood. Then he continued forward, smashing through the weakened outer wall of the pavilion and creating a route for Froskur to stumble along after him.

  Ahead, in the woods outside the pavilion, twigs crunched.

  A ring of Green Bears surrounded the pavilion, setting up a perimeter to intercept any stragglers. There were three cultivators in front of him, brandishing axes and spears. Mingel perched in a tree, her throwing knives at the ready.

  Blake glanced up at her and sighed. “Are you here to help them? You’re gonna finally kill me, or what?”

  “Blake?” She tilted her head. “Thank the Fates. I was not expecting to see you alive.”

  The other cultivators turned to her and glared at her, but she whipped two throwing knives out to the side, killing a cultivator each. Blake darted forward and struck the last with his new staff, channelling a Black Palm through it. He only meant to fling the cultivator, but he struck with such force that it ripped the man in half. The black lightning swirled around his body, killing and freezing him on the spot, binding his remains and preventing a gory mess.

  “You’re not going to kill me, are you?” he asked.

  “You will still duel Heron at Mergewatch?” Mingel said.

  “I will keep my word.”

  “Then I didn’t see you or your friends here. Go.”

  He nodded his thanks, then turned to Froskur and Iver. “Where I’m going, you can’t follow,” he told them. “Get rid of anything that identifies you as Hunter’s sect members and hide. Make yourselves a new life, and do your best to survive. And if the Fates allow, we’ll see each other again someday.”

  Froskur nodded. Blake never saw which direction he went—he launched himself off into the woods, racing toward the mists.

  ~ ~ ~

  He had no illusions that he was going to get any sleep that night, but he nestled himself into the branches of a mangrove tree anyway, surrounded by the comfort of the mists. After three more uses of River’s ability, he repaired the damage done to him and cleared the char from his channels.

  Then he cleaned himself off in the water, clearing away the blood and soot as much as he could. He cried, washed away the tears, and cried again. He kicked himself and tugged on his horns, just wishing they’d go away.

  After a few minutes of staring up at the sky and the swirling clouds of mist, he sighed and rolled over onto his stomach, then stared down at the rippling water below the tree. Not much changed.

  Finally, he asked Ethbin, “Ethbin? What he said about Earth, is that true? Were we just bred to be Harvested by other cultivators?”

  Ethbin was quiet for a few seconds. Finally, he said, Yes. Yes it is. You were a Harvest World. The Integration wasn’t meant to happen. One day, a bunch of powerful cultivators would have showed up, and sapped whatever meagre mana you had with a massive runic array. You would have all died.

  “But we didn’t have much mana to begin with.”

  There were eight billion of you. That starts to add up.

  Blake winced. “And then an accident stopped it.”

  Even for the Nords, Harvesting mortals and other cultivators is a terrible sin. It’s only something the most powerful and twisted will engage in, if only to gain a little more mana. But they know that their habits must stay hidden from the rest of the galaxy, and that the worlds they’ve seeded must stay isolated from the rest of the universe. So they erect great barriers around your planets. If those fail—due to some cosmic instability or another, or perhaps the whims of void lightning—then the harvest worlds blend with each other in a disastrous fashion.

  “This won’t sap your energy to say?”

  Not when you already have accepted the truth.

  They were silent for a few more seconds, until finally, Blake asked, “How long until the next Trade?”

  You have a week, Ethbin replied.

  “That’s…good,” Blake muttered. “Not too long to wait.”

  As long as you get yourself in order. You still have preparations to make.

  “Oh, don’t you worry,” Blake said. “I’m going to put Heron in the ground. He’s never going to do this again to anyone else.”