Sealed in Steel
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B2. 1 - The Flag of a Friend
🕑 Added 2025-04-21 03:05:47 +0000 UTC“Another day, another Tribulation.” Elian Ward, with his Warkodon mace in hand, jumped off the top of the carriage as soon as it came to a stop beside a small pond and landed on soft grass.
Gideon’s carriage was quite large, twice longer and much wider than the wagons of pilgrims they met on the road. Yet, the inside was mindbogglingly cramped. An assortment of cabinets and crates containing various ingredients lined the sides, immediately cutting the space in half. There were also alchemical tools and even a magical stove. Lastly, a large part of the front was occupied by the bulky Aether-filter engine, a very expensive piece of biomage technology that used a man-made organ, mimicking those in beasts that sucked Aether from the air, to power a set of gears connected to the carriage’s axles.
Elian didn’t really have qualms sleeping on crates. The problem was the smell. No, it wasn’t Gideon. Rather, the stench of Gideon’s experiments throughout the day lingered through the night.
And so, Elian chose to sleep on the carriage’s roof. Roomier. The fresh air invigorated him. He mostly stayed up there, meditating for hours as the carriage rolled over the rough road. He even had a little tent to shade him when the sun was high.
Elian walked along the side of the carriage, admiring the paint job he did yesterday. During the riots on Vigor Hill, a bunch of crazy men hacked at the carriage’s walls with their blades. Gideon managed to drive them away with his potions—proof that Elian was right not to sleep while inhaling their fumes.
Gideon had filled the deep cuts on the wood with some paste. After it hardened, Gideon told Elian to sand it smooth and paint the whole carriage anew as payment for riding on it.
“The crystals sustaining the Aether-filter organ aren’t cheap, you know?” Gideon said yesterday. “Since we’re traveling together on my carriage, you should share in its maintenance as well.”
“Fair enough,” Elian had replied. “I can give money for the crystals.” He had plenty of coins from selling an ancient catfolk ring to Faridar.
“I’ll use the money you gave me to hire a painter. But do you see any painters around? Paying me your share has no use.” Gideon was quite grumpy for this trip.
Elian chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll paint your carriage.” Even with the fate of humanity on the line, Elian wasn’t a moocher. And painting was a welcome break from his Aether training.
The door of the carriage opened, and out came Gideon the Unregistered Floramage. Without the long robes usually covering him, he looked like a sickly willow with a tunic draped over its branches, frail and thin, and a head taller than Elian, who was plenty tall himself. Gideon squinted at the early morning sun as he walked across the grass in his bare feet, yellowish toenails almost like claws.
Wrinkling his crooked nose, his bushy beard dancing with morning irritation, he turned to Elian, “Is it the time for you to make a racket again?”
“I thought you agreed that I should do my Tribulation in the morning?” Elian asked. “Want me to do it at night?”
“Heathen Roots, no! Keep at your routine, Cursed Penitent. If you don’t finish your Tribulation the first thing in the morning, one of these days, you’ll forget about it. It’s of no damning consequence to you. But what would happen to me? I’ll be peacefully sleeping inside my carriage when your Tribulation descends at midnight and turns me into human paste!”
“And that’s why I do it in the morning,” Elian said with a grin, walking away from the carriage.
He called up his Covenant with the Gods, a sort of display visible only to the individual. It showed one’s attributes and Divine Bestowals. He currently had three Bestowals, all Curses. And the one Gideon was referring to was:
Lesser Curse of the Overzealous Judge
Once a day, you must call upon a Tribulation and suffer it twice, increasing two attributes of your choosing as reward. If you fail to present yourself for heaven’s judgment before the day rolls into the next, the Hundred-Armed Magistrate will strike you with Tribulations thrice the number of what was owed. All debt must be paid.
Elian recalled the times he missed calling for a Tribulation. The first was just to test it. The second time, he got knocked out and buried under rubble. Missing his regular two strikes would result in six strikes. If he hid underground for two days, that’d be twelve strikes the next time he saw the sky, and so on. Gideon was right that Elian wouldn’t be worried about the penalty; he was too tanky to get hurt.
But it wasn’t just the penalty itself that Elian should keep in mind when maintaining his daily Tribulations. By taking on the additional penalty strikes, he accelerated the growing power of the Tribulation. He was sacrificing time.
“I’m not going to miss any more Tribulations,” Elian promised himself as he rounded the pond’s edge.
After several minutes of walking, the carriage was far enough that he could cover it with his thumb. He could see Gideon’s tiny figure refilling bottles of water, not only for their drinking but also for the many potions he continuously brewed.
In preparation for his Tribulation, Elian stripped down to nothing. The Tribulation, strong enough to leave behind a crater, would certainly rip away his clothes. His small fortune would dwindle quickly if he needed new clothes every day. The next part of his routine was to protect his Warkadon mace by rubbing it with fulgurate oil. Opening the bottle, the sharp scent poked his nostrils. A few drops made the mace pulse with light for a moment; its durability had increased for a short duration.
Next to protect was the stone bracelet gifted by the priests of the Hundred-Armed Magistrate and, more importantly, Viney, his plant symbiote. Elian gathered Aether, the building blocks of creation, from the air to make a vambrace replica that enclosed his forearm.
Manifested Vambrace | Aether Construct | Level: 26
Health: 4750/4750
ATTRIBUTES:
Attack Power: 0
Magic Power: 0
Armor: 3510
Magic Resilience: 0
Even though the highest level of Aether construct he could currently make was twenty-six, it was tougher than constructs of the same level made by other Aether mages. For one, Elian could easily pool the construct’s attributes to focus on only one—it was Armor this time, because the Tribulation was a physical strike. And unlike other Aether mages, Elian cared about the internal structure of the construct instead of just making a solid block of Aether. By piling layers of woven materials, offsetting the line of their grains at an angle, the resulting construct could absorb more damage with the same amount of Armor attribute.
Structure made all the difference. Straw, dried stalks of crops after harvest, were weak even if bundled. But when woven together, they could become a strong rope. It was still the same straw. This also applied to Aether constructs.
Elian focused on the Magistrate’s Curse inside him. It manifested as tattoos on his skin, strokes of black that glowed with numerous stars. The lines formed pointed scales covering his body. Every Divine Bestowal had a different tattoo design when manifested. Even the Magistrate’s Boon was different from the Curse, with the Boon having rounded scales.
A symbol appeared on his chest—it was a number written in the language of the Kymorathi, an ancient race to whom the ascended deities originally made the Covenant with.
Though the symbol was hard to read, looking down on it, Elian was sure it meant the number thirty-one. He was about to call his thirty-second Tribulation.
He went down on one knee and hid his right arm covered in Aether under his chest. With his left hand, he held the mace straight, with its spherical head covered in nubs down on the ground.
The clear morning sky suddenly darkened as thick clouds rolled out of nowhere. They swirled above him, the center of the vortex like the eye of the storm. There were no required incantations; intent was enough to call for the Tribulation. However, Elian had a habit of yelling random words just to make the situation light-hearted.
“Mayonnaise, pudding, Tribulation!”
Blue light flashed, blinding him for a moment. The strike slammed on his back and the ground around him with a loud bang. No pain. But he felt the tremendous impact forcing his rigid body into the soil. Another flash. The second strike. Another crash echoed through the surrounding forest. Clouds of birds left the crowns of trees, fearful of the noise.
“Sorry for the disturbance,” he said, standing up. “I really am making a racket.”
His legs and the mace’s head left deep indentations on the soil. They were inside a shallow crater in the ground in the shape of a giant hand. The hole was almost a foot deep and several feet in length. Everything inside was flattened, be it grass or rock.
Six white orbs appeared.
Choose two of the following rewards:
+ 770 Health
+ 565 Energy
+ 350 Attack Power
+ 350 Magic Power
+ 350 Armor
+ 350 Magic Resilience
Firstly, he chose Attack Power. Boosted by his monstrous multipliers, Attack Power gave lots of Armor. His second pick was Health. There’d come a time when a strong enough physical strike could get past his defenses; he’d need lots of Health as a cushion. Moreover, he didn’t have any Magic Resilience because of a Curse. A large Health pool was one of the ways he wouldn’t immediately croak from a random fireball.
Elian called up the Covenant display once again to examine how tanky he had gotten.
Elian Ward | Human | Level:19
Health: 15,960/15,960
Energy: 4,695/4,695
ATTRIBUTES:
Attack Power: 0
Magic Power: 0
Armor: 832,326
Magic Resilience: 0
DIVINE BESTOWAL:
Greater Curse of the Berserking Abyssal Eye III
Greater Curse of the Powerless Physical Immortal III
Lesser Curse of the Overzealous Judge I
A million Armor was within reach! And he wasn’t even wearing any equipment—this was just his naked body and his trusty mace made of Warkodon ivory. This was the fearsome power of the Magistrate’s bestowal that gave raw attributes for multipliers to work with. It explained why the Enlightened Penitents could probably survive the meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs on Earth. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. But the Enlightened Penitents truly were tanky as a mountain.
Elian’s Armor snowballed faster with each passing Tribulation. At this rate, he might not have any problems up to a hundred Tribulation just relying on his mace.
He focused on his Attack Power and Armor, calling up their details to be examined.
ATTACK POWER
Internal: 161 (Base), 6040 (Tribulation)
External: 3000 (Equipment), 2295 (Enchant)
Multiplier: x8 (Berserking Abyssal Eye), x0 (Powerless Physical Immortal)
ARMOR
Internal: 10 (Base), 90,808 (Powerless Physical Immortal)
External: x1.15 (Enchant)
Multiplier: x8 (Powerless Physical Immortal), -6,400 (Host Attribute Absorption)
The Warkodon mace’s enchantment hadn’t fully charged yet to three thousand Attack Power.
Bottled-up Aggression of Counter
Upon blocking incoming strikes with your weapon, store their force to bolster your weapon’s Attack Power up to twice its value, expending it in your next attack.
A Tribulation was considered a strike, a powerful one at that. Priest Ihadir estimated it’d be charged in full after four or so Tribulations, which would mean two days. But since Elian didn’t allow the mace to take the brunt of the force from the heavens, partly covering it with his body, it was taking much longer.
He wasn’t in a rush anyway. Even without the added enchantment’s Attack Power, he was more than comfortable tanking the Tribulation with his naked body. After his Warkodon mace would complete doubling its Attack Power, he’d also cover it with an Aether construct for every Tribulation session.
Don’t forget not to strike with it or I’ll have to charge it again, Elian reminded himself. Not that he’d do any attacking because of the Elder Giant’s Curse placed on him by the Giant King.
Greater Curse of the Powerless Physical Immortal
Transfer all your Attack Power and Magic Power to your Armor, becoming helpless in a fight while gaining durability beyond measure. Suffer the ultimate vulnerability to magic in return for octupling your Armor. So wills the Elder Giant, whose skin is impervious to steel but not magic.
“Octupling… Such a funny-sounding word,” Elian said, chuckling as he put on his clothes.
He remembered when he first read the description of the Elder Giant’s Curse. His heart sank to the soles of his feet. How could he fight the Giants and save humanity if he couldn’t deal any damage? It turned out that the Elder Giant’s Curse had an insane synergy with the Abyssal’s Eyes Curse he brought with him from his original life on Fellenyr.
Greater Curse of the Berserking Abyssal Eye
Attack Power multiplied by eight. For every hundred thousand points of Attack Power, increase the multiplier by one. Magic Power reduced to zero. The Abyssal Eye curses your body to never feel the touch of healing from any deity. The effects of all potions on you will be reduced to a fifth.
He now embraced his fate to be the ultimate tank… physically. The magic side was under construction.
The restriction on doing damage wasn’t the end of the world. He didn’t need to do the killing. There were plenty of people, heroes even, who were much stronger and experienced than him. His role was to protect them. He couldn’t fight the armies of the Giants alone. He needed others, and they’d need him to survive.
Elian examined the Aether vambrace on his arm—it was partly damaged—before dispelling it.
Aether magic was his chosen way of bypassing the penalty of the Elder Giant’s Curse that zeroed his Magic Resilience. If he wore a suit of armor giving tens of thousands of Magic Resilience, it would be cancelled out just the same.
But Aether constructs, molded from the blocks of creation, were considered entities different from him—the Elder Giant’s Curse didn’t affect them. The constructs were his main counter to magic. Getting blasted by Thalman off the temple’s roof proved to him that he shouldn’t slack off his Aether Magic training.
After wearing his clothes, Elian returned to the pond to wash his face. A family of merchants they met yesterday taught them about this place.
It had been around a month and a half since Elian returned to his first day on Fellenyr, and he hadn’t had a haircut since then. His closely-cut hair had grown longer, messy and wavy. Should he let it grow long until he could tie it? His half-Asian features made him stand out in this part of the continent. Fortunately, the sun had begun to bronze his pale skin. The complexion that resulted from staying the entire day in an air-conditioned office was mistaken as a sign of nobility on Fellenyr.
To his right loomed a large mountain, its shape almost a perfect cone—Sabyn Mountain. It was green as green could be, cloaked with lush plants. Dense fog wreathed its top. That was where its deity resided, the Sabyn Twins of Autumn.
“We’ll reach the base of the mountain a couple of hours before the day ends,” Gideon said, standing beside Elian and following his gaze. “We made good speed on our travels.”
“Five days to reach Sabyn Mountain from the Temples of Tribulation. Your undrawn carriage is impressive.”
Gideon snorted. “I have paid for it to be impressive.”
“And after Sabyn Mountain, we’ll head to Ohmenstrat. I hope it doesn’t take long to get the Boon I want from there.”
“Remind me, how many months we have left until the Giants arrive at Sarnival Port?”
“Six and a half,” Elian replied. “Although we need to be there a month before that for the tournament. Earlier is better, so we’ll have time to make connections.”
“The day of reckoning looms ever closer. But let us return our attention to the mountain before us. I reiterate my concerns about entering its forests. Yes, the ingredients to treat my creation that you call Viney are found there—I find the name displeasing by the way—”
Elian waved his hand, “Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me many times. I don’t claim to be good at making names.”
“—but what’s the use of finding the ingredients if it’ll cost us our lives?”
Elian nodded. “I get what you’re saying. The Sabyn Twins might be angry with what you’re doing with plants. But we don’t have any option to save Viney.”
“And we can’t save your precious Viney if we’re eaten alive by the carnivorous plants of—”
Elian and Gideon stood straight and craned their necks at the sound of horse hooves. They looked in the direction of the road to see who was coming. Half a dozen men with armor and spears astride horses.
What did they want? Were they disturbed by the sounds of Elian’s Tribulation?
“The banner they fly looks familiar,” Elian said, referring to the green flag with golden borders and a tree in the middle.
“They are the men of Lord Gustall, ruler of Golden Grove,” said Gideon. “The town of Golden Grove is a few days away from here, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Golden Grove…” Elian’s eyes widened. That was where Hinter, one of his old comrades, came from.
Comments
Gerardo Jr. Diaz
Thanks for your support!
Undead Writer
Thanks for the chapter!!! I NEED IT!!!!
