Battleforged
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Chapter 168 - Dreams Turn To Ash When The Fire Blazes Unchecked
🕑 Added 2022-09-05 04:00:03 +0000 UTCFor the following week Eric continued to train by forging himself in the crucible of battle for quick skill-ups and plenty of potency to use clearing ever more meridian channels. He regularly alternated saber for javelin, eager to bring that skill and all its potential to journeyman status and beyond. Because with his bow out of his reach and peril just a single class evolution away, he needed every ranged advantage he could get.
Quick clean kills also meant less time hunting and more time cultivating, sweet saturating potency soothing the scars left by what was perhaps the over eager application of flame.
But there could be no denying his Fire essence allowed him to sear through the most plaguesome deposits of spiritual plaque, whether they were the remnants of System level-ups or the sins of this life and countless past incarnations, assuming his spirit was more than a recursive self-aware neural network that would remain sentient only for so long as his present corporal shell existed.
Regardless, his sweet formula of using essence infused cycling to burst plaque, and experience infused cultivating to soothe away the strain of days or weeks in mere hours saw him ascend from Rank 6 to Rank 10 Cultivation in a matter of weeks. A feat he was almost certain should have taken months, if not years, as he played System and Cultivation against each other as best he could.
Yet there were significant drawbacks to his desperate path.
Every rejuvenation session he embraced after the cauterizing power of flame had the risk of robbing days, weeks, or months of his life, should he dare to overextend beyond the potency he had stored. A perilous mistake he was guilty of making more than once, lost in the high of his crooked unorthodox path.
No matter that his meridian channels glowed with vitality after every session, his desperate urgency had shortened the wick of his life by another full season that he could ill afford to lose.
Worse, as miraculous as the strides that he had made were, having ascended so far as a Basic Cultivator in such a short period of time, the residual channel plaque was now the spiritual equivalent of asphalt, firmly lodged to the walls of his soul, even as the remaining blockages plaguing his gateways grew ever more crystalline and hard.
And a part of him knew he skirted direst folly, having no doubt that if he were actually a disciple of any cultivation academy, elders would have long since stepped in and guided his path. He could so easily visualize them counseling steady slow cultivation over months and years as he went from power to perfection, no matter how eager he was forge his foundation as fast as he possibly could.
Yet he was already feeling so close to being rejuvenated, reborn, a new man at 18.
And the residual plaque was just the smallest fraction of the tarry morass of waste that had so thoroughly clogged his meridians just a month ago! He wanted to believe that a serene and steady pace was all it would take eventually reach all his goals… that with well over 95% of the waste removed, claiming a peach or two should be well within his means.
Yet all it took was for anxious, sweat-covered hands to get within an inch of those peaches and light his soul with the very same searing throb as he had suffered multiple times for his daring before made it clear that significant improvement and being a half step away meant nothing.
He truly needed an absolutely pristine, plaque-free foundation before he dared pluck a single priceless peach.
A hard truth which he was forced to endure with a frustrated grimace, desperate impulse and growing anxiety for his sister’s unknown plight compelling him to push himself like never before, when calm reflection might have suggested another path.
And who could blame him? Fierce resolve and unshakable determination, daring to stride where others feared to tread, such that his enemies didn’t even know how to react before he had struck, had served him well fighting countless inhuman monstrosities for nearly half a year. Of course, this time around, the only opponent he faced was himself.
And so with no small amount of frustration, Eric embraced the flames of his soul like never before, struck with the unmistakable truth that the plaque and his affinity with Flame were both extensions of himself. Elements of himself he would master, just as well as he had his clenched fist, now determined to sear away the last of that annoying plaque, once and for all.
The very moment that the shooting star, blazing so brightly, finally met the fate of all those who burned too fast, too hot.
Their fires were indeed glorious, their feats nothing short of legendary.
Until they were extinguished, forevermore.
It would be so easy to blame what followed on the folly of success, of being blessed with talent, passion, and so many fortuitous roles of fates dice that when a pothole was suddenly before him, he couldn’t help but trip and fall like a fool. But in truth, he knew he had no one to blame but himself when disaster finally struck. As much as he wanted to curse at the heavens at unexpected misfortune, he knew better. If he wanted to gaze upon the culprit who nearly destroyed his cultivation base, all he had to do was gaze at the sheepish looking fool in the mirror of his soul.
Pushing himself so hard, embracing powers he barely understood.
His growth had been exceptional, nothing short of profound.
And his fall? Long overdue, he realized with a bitter chuckle, wondering how many ancient alien clans had been founded by broken ascenders bitterly determined to prevent their descendants from savoring similar folly, hoarding their knowledge so they might blossom the next time fresh worlds ripened for the taking, once their own was claimed by clans that had suffered similar setbacks before.
A vicious, never-ending cycle that did little to sooth the searing agony bursting through his veins as, for the first time since he had jumped in the dreaded firepits to save his sister, he truly began to burn.
You have pushed your Essence of Flame like never before! Meridian foundation has FAILED to save versus strain!
Words so dry that for the first time, Eric sensed genuine mockery. Not that he expected anything else from a System that he was increasingly certain both had its origins in cultivation and had been designed as a replacement. Not that he needed the message or could think any further on it as his world became one of unending agony, searing through his soul.
It was all he could do to stabilize himself, a desperate instinctive bid that, unlike his overweening arrogance, thinking he understood his essence affinities and blockages better than masters of a thousand years… actually had a seed of truth.
A seed that blossomed into a crimson vine of his own life force, his own blood magic, forced to pay a steep price in rapidly draining potency as he desperately squeezed tight rupturing channels, infusing them with every ounce of experience-laden potency he had, sobbing for pain and desperation when he sensed it wasn’t enough, and was forced to draw deep from his life force instead.
Emergency cycling has failed to stabilized rupturing foundation!
Level 9 potency is now zero!
Emergency cycling has successfully stabilized rupturing foundation!
You have lost an additional 7 years and 7 months of your life!
Eric screamed, thrashing like a madman as he was tormented by pain beyond imagining, a far off cry all that kept him from losing himself in his own destruction, knowing that if Samuel dared approach, what was now 60+ Strength and Quickness meant that Eric’s flailing limbs would strike so hard that the boy’s life would be imperiled, effortlessly shattering the concerned body of anyone who dared get to close and forever destroying the sacred gift of life within.
It was that sudden fear that froze Eric solid, forcing himself to face his pain, his folly, to look in the mirror of his soul and endure agony like no other as he squeezed tight with every fiber of his being.
Squeezed tight as a fatal cascade was slowly, painfully stabilized, able to visualize all too clearly the pitying gaze of an elder looking down at the disciple that might have been, as he thrashed and cried out on a hard stone slab.
“We tried to warn you. The cost of pushing too fast. Too hard. Weeks saved only for months to be lost. Years wasted. Perhaps a lifetime.”
Eric could do nothing but grimace and nod, tears of blood trickling from his eyes as he embraced the most basic of restorative techniques, the foundation of all cultivation, and the first of the basic lessons his manual had taught him, thanks to the royal chart that had so completely matched his own configuration.
And how odd it was to sense, even through firmly shut eyes, the surprised glance his desperate struggle just to stabilize himself and survive earned him, even as he felt his life force burning away, a pain all its own.
“And yet still you would persist, even as it costs you dearly, beyond all reckoning.”
Eric said nothing, could say nothing. For all that he knew that he need but relax his will and all his strain, all his suffering would gently fade away, the throbbing agony of a damaged meridian network instantly crystallized to soothing numbness as a certain Interface whispered so very reassuringly. Even better, Eric would have lost nothing for his daring, ten ranks of basic fire cultivation forever his, a stat boon bonus of forty points in total, a glorious achievement any adventurer could take pride in, having dabbled in arts far beyond them, and somehow emerging all the stronger for it before taking up safer paths. Adventurer’s luck at its finest.
And he could so clearly visualize a roguish charmer flashing a bemused, understanding smile, inviting Eric to partake of the golden chalice he held, to laugh and drink and speak of adventures unending as Eric prepared for the next chapter of his life, one promising excitement and endless wonder, with more than his share of revels, the bitter struggles of a broken life, and world, left far behind.
Somehow, he was sure of it.
And unlike the easy choice at the other end of a console, where hard choices were effortless in a padded ergonomic gamer’s chair, this was no game.
The agony he suffered, like a man wheezing for water was all too real. And a merchant’s golden collar and the promise of ice cold pitcher of summer wine that would forever sooth that pain was just a single easy concession away,
It was all Eric could do to stay the path. To ignore the too strong System-enhanced vision, and focus instead on the disappointed gaze of a certain white-robed elder, even as he drew deep from the fires of his own soul, tearing free years of his own life to undo a horrible mistake Eric would forever regret.
But one he refused to let defeat him, now more determined than ever to rise from the ashes of his own folly.
And he certainly wasn’t so foolish as to think he had actually earned the thoughtful nod from the elder when minutes stretched into days and a trembling Eric finally rose from his visualized slab, sobbing with relief when the fires of his soul finally faded to the gentle tingle of fragile flesh tentatively restored, tears as bitter as relief was sweet when the elder’s reflected gaze revealed a man tired and old, having burned a total of thirty years and change with the powers he had abused and abilities he had dared in the handful of months since his awakening.
“You paid a steep price for your folly, child. So many times, with no sage or elder permitted to teach you, damned and doomed as all origin races are, before bitterness and hard-fought wisdom forges them into the most ruthless of players for the next round of the great game, only then presented with fresh worlds to claim anew.”
Eric flashed a bitter smile, surprised at the strength of his own voice. Nothing like that of an exhausted warrior drained of all life and vitality, just a few short years from fifty.
“Not on my watch,” Eric said with a bleak smile. “No matter what it takes, I’ll fight those bastards with everything I have.” He locked gazes with the elder once more, the vision of a drained middle-aged man replaced with the fresh-faced youth he knew himself to be, eyes alight with his own determination, for all that he knew it was inhuman Vitality alone that kept his face from bearing the mark of multiple decades lost to blood magics he had no business daring, yet came to him as naturally and breathing.
And at such terrible cost.
He flashed a bitter smile, acknowledging what the elder before him expected him to say, the truth he owned the man.
“I’ll fight with everything I have. Even if it kills me.”
A soft, quiet chuckle echoed through the healing chamber, air perfumed by a thousand unseen blossoms, for all that Eric’s eyes saw a chamber bare of everything but white-washed stone. “As you are well on your way to doing.” The elder cultivator tilted his head reflectively. “By all rights, your cultivation base should have been destroyed. Utterly. Yet you were able to stabilize yourself with magics that drew from your very life force. Magics you already have considerable experience wielding. And how steep a price has your folly cost you… young disciple?”
Eric flashed a bitter smile. “Over thirty years… master. Thirty two years, ten months, 12 days and 4 hours of my life in total, daring to walk the crimson path that I have.”
The man tutted and shook his head. “A fool’s path, to be sure.”
Eric bowed his head, truer words never spoken.
“But it is my path. A path I now know like the back of my own withered hand.” He smirked at his own hands, still flush with youth’s grace and what was now Strength beyond any mortal man, knowing his soul had paid a bitter price, just underneath the surface. “And the fool’s tole I paid I will do my best to never pay again.” His lips curled in a bitter smile. “Not when I can have my enemies pay that tole instead.”
The elder sighed. “Yet when all is said and done...”
“I paid a terrible price for my own impatience and stupidity. I know.”
This earned a nod. “It is good that you know it. Then your pain might actually bring you wisdom. A gift too few accept, because of the hard lessons contained within, choosing to sup instead upon the cup of self-delusion alone, numbing bitter lessons and blaming the world for their own mistakes, repeated forevermore.”
Eric bowed his head. “And now I must take the time to heal the damage I caused myself. All the damage, before I dare try to burn free crystal plaques that, perhaps, should never have been kissed by flame at all.”
The elder flashed a hard smile. “It will take months, embracing the most basic of all techniques, the most sacred of all techniques, which even your tome imprinted correctly, to restore the damage you have suffered. You understand this, yes?”
Eric paled, before bowing his head. He did indeed sense that months, not days, would be needed embracing his basic restorative technique before he was fully recovered. “I know, master.”
The elder flashed a sympathetic smile. “Then I will give you this counsel, my foolish, brilliant disciple. Do not despair. Never despair. For as bitter a price as you paid, the boon that will be yours when you have finally completed your initiation will be worth the months… or years...it takes to get there.”
Eric’s heart lurched, suddenly dizzy, feeling almost as if he were falling into the enigmatic ice-blue eyes of the elder before him.
“Do you understand, disciple?”
Yet before Eric could say a word, he had lurched free of the pile of treated rawhide that had been gently placed over him. It was all he could do not to vomit at the horrid stench he gave off as Sam gazed down at him with such concern in his eyes, and perhaps pity as well.
It was as if he already knew what had happened, and how much Eric had lost.
Chapter 169 - Finding A Path Forward
Comments
Fortunis
It's actually over 100 years of time lost. You know, since he lost 66 years when his sister got shot and he went all hulk ghost. It's fine though, it's not like the author gives a shit if his numbers and charts are correct 🤷 👌 😉
Dropping it here, I find myself rooting against the MC. He acknowledges what he does is wrong and does it anyways while complaining about the obvious repercussions, he’s a whiny spoiled brat who acts like he’s owed something all the time while claiming to not. A straight liar and hypocrite, worse still nothing in the writing contradicts his viewpoint, I.e. the writer seems to condone this spoiled brat mentality. Perhaps this just isn’t written for me, also the flowery prose is so obviously just filler like a kid with a two page report using double spacing it’s painful. I’d rather have half a glass of good lemonade than a full glass of thin Lemon water.
