Why pass on our knowledge? Why take on apprentices? Why create our own competition?

  All these things have been asked of me by various Pathbearers. They are understandable questions. We live in a world of conflict, and the System will inevitably push us to clash against those we have trained. The tension there is simply too ripe, and the desire to drive master against apprentice, father against son, mother against daughter, brother against sister, is almost irresistible.

  But that is only the darkest path. That is only the bleakest path. That is not a certainty. At least, it is no more certain than fighting alongside someone you care for, someone you have improved and shaped to a point of near perfection, someone you have guided away from a dark path, someone you have diverted from the roads of injustice to fighting for something or someone that matters.

  It is impossible to capture the complexity of the world with but a few sentences. But there are often two conflicting stakes a Pathbearer makes: Where they think nothing good will happen, where they think every action they perform will be turned upon them in a moment of cruel, bitter irony at the hands of the System. Or where they think that everything will inevitably come as a reward, a karmic bounty, and so they do good because they wish to be fed and paid. Acting as a karmic hound more than a Samaritan or someone who simply wishes to enrich the lives of those around them.

  I say to you now, nothing is guaranteed. Anything can happen. Darkness will befall you, but so too will light. You must keep your eyes open and face each honestly. You must accept that sometimes the world will take, but sometimes it will also offer. And you must be willing to receive or survive.

  And you should help those weaker than you receive or survive as well. For just because you might be fated to battle your disciple, it does not mean it is so easy for them to strike you down if they prevail, or the other way around. There is not a certainty of death behind every struggle. Sometimes, it is simply the fact of your relation that reduces a conflict from one being fought on death ground to merely a ceremonial duel where feelings are hurt and unpopular decisions are enacted upon the losing party. But you live. But you all live.

  Most importantly, however, taking on a disciple is who we are. It's what we do. We think of immortality in many ways, but what is immortality for a culture? It is the children. It is those who carry on. It is those who are fresh, barren of any wounds, and rich in terms of potential. And as the elders, as the scarred ones who have survived, I believe that it is our duty to steer them away from pain, not strain. They should be strained. They should be pushed to be all they can be so that they do not succumb to the same pitfalls that have taken us. So that they can avoid the mistakes we have made.

  And there is pride in that, making pure people unblemished. Pure people who can make a better world, who will move beyond the death and ruin and build.

  Battle, bloodshed, and power are things that nourish one's own heart. But there are many, many desires beyond that. And satisfaction is not so easily obtained. For those who come after, I bid you—masters or more, elders and older—choose to do better. Choose the righteous path for those after you. Choose to be someone you needed in your time of desperation when you were young, for in saving another, sometimes you can even save yourself.

  -Valor Thann

  286 (I)

  Instruction [I]

  Jessica would never admit it out loud, but the kid was made for violence.

  The moment she emerged through the gateway, her blade was drawn, her skills were burning hot inside her soul, and Rusty brimmed with Dimensionality, ready to deliver her strokes upon all her adversaries.

  Truth be told, there was no way for the Deathless to win their match. He might have Chronomancy and a mixed assortment of other skills, but he was a low Legend and an unpracticed one at that.

  Meanwhile, it took both Jessica and her sword less than half a second to identify and isolate all the vampiric adversaries in a 50 kilometer radius. It wasn't hard to sense them. They gave off specific magical signatures, ones that were easily recognized when one had enough control over spatial magic, much like a certain awakened blade did. If Jessica desired it, she could stay in place, directly above the gateway, and simply drag her blade through the air lazily. Her cuts would then be delivered dimensionally, and one after another, they would manifest along the necks and arteries of the vampires. Dozens would be beheaded at a whim, and if she wanted to make things quick, she would simply drive her blade forward over and over again in half-hearted jabs, bursting their lineage cores.

  The First Blood had spatial and temporal wards. A few of them even had Magical Resistance worth respecting–but that wouldn't spare their lives when Jessica opened a gap in space and emerged right before them. After that, it would be a question of swordplay and martial supremacy.

  The problem with vampires was that they were too sloppy. They refused to learn their lessons right. When there was little consequence for letting someone else split you in half or take your arms or wound you, you didn't tend to treat fighting as seriously as someone who would suffer a permanent injury would. And that mattered. Ingrained carelessness was a terrible thing to have as a High-Tier Pathbearer. It made you a bit like a monster. And monsters were ultimately prey to a well-prepared, well-honed individual.

  Ultimately, that's why Jessica looked down upon the Frost Giants, vampires, and other hybrid races. It wasn't because of who they were, but how they behaved. The way they betrayed their tremendous power, their incredible skills with their lacking control and proficiency disgusted her. She didn't take many things seriously, but the blade was sacred to her. The battle was an art, and for all the darkness and misery that came with it, it was an art that needed to be respected, and they didn't.

  The kid was different. He was raw, yeah. Easily distracted. Inexperienced. But he was also absolutely relentless. The moment he went on the offensive, he simply never stopped. Jessica stared at a point a kilometer away, where the mangled body of a Court Leviathan lay in a blood-soaked crater. The colossal beast let out moans of pain as it slowly healed, but the amount of damage Shiv inflicted likely meant that the Court Leviathan would take hours to fully regenerate.

  Much of its insides had prolapsed out from its eye sockets. Huge lumps of pulsating organs, pulped together, lay in disgusting, pulsating sacs that tumbled out fleshy landslides. A landscape of shattered bones jutted out from the Court Leviathan's body, and impaled on the stakes of enamel were the remains of many vampires.

  Then there was the chasm-size entrance wound on the Court Leviathan's face, or what used to be its face. Jessica suspected that he'd halted time, accelerated himself like a missile, slamming into and through the Court Leviathan, butchering everyone inside by detonating his inertial overdrive before killing what few stragglers remained. Afterward, he'd decided to perform some terror operations by leaving a few vampires staked here as a warning to the scouts that were watching from the nearby woods. Nearby woods that were now being flattened further as another detonation followed. A colossal blast ripped through the air. A sphere of pressure followed by flame expanded, and screams of suffering rose to surpass the howling winds.

  Jessica's Awareness wasn't nearly her best skill, but it wasn't hard keeping track of the Deathless. Even if he was pumping out enough miasmic darkness to cover where he really was. Every other second, something broke. Something shattered. Someone died. And then he kept going, the air screaming as he accelerated further, wasting no time, as he stalked his remaining adversaries.

  “The forces the First Blood gathered on the nearby ravine are retreating,” Rusty declared as he surveyed the battlefield using his Dimensionality. “They have thrown up several stealth skills, and their Aeromancers are rendering their armies invisible. They have no intention of facing him down. They are scared of him. He's still moving in their general direction. His Awareness seems good enough that he can still track them, likely using that Biomancy skill he has."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "He ain't half bad, huh?" Jessica said, trying to tease an opinion out from her blade.

  "The way he fights is inhuman. He mutilates, butchers, and terrifies. And it all comes naturally to him. Whether that be his inherent nature or exposure to the orcs, I cannot determine. But he's not without intelligence or tactics either. He has an inclination toward deception and ambushes above all things."

  That made the Giantsbane roll her eyes. "Of course he does. Think about who his grandmother is. Bullshit and misdirection are practically in his blood. It's all this hands-on brutality that gets me going. System.” They were both silent for a moment as they watched explosions bloom in the distance, and Jessica puckered her lips. “Hey, Rusty, who do you think would win, me as a High Hero, or him right now?”

  "Are you looking for flattery or honesty?"

  "Both. Start with the former."

  "Then I will mix both flattery and honesty. Realistically, you will batter him and bloody him in a direct duel. He operates on instinct and isn't without some foresight, but he has not fought enough masters to learn a full repertoire of techniques or to be aware of the potential dangers that might befall his every action. He remains merely a promising brawler on the streets to a champion duelist of your caliber. I believe you would slay him, even as a High Hero, repeatedly. A clash between you is simply not in his favor for now."

  "For now," Jessica said. "But…"

  Rusty let out a metallic grunt of discomfort. "But at the rate he is advancing, there will come a point where your mastery is simply outstripped by the sheer number of skills he will accumulate. He is rewarded through failure and death. He has no fear of pain. He is driven only to fight harder. As you said, it has engendered a certain carelessness when he fights. He leaves himself open too much. He does not focus on evasion or protection nearly enough, even choosing to endure blows instead of warding them off. But he is an avalanche. He is growing stronger, and eventually, he might just bury us all. Jessica, I know what you are thinking right now. We should not. He is a potential danger to the Republic. He is not loyal, and the things he offers… I miss them too. I am enticed as well. But this is not a certainty. What he has, this power over death, seems to only affect him and in one rare case, Lady Van Erren, with him having no knowledge of his potential future capabilities. If we involve ourselves with his development, we might just be creating a creature of our own undoing, one that might see the ruin of the Republic."

  "Or you might just make him less of a creature and save the Republic from itself," the Culturist said, invading the conversation smoothly. The orc smirked as Jessica turned to glare at him.

  "I'm sorry. I asked Rusty for his opinion. Is your name Rusty?"

  The owl-cowled orc simply smiled pleasantly and held up both hands placatingly. "I apologize if you feel offended by my presence. I do not blame you. My kind has done little to ingratiate ourselves with others, and you should not trust me. If given the chance, I would relish the opportunity to hurt someone of your capabilities."

  The orc's blunt and flowing honesty made Jessica snort. "What, are you trying to get me to stab you right now?"

  "I wouldn't blame you if you did," the Culturist said, continuing his weird charm offensive. "And like before, I fear you might find my swordsmanship disappointing. I would do more fleeing in close quarters against you than actual fighting."

  "You know, flattery's not going to get you anywhere but a quicker beheading, orc."

  "Sometimes that's its own reward. But this is not flattery; it's clarity. I know my capabilities. I know that my gnosis is limited due to my nature. The shackles I have yet to break. And so, respecting my flaws and virtues in comparison to yours, I simply must adapt my methods. I would try to fight you asymmetrically. And I have the means to face you asymmetrically. But currently, the Deathless does not. Yet he grows quickly. Yet he is willing to learn. Joyful, even. His mind is fertile soil that is willing to accept a great many seeds. You can be among them."

  Jessica stared at the orc with her mouth slightly agape. "You have any idea how creepy that metaphor is? If someone started talking about my mind being fertile, I'd want to stay far away from them or kill them. Can't say I know the kid super well, but I think he might react the same way."

  The Culturist sighed and shook his head. "Stop distracting yourself with jests and avoiding what fills you with discomfort. He is not your past failure. He is not the daughter you lost or the children who simply don't speak with you anymore."

  Suddenly, it was like all the air was drained out of Jessica's lungs. Her body tensed, and it took a mustering of her Psychology Skill to keep herself from hacking into the orc right there and then.

  "You have no idea what's going on with my family," she said, her voice low.

  "Tragically, I do," the Culturist replied. "I make it my business to know all my potential adversaries, and you, you have been undone by your grief. I can read the nakedness of your sorrow in all your actions, in your decisions, in the way you live. But I am not here to judge you. We are all unmanned by life. We are all set to suffer for simply existing. But things have changed now. We have caught some of his flame. And more importantly, we can decide how he burns. And if we do not, then someone else will shape the way he immolates this world and combusts the System from within."

  "How the fuck are you so goddamn certain he's going to ‘swallow the System’ instead of the other way around? Because so far he's not died. He's not faced that consequence above all other consequences."

  "I know because He is like me if I weren't imperfect, if I weren't bound to a higher, darker, more parochial will. If my death did not strip me of power and leave me only the blessing of knowledge. He is an orc made perfect. No, an orc stripped away of the monster and left with the raw material to forge a true warrior. I know you see that in him. And I know it entices you to hammer your influence upon him."

  In the distance, there came a series of thunderous sounds. Jessica knew that was the kid falling upon more hapless bloodspawn. They would all die facing him. And she was falling behind in their killing competition. But she wasn't worried about that part. The moment she decided to step in, it would be over in a blink. Best to let the boy have his fun. And best for her to decide whether she wanted to kill or walk away from this nosy bastard of an orc, who seemed to really enjoy the sound of his own voice.

  "He has a great many influences in his life already. Valor will likely make him a true terror. The Deathless has not fully harnessed his potential for stealth, and Valor would see to it that he gains a potential successor in the Unseen Ways. When he does, I fear for everyone who faces the boy. But even at the height of his capabilities, Valor was not known to be the greatest duelist. His martial prowess was a thing of legend, yes, but perhaps of lesser legend compared to many of his contemporaries, all of whom met their ends in glorious battle against him despite this.”

  The Culturist breathed out, watching the carnage in the distance with naked interest. “Then I stand before the Deathless. I stand along with all my orcs. We are a whetstone. We are the dialectic against him, what he could be if he gives in to his monstrous behaviors, but what he would never truly become since he lacks that love for absolute cruelty. Even so, there are many things we can show him, experiences, wars we can fight against him and with him, lessons in terms of magic. Biomancy and more. A generalized education from us is worth more than a university, but he should still continue attending the academy, if only to balance himself with humane socialization.”

  Jessica huffed. The gray bastard’s worried father talk was a bit absurd, even if she could see where he was going with this.

  "And then there are the others: Adam will likely serve as the Deathless' moral compass, and more. I suspect it won't be long before the Young Lord tries to show his friend how to use a bow. If only to mock him. The Deathless is already intimately engaged with our new Seeker, and she will have already left her marks on his potential Psychomancy. And there are so many more masters the Deathless will claim tutelage under. That vampire we encountered, the one with the impressive charm. Not to mention our mutual friend, Roland Arrow—who Udraal chose as a mentor for the Deathless before everything was even in motion."

  Jessica tightened her grip on Rusty as her body was bathed in light. Over the enshadowed foliage of the nearby woods rose a colossal ball of flame. The ground shook. The air shrieked. Jessica continued glaring at the orc. "And now you're just deliberately goading me, you piece of shit. If you know me half as well as you claim you do, you know what that name does to me. But I see what you're doing. You're trying to drag me into this bullshit group mentorship scam thing you're setting up here. But I'm not falling for it."

  The moment she finished that last sentence, the orc burst into laughter. "You already have."

  "The fuck I have," Jessica snarled.

  Rusty sighed. It was the sigh of a sword that was disappointed in its wielder, but also knew the inevitable had just occurred.

  "Look, I haven't, Rusty, I haven't," Jessica insisted.

  The Culturist had the indignity to laugh even harder.

  "No, fuck you, I haven't. You shut the fuck up. I'm gonna—" Jessica growled in outrage and cut a gap into the fabric of space. "Eat shit, orc. And that kid can eat shit too, for all I care. He's gonna enjoy eating my canned beans after I finish with the vampires."

  Before the Culturist could say anything else, Jessica's flaming wheels roared. Time seemed to slow as she accelerated herself like a raging comet. She moved 4 meters and crossed 40 kilometers in the same instant, emerging far beyond the ravine and depositing herself in the middle of First Blood territory. The air here was thick with sulfur and death; ruined flesh and boiling marrow greeted her nostrils. She struggled not to gag as she acclimated to the stench.

  "Fucking hate vampires, bullshit… disgusting fucks," Jessica grumbled under her breath.