Blake raced to the edge of Centertown, keeping to the rooftops. He’d spotted a few cultivators in Green Bear armour racing through the streets, no doubt searching for him. He always ducked down and hid on the opposite side of the roof. None were strong enough to have powerful spiritual senses, and none of them seemed to sense the ring.

  None would, the voice of the ring said—Ethbin. To them, it’s a trinket of legend. They all think they can open and activate it, getting my secrets, but they can’t. Only a manaless fool like you could sense it. Nevermind that you seem attuned to Honour.

  “Can you read my mind?” Blake whispered, ducking behind a chimney. He hadn’t thought about it before, but it had been the heat of the moment.

  In truth, he was still exhausted. His sides burned, and his lungs were heaving, and he had to remind himself that his water had only been stolen a few hours ago. It’d felt so long, and he just wanted to sleep. It was only midnight.

  Yes. As usual, reading your mind is much easier when you’re wearing the ring, Ethbin said.

  Blake still wasn’t sure about calling the ring Grandpa, but then again, he’d never known his grandparents, or any of his extended family. His mom had died during the Integration, his dad had never been around, and his uncles lived out west in their old hometown, working as thralls for a crafter-cultivator. Not the worst job you could get, not the best either, and they’d be at it until they died.

  You don’t have to call me ‘Grandpa,’ Ethbin said. It’s just that most who encounter me do. Though, it seems like it’s been a great long time since anyone capable of cultivating Honour has stumbled across me. How long has it been?

  “I, uh…I don’t know,” Blake said. “Since when?”

  That’s a good question. What major historical events do you know? Have you heard of the Battle of Ormfell Bridge, or the 7077 Unification of the Central Systems and the creation of the Path Paladins?

  “Uhhh, no,” Blake said. “Now, quiet down. We’re almost at the wall.”

  No one else can hear me.

  Blake knelt on the edge of a roof. He’d been expecting some trouble on the roofs, but no one came up. They’d probably concluded that he wasn’t on the rooftops anymore after Svarikson had lost him, and none were willing to challenge Svarikson or insinuate that he’d somehow not seen Blake for fear of reprisal.

  “The gate’s still open,” Blake whispered. Two Green Bear Sect guards stood lazily at the edges, not on alert at all. “It’s gotta be a trap. I’m not going that way. My staff should be around here somewhere, and if I jump to it…”

  It’s not a trap, Ethbin said. For Svarikson to admit that he lost an almost-mortal prisoner who he had directly in his grasp would be an untold loss of face. He’d only tell his closest guards, and even then, he probably hasn’t told the full story. Truth be told, he will likely keep coming after you for this. You’ll need to be ready. You’ll need to advance quickly, because even if you run into the wilds, he will send people after you.

  “You’re sure?”

  Nords are always like this. They’re raiders, flying around the great void in their manaships, looting the equatorial monasteries before disappearing back to their hidden strongholds. If it was up to me, we’d rip them up by the roots!

  “I hate to break it to you, but the Nords are in charge of half the galaxy now,” Blake whispered. “They’re not just raiders anymore.” Then silently, he cursed himself. He shouldn’t be talking, in case the cultivators heard him. As softly as he could, he whispered, “I’m still not going through the gate.” There was no way he’d outrun the cultivators on foot, so his best bet was going back the way he came.

  He backed up to the edge of the longhouse’s roof, then sprinted forward. The wall wasn’t as daunting from this side, with the roof already slightly higher than the wall. Blake sprang off, then twisted himself over the wall. His back grazed the barbed wire, but he curved around and dug his heels into the concrete, slowing himself just enough that he could push off to the closest collapsing skyscraper and clutch onto the vines.

  When he slid down to the ground, he walked back and forth a few paces, until he found his old length of rebar, then snatched it up.

  “Alright,” he whispered. “I’ve got everything, but it’s too dangerous to stay in the Blended District, too. It’s time to get out of here.”

  He heaved a sigh, glanced around one last time, then walked back toward the merge-mists. He’d only come back once he was strong enough to take on the cultivators.

  What’s your plan? Ethbin asked.

  “Finding freedom,” Blake said. “And doing things for myself. I want to be strong, so no one can tell me what to do anymore. That’s all I’ve got for now.”

  He took side streets and alleys. It was slightly more dangerous than the high road, in that there was a greater risk he got caught, but he was too exhausted to climb, and he’d need all his energy once he made it out into the merge-mists. The night wasn’t over yet.

  Now that I’ve introduced myself, Ethbin said, who are you?

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Blake,” Blake said. He could’ve introduced himself with his Dynasty name, but he figured Ethbin wasn’t into that business, and Bjarke didn’t feel like his real name, anyway. As for his old last name, he didn’t really concern himself with it either.

  Call yourself what you’d like, Ethbin replied. I simply need to know what you’ll respond to best.

  “But…who actually are you?” Blake asked. “And why do you know this secret cultivation technique that—”

  Not secret, though most likely, if the Nords are in charge, very illegal.

  “They’re very much in charge. I haven’t even heard of Honour cultivation.”

  That’s because it’s not called that. It’s Cniht Growan. Knightly Cultivation.

  “Still haven’t heard of knights being a profession in the Dynasty, and definitely not as a cultivation method.” Blake held up a finger as he walked. “I mean, I know what knights are. But these guys are all basically vikings.”

  Vikings? Ethbin asked.

  “Uh…I don’t really know that much about the word either, I guess. Something specific to Earth, I guess. They were in that one movie about dragon training I watched when I was growing up…” Blake shrugged. “I was ten when our world was destroyed.”

  Integrated, Ethbin corrected. Nasty business, those Integrations.

  “Close enough to destruction.” Blake grimaced. “But I never got an answer. Who are you?”

  I am Ethbin. I would’ve hoped for you to recognize the name, but given how long it’s been, I don’t think that’s likely. Suffice it to say, I am a lordless churl.

  “Yeeeah…I don’t really know what that means.”

  I was a huscarl, or as we were sometimes known, knights. Servants. The lord I served died in combat, and I did not. I failed him, so I am cursed to assist others, to create lords, by finding more souls like you. I must aid them until I have found one powerful enough to drain my entire energy reserves of knowledge.

  “So asking you questions costs you…energy?” Blake tilted his head. He paused at a street corner, leaned around, glanced back and forth, then stepped out. There were no obvious threats.

  Specifically, me answering a question, or providing you with other forms of guidance.

  “So I could just ask a bunch of random questions, like, what’s your favourite colour, and you’d be set free?”

  The importance and complexity of the question matters, Ethbin said with a sigh. And should I break my oath again, I’ll be punished dearly for it.

  “Right,” Blake said. “So you’ll teach me Knightly Cultivation?”

  If you’re willing to learn. If you’re willing to pledge a deep commitment, and tackle this task with all your might, we will see how far you make it. Truth be told, none of my previous bearers lived more than two hundred years.

  “Two hundred?” Blake exclaimed, then put a hand over his mouth. He dropped his voice back to a whisper. “What were they? Core Formation? Nascent Soul?”

  Core Formation, but I myself made it beyond Nascent Soul, Ethbin replied. You must pledge your commitment, Blake.

  Blake clenched his teeth, then his fists. He was ready.

  Moments of inspiration and motivation are fleeting, Ethbin said. You can’t rely on them. Commit to a routine, to habits, to training. That is the only way of improving yourself, no matter which Path you adopt. It will not be easy. It is also the only true way out.

  “It feels like you’re still trying to get me to give up.”

  I want you to think seriously about this.

  Ethbin might not have thought much of raw motivation, but Blake was motivated. All the sting of his afternoon and evening, the indignity of his life before then.

  “I promise, I’m doing this,” he said. “I’m going to do something with my life for once, and get you free of that ring while we’re at it. And I’m not going back on my word, so please don’t doubt me. Well, you’re welcome to doubt my strength for the time being, but I’d prefer if you accepted my commitment.”

  You were the one who almost left me behind a few minutes ago.

  “At least a half hour ago, and I didn’t even put you down,” Blake countered. “I’ve made a promise, and I don’t intend to break it.”

  When he reached the outer fence of the Blended District, it was a somewhat anticlimactic exit from the city. There were no guards, only some distant, glowing blue lights—some sort of creature—but he’d never seen one up close. They seemed peaceful. He’d considered a couple times that they might have been the Echoes he heard cultivators talking about, but he didn’t give much credence to the theory. It wasn’t the time for that.

  They’re definitely not Echoes, Ethbin said.

  He ducked through a hole in the chain links, then stepped out onto the old, unlit roads. Skeletal cars were still scattered around, and bushes and plants overgrew everything. There were still some streetlights, but none that worked.

  But now that he was out of the shadow of the manaship, the moons and stars lit the ground enough for Blake to navigate by. He tried to keep his footsteps soft, just in case any monsters did decide to come for him.

  “So, Ethbin?” Blake asked.

  Yes?

  “I don’t think I’m going to have a very peaceful time in the mists.”

  Indeed.

  “Any chance you could, uh, help me figure out a little more of this Honour stuff? At least, tell me how to get a bit more of it, so I can fight stuff better?”

  I think that could be arranged. But my energy is limited, see, by the importance of the information to you. I could tell you that you need the heart of a star to ascend beyond this realm, but since that means nothing to you, it doesn’t set me free. Likewise, the importance to you determines how long I’ll have to go quiet after draining myself. In fact, even explaining this is starting to drain my reserves.

  “Right, so…you’ll have to go quiet? Why?”

  To recover my reserves. A cruel part of my oath—if I am not completely depleted, if there’s even a sliver of energy left, I will have to sleep for a few days, and when I wake up, my reserves will be full again.

  “Isn’t that counter-productive?”

  Yes, it makes it quite difficult. It means that I can only be free by delivering a massive revelation to you when you’re ready to hear it, and it will deplete my reserves entirely. Only then will I be free. So, moral of the story is to pick your questions wisely.

  “I’m pretty sure I need to know how to get more Honour.”

  Then Honour training it is.