Universe's End

Chapter 224: War Preparation, War Games, and Warring Spirit

“Brilliant Lord,” The man bowed low, keeping his head staring at the ground.

“Speak,” The monster said, his radiant feathers casting light all on their own.

“We have found him.”

“Finally?” The Lord of Brilliant Feathers said, finally glancing at the varasian man bowing before him.

“Yes. It has taken much divining, but we’ve locked on. The Architect can be assaulted at any point once the Radiant Solstice has been charged.”

“Wonderful,” The Bird said.

“There is… one problem.”

“Speak of it, it would do none of us any good to ignore an issue.”

“Yes, my Brilliant Lord. From the divinations, it has been determined that an attack would fail.”

“Explain,” The Bird said with the closest expression a giant bird of prey could make to a frown.

“The home of the Architect is fortified. Heavily fortified. Even with your might and the strength of those Blessed by Radiance, a direct assault is, based on our assessments of the divined probabilities, unlikely to succeed.”

“Hmm….” The Bird once more not-frowned as it thought. Spending several minutes like that, the man continued to prostrate himself all the while before the Bird once more spoke.

“Was it not the Architect that is responsible for the existence of Siege Waves?”

“Yes,” The man answered.

“Re-check with the Probability Ordices. Change the scope up to twenty years in the future. I have a feeling that we might have an opportunity to capitalize upon should we be creative.”

“Yes, Brilliant Lord.”

The man rose from his prostrated stance before turning and leaving the Bird to his thoughts.

Tricky.

Ever since the Bird had slain the Voice of the Precursors, he had dreamt of the day he slew yet another Founder. Perhaps it was an aspect of pride, but after so many years spent worshipped by his monster horde and the former followers of the Voice, the Bird had begun to view things differently.

Divine Right. He who the Great Mother chose. He would purge the weakness from her lands.

The Alchemist. The Voice. Weakness. The Great Mother demanded struggle and strife to grow, to ascend, and they would shortcut such hallowed acts. The other Founders likely knew better. After the Architect, he would pursue one final hunt, removing the Rogue from existence so that only those who knew the value of… radiant labors would remain.

But first, the Architect.

Now that the location had been found, it was only a matter of time before the time of the attack could be best determined. Perhaps it would be a year from now, or perhaps years.

But soon, it will be soon.

“Alright, champs in the making!” The Rogue waltzed around the room where the disciples sat upon their knees, hands folded in their laps. “We’ve got ourselves a good old-fashioned tournament arc! Honor! Pride! Money for winning! Honor… errrr. Pride? Whatever! Don’t worry, though, if you lose only your entire family, your bloodline will be executed!”

The decree sent a chill through the spines of the gathered disciples, before a loud sigh broke the tension.

“Must you always be so dramatic?” The First Monk appeared, stepping through a curtain that separated the main area of the temple from the back. “No one is being executed. Eric, do you not have better things to be doing?”

“Now that you mention it, I was going to go tweak the overgrown hamster’s nose,” The Primordial Rogue said before promptly vanishing into his own shadow.

“Of course,” The First Monk sighed, before remembering where he was, his ‘partner’ always managed to wring his image he’d cultivated of a sagely patriarch dry. “Tomorrow marks the start of the first stage of the tournament. You all represent our most promising early prospects, the tier four bracket. While yes, you represent the lowest point total in this tournament, it is your efforts and your will that will help shape the bedrock going forward. Such is the pressure of responsibility, yes. Still, while the Primordial Rogue is oft dramatic and nonsensical, he is correct: this is a moment to cement a legacy, to bring honor not just to your family but to our people. Those you face may be your opponents, but they are not your enemies. Anger, competition, pride, and any such emotions are valid to feel. But animosity? It is not our way to be slaves to our own minds, and thus, show no animosity. Fight and compete with fierce pride and become the bedrock of our future.”

Deep in meditation, the Woodsman sat.

That is, until the shadows stirred nearby and a man popped, even accompanied by the classic pop sound.

“You know, never took you for the meditative type,” The Rogue said as he bothered the Woodsman, who slowly opened his eyes with a sigh.

“Aye. What’s it to you?”

“Oh, you know, just curious.” The Rogue answered back as he began climbing a tree, feet sticking to it like it was nothing more than a regular sidewalk.

“I doubt ‘ya found me out of curiosity.”

“Nah, truth was I got booted. Or I was about to, Tom is not fond of my ‘antics’ as he calls them.”

“Understandable,” The Woodsman grunted.

“So… where’s your boss lady?”

“Oye, don’t get any ideas.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” The Rogue said with a wide grin. “Pure and innocent maiden, that I am.”

“Ya’ never had many friends growing up, did ya?”

“Wow, how did you know?” The Rogue asked with mock surprise. “No, but really, where is she? I couldn’t feel a trace of her anywhere nearby.”

“Preoccupied,” The Woodsman said plainly.

“Preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied,” The Woodsman repeated.

“Well, now I’m even more curious.”

“I would not advise searching for her.”

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“You going to continue being cryptic or just give me the short answer?”

“She is facing off with her Bane.”

“Ohhhh, alright, that’s fair,” The Rogue nodded. “And you aren’t worried about her?”

“I am not,” The Woodsman said without a moment’s hesitation.

“Confident.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” The Woodsman answered.

“Oh, I don’t know? Oh, wait, turns out I do! Banes, don’t know if you heard of ‘em,” The Rogue verbally ribbed the Woodman as the Osferian rolled his eyes. “They like to munch up founders and spit them out, monsters that don’t follow the conventional monster framework? Hell, I know I’m not looking forward to facing my own Bane this tier, not after it marked me with a black spot and tried to kill me in tier seven directly.”

“Your problems are your own,” The Woodsman responded. “The Spear’s record speaks for itself.”

“What, 4-2?”

“Hah,” The Woodsman snorted. “You do her a disservice. 6-0, her Bane has never beaten her.”

For once, something shut the Rogue up, his jaw hanging loose.

“Aye, that’s better,” The Woodsman chuckled, basking in the stunned silence.

“How?” The Rogue finally managed to sputter. “I can understand a 4-2, but after six rounds of adaptations, it still can’t beat her?”

“Correct,” The Woodsman answered.

“How?” The Rogue repeated. His good old buddy Tom, the First Monk, wasn’t even 6-0. Now, in defense of Tom, he’d explained that things hadn’t truly begun to click until tier seven, but even then, he’d only managed a 2-1 in tier seven.

“The Spear does not know defeat,” The Woodsman said as if it were a simple fact. “Where others would falter, burning up what remains of their vitality, her spirit rages.”

“Huh,” The Rogue said, hands on his hips. “Very kung-fu of you. Sounds like something Tom would say.”

“Does that concern you?” The Woodsman snorted. “Rethinking this agreement of competition?”

“Nah,” The Rogue said. “Because in the end, she isn’t really my problem. That’s for Tom to figure out.”

“So then, what is your problem?” The Woodsman asked.

“You, dumbass. I gotta kick your furry hamster ass.”

And with that, the slippery Rogue dropped out of reality, sinking into the shadows like a rock dropped into a pond.

“This song and dance every time,” The Dark Clone said, leaning on its spear.

“I appreciate the ability to be reasonable,” Allison said.

“Yeah, yeah. What fun would it be to attack you when you have to hold back because there are people or things that might get in the way?” The Spear’s Bane said with a sigh.

“Most monsters aren’t so reasonable,” Allison answered back.

“Most monsters aren’t formed in your image,” The Spear’s Bane shot back.

“You probably could have chalked up at least one win had you pulled something underhanded,” Allison said.

“Yes, but once more, where is the fun in that?” The Spear’s Bane questioned. “Are you almost ready?”

“Almost,” Allison said as she yanked her spear out of the ground. “I prefer not using this armor unless I’m getting serious.”

“Because you can’t repair it?” The Spear’s Bane questioned.

“Because I can’t repair it,” Allison confirmed.

The armor was made of interlocking plates that looked nothing like metal or scales, but more like ceramic than any other material. Bleached white, it was perhaps one of the most valuable armor sets across all of Aelia, the culmination of several incredibly valuable items and resources. First, the material was made from the marrow of Ossu Spirit Guardian of Lost Wealds, a territory alpha that had claimed a pocket delve as its domain.

Ordinarily, none of their crafters would have been anywhere close to good enough to manage to make anything with the remains of that specific ‘boss’ monster, but that had been something overcome with a very specific workaround.

Incense of the Inspired Guides.

Grade: Extreme

An incense stick of unknown origin, there remains just enough for a single use. When lit, it grants the inhaler a tethered connection to a designated guide, allowing the guide to direct one’s actions.

As much as it had annoyed her, their lead inventory man had designated his guide as none other than the Architect, an inky black figure appearing and ‘possessing’ the man until the completion of the armor.

Finally, the last item needed.

Sap of Indomitable Fortitude

Rarity: Extreme

Sap derived from a One-Hundred-Year Treasure Tree. Once every hundred years, the Treasure Tree may be harvested for a natural treasure. This particular treasure doubles the durability of a given item, up to a specific maximum.

And once all of it had come together, the final armor had been… almost wasteful,if Allison were truthful.

Spirit Guard Chest plate

Grade: Rare (+)

Akashic Record: Spirit Alignment

A set of armor made using several incredibly valuable natural treasures and materials harvested from powerful monsters.

Akashic Record Effect: Spiritual-based abilities and skills have a reduced strain while worn.

Oh, sure, the armor was incredible, better than any other item she’d ever gotten her hands on.

But it had used several extreme-rarity or grade items, alongside materials harvested from a powerful territory alpha, to make a set of rare grade armor. The only reason they’d gone through with having the armor made was that, as the ‘leader,’ it had been decided she should have a truly incredible set of armor for moments where Allison needed to brandish her full might.

Such as when facing her Bane.

“Ready,” Allison finally said as she finished strapping on the last piece of armor.

“Took you long enough,” Her Bane responded, rolling its eyes as it yanked its spear out of the ground. “I should let you know, I’m quite a bit stronger than tier seven.”

“Yeah?” Allison asked with a grin. “Well, you’re in for a shock, because so am I.”

“Seven-oh,” Allison said as she yanked her spear out from her Bane’s chest, who was beginning to crumble away into ash, sure to respawn elsewhere.

“How the Eternal has not yet cracked down on you is beyond me,” The Bane sighed.

“Because it’s not a skill or anything like that. Pure fighting spirit, baby,” Allison snorted.

“Hmmph,” The Bane grumbled. It had specifically tailored its most recent adaptation to counter exactly that, a spirit-dampening effect.

Except, without outright overpowering The Spear from a tier match-up perspective, spirit-dampening only slowed the buildup of her fighting spirit.

“Next time,” The Bane finally said, only moments from crumbling away entirely.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Allison chuckled. “But you’re running out of chances.”

“I realize that,” The Bane sighed. “So you’d better be the Founder to win out.”

And then, it was gone, dispersed into dust and ash.

“Better be the Founder to win out,” Allison repeated the Bane’s words. “I’m not sure if my Bane is meant to be my biggest cheerleader or not.”

The landscape had been torn apart by an apocalypse made manifest, miles in any direction as she and her Bane had fully let loose.

Always a good fight.

While Allison might have been running a clean slate against her Bane, it was never easy. Such as this time around, it was like someone had hung a lead weight around her neck, or her spirit, either way, dragging her down and slowing her down.

But there was no overcoming the drumbeat of her own heart, and as things had looked more and more dire for her, the stronger it beat, the stronger her spirit raged, and the less the weight having from her spirit could hold her down.

Allison wasn’t really a complicated person. Many people had gained or taken more and more skills over the years and ascensions.

Allison, meanwhile, had taken a different route, continuously evolving and growing a single skill, long ago what had been ‘Vagabond Pugilist.’

Of course, that had been decades and ascensions ago, and even before being enshrined as one of her Vocation Testaments.

Since then, it had become something far greater.

Hammer the Drums

The Heart is the one true instrument that transcends all. It plays not a music of simple harmony or choir, but of the very essence of one’s being. As long as one’s heart and spirit rage as one, the melody of drums will never die.

Was it a bit too dramatic for her liking? Sure. Did it really explain what it did? Nope.

Did it change anything?

Not really.

The most important factor of the skill was the final line. As long as one’s heart and spirit rage as one. It was probably the only reason the skill hadn’t faced any weakening by E.O.N over the years, because she had to live every fight to the fullest. If, for any reason, her spirit ever flagged, the skill would lose effectiveness. External variables could play into that, but unless a higher tier being caused it, they were only temporary as her spirit raged against the shackles placed on her.

But if she were bored in a fight, or unable to invest herself? That would become a problem/

Of course, there was one reason why Allison didn’t fear such a thing.

Because fighting was her favorite thing in the world.

God, I love this place.