Testing himself against his peers sounded fun, until Blake realized what it meant.

  About ten hunter disciples stood behind Wind-Eyes, arms crossed. They scowled and glared at him. A few were his age, most were older by what looked like a year or two (but could have been ten), and all were around Tempering stage four or five.

  A young woman stepped to the front. She had broad shoulders and muscular arms, and was probably a head taller than Blake. Her short hair was brown, and patches of fur ran down her bare arms, to the claws at the tips of her fingers. She was Blended, too, and it looked like she’d merged with a bear. It was hard to tell with her ears flattened atop her head.

  “Good…morning,” Blake said. “Or afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon, Sister,” she corrected.

  Blake noted that her rank seal displayed the same rank as his. Tempering six. He said, “Yeah, that.”

  “It seems they have some grievances with you,” Wind-Eyes said with a slight smile. “I’ve agreed to let them settle them.”

  “You have?” Blake exclaimed. “Sir, shouldn’t—”

  “I wouldn’t deny a hunter disciple a duel. How else will any of you improve?”

  Blake sighed, then turned to face the ten of them. “What did I do this time?”

  “Your growth is unnatural,” the girl in the lead said. “Impossible. You’re using cheap substitutes for proper growth, and you’ll disgrace the sect. It’s best if you leave right now, before you cause the Hunters any more trouble.”

  “By my reckoning,” Blake countered, “I gave the sect a new lease on life. If I hadn’t shown our strength by beating Mingel—”

  “Silence!”

  The rumour mill must’ve been working at double speed. But oh well—he couldn’t control what the others thought of him. He’d just have to deal with it as it came. And dealing with it meant dealing with it violently.

  “Okay, so can I at least get your name?” he asked.

  “Elstrid,” she snapped. “Now fight me.”

  “Are you guys going to attack one at a time, or…?”

  She lunged forward, arms outstretched, claws slicing through the air. They were each about three inches long,and the tips glistened with light.

  Blake spun to the side and adjusted his grip on his staff. “I guess you’re not using a weapon.” When none of the others attacked, he added, “So we’re duelling one at a time? Got it.”

  “Just be quiet! Has no one ever told you how annoying you are?”

  Elstrid roared. There was a bit of phlegm in her throat that made it sound more like an animal’s roar than it really did. She turned to him and unleashed a chain of attacks that reminded Blake of a bear going up on its back legs and swatting at something in a tree.

  The only problem was that he was the tree.

  He dove to the side, kicking up a wave of sand, then cracked her in the shoulder with his staff. It made her stagger, even without a technique channelled through it or an aftershock loaded into it.

  Her head whipped toward him, and the other onlookers gasped. His worth surged again, whether they liked him or not.

  “Okay, hold on,” Blake said, holding up a finger. He leaned back, avoiding a swipe at his nose, then struck her in the gut with his staff, sending her staggering back. “Were you trying to kill me? Actually, nevermind. Not what I was gonna ask. I wanted to know why you even are mad at me in the first place.”

  “Leech!” someone from the crowd shouted. “Waste of contribution points!”

  “Getting us killed for your sorry stunts!” someone else called.

  “Right,” Blake muttered. “I mean, no one else asked Konuth to save me. If you wanna blame someone, blame Heron.”

  Before he could say anything else, he felt a rush of air behind him. The movement made his skin tingle, and the sand, no matter how soft the noise was, crunched beneath Elstrid’s feet. Even without seeing, without a spiritual sense, he knew exactly where his opponent was. He whirled to face her just in time and rammed his staff sideways into the palms of her hands.

  Before, someone as large as Elstrid would’ve toppled him over, but not now. Not with his enhancements. It was like she was trying to push against a brick wall. And Blake got to be the wall.

  “They are helping you, Junior Brother, in their manner,” Wind-Eyes said. “Sparring practice is important.”

  Blake canted his head slightly, then cast Elstrid a grin. “Well, I wish I could’ve done this to Svarikson when I had the chance. I would’ve loved to see the look on his face.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  She roared again, and a Smite technique whirled on her wrist. Blue light curled around her hands, searing hot, and Blake pushed her away before it burned his staff. “Not cool.”

  Flicking her fists out, she launched two surges of the plasma-mana, whatever the technique was, at Blake. He registered the searing air on his skin with his enhanced physical senses, and shifted his body sideways, confident about where it would hit and where it wouldn’t. Both blasts missed him, passing by both ways.

  Wind-Eyes dispersed them with an air-based Smite technique before they did any damage and said, “Remember, Junior Sister. Duels are not to kill.”

  “He would’ve lived, Senior Brother,” Elstrid countered.

  “Indeed I would’ve,” Blake added. He probably wouldn’t have felt anything, but it was better to dodge when he could. Good practice.

  But as it was, he was getting bored. He circled around, slapping her wrists aside with staff strikes, before finally sweeping her legs out from beneath her and pointing his staff at her forehead. “You give up?” There was a faint orange glow on her, and he realized it was coming from his eyes—now that he’d enhanced them, they had a faint orange glow when he used his senses.

  “I…surrender, Brother,” she said reluctantly.

  “Wonderful.” Blake held out a hand to help her up. Instead of taking it, she shook her head and stormed off to the side.

  “Well, then.” He turned back to the crowd. “Who’s next.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Instead of facing all ten of them, he only had to duel three more before the rest decided it wasn’t worth it. As soon as the last disciple, a regular human boy with blonde hair and glowing turquoise eyes, fell to the ground, Blake held out a hand to help him up. Like the others, the boy didn’t take it.

  “You guys still think I’m a waste of points?” Blake said, looking at the crowd. “Everything I’ve gotten, I’ve gotten fair and square.”

  “It’s not natural,” another girl muttered, echoing what Elstrid had said earlier.

  Blake didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t sound absurdly cocky, so he kept his lips sealed. But he figured he was just catching up to where a ‘promising’ cultivator his age would normally be.

  But none of this satisfied the craving to see how he stacked up against a real cultivator from the manaship.

  Stepping back, he leaned on his staff and watched the others disperse. He was tired still, but not nearly as tired as the guys who he’d just beat up. They’d have a few bruises, and he’d have a few of his own, but when no one was looking, he would just use River’s ability and heal himself up.

  “You fought well, Junior Brother,” Wind-Eyes said. “You defeated them with honour, even if they didn’t show much back.”

  At first, Blake’s heart raced with fear at Wind-Eyes’ mention of honour, but then Blake realized it was a lower-case h, not upper case. Wind-Eyes had no idea what Blake was.

  “Thank you, sir,” Blake replied. “Now, if you don’t mind…I think I need to go on a hunting mission or two. I’m running low on contribution points.”

  “You’ll leave tomorrow morning, correct?”

  Blake winced.

  “Correct?”

  Blake’s wince grew bigger. He was already cutting it close, and although his Serpent’s Cloak technique would vastly improve his speed, he might be slightly late for his planned meeting with Mingel. “I kinda have to leave now…”

  “Be careful, Junior Brother,” Wind-Eyes said. “The word is that the monster haunting the mists is a Monarch.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind, sir,” Blake replied.

  “Please do.”

  Blake rushed back to his room and gathered his equipment. Once he was sure he had everything, he rushed back outside and left the pavilion in a hurry, trying to keep himself undetected. As the season latened, the sun set sooner and sooner, and it was already starting to get dark. A faint dusting of snow fell on the forest.

  Blake hadn’t even registered the cold. Apparently, reforging his body with Vir energies made it more attuned to the frigid weather.

  He kept moving nonetheless until he was far enough from the pavilion that no one would notice him flying. He looked around and called, “River? Are you there?”

  “I am here!” she chirped. A moment later, she shimmered into existence.

  “Have you grown?”

  “I do not know.”

  Blake glanced at the little glowing deer. “Maybe it’s just the light. Now, I’m going to be moving pretty fast. If you want to come with me…”

  “I want to come with Blake!”

  “Wonderful.” He patted his backpack and knelt down. “Hop on.”

  Kneeling down was completely pointless. River sprang up from a standstill and perched on his backpack with her back hooves, standing on his shoulder with her front. Either she wasn’t very heavy, or Blake had just gotten a lot stronger.

  “Alright,” he said. “Hold on tight.”

  “Where is Blake going?”

  “We’re gonna meet Mingel again,” he replied. “As long as I can find my way back to our old meeting spot. Fates, that was a bad meeting place.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There wasn’t really any good landmark around.”

  “Perhaps Mingel will find Blake again with her assassin abilities. Mingel has assassin abilities, yes?”

  “Let’s hope.”

  Blake climbed up to the top of a tree and launched himself off it. Instead of circling around the pavilion, he rocketed toward the merge-mists. The moment he passed through, the clouds of mist parted around him. Every time he blasted off, using both halves of the Serpent’s Cloak, they burst apart, creating a channel around him.

  He crossed the same distance as before in a quarter of the time, stopping only to rest and unclog his meridians with River’s ability.

  The next morning, he arrived at roughly the same place, then extended his senses. His sight in the mists was better, but it was probably the least useful of the senses. Next, he wished he’d remembered what Mingel smelled like. But when he picked out something that was slightly different from the peaty, wet-dog smell of the mists, he latched on. It was almost floral, but faintly smokey.

  Next, he picked out soft footsteps. Purposely soft footsteps. They were coming from behind him.

  “Again…?” he muttered.

  The air tickled his skin, and he whirled around, using his Augmentation technique to spin quickly. Another dagger flew through the air, but this time, he registered exactly where it was coming from and caught it between his fingers.

  “Seriously?” he asked. “I thought we had a truce!” Sarcastically, he added, “Ma’am.”

  “Training begins immediately.” Her voice trickled through the mists, awfully soft even with his enhanced senses. “Immediately.”