The dueling ring lay in the middle of black rock itself. Despite its half-finished state, the ring radiated an aura of latent power, hinting at the countless battles fought and the many more yet to come. The ground, a mixture of packed earth and coarse sand, formed a circular arena roughly thirty feet in diameter. Patches of hardy grass and stubborn weeds sprouted at the edges, hinting at nature's slow reclamation.

  At the heart of the ring, the crest of the Black Rock Sect was etched into the ground. A black rock, intricately carved with a sense of stark simplicity, stood out against the earth. White clouds, painstakingly etched around the rock, created a striking contrast. These clouds seemed almost alive, their intricate patterns weaving around the central stone as if caught in an eternal dance. Despite being unfinished, the crest exuded a sense of history and pride, embodying the spirit of the sect.

  Surrounding the crest, the ring showed signs of its incomplete construction. Rough-hewn stones marked the boundary, some stacked neatly while others lay scattered, waiting to be set into place. Wooden posts, meant to hold protective talismans, stood at irregular intervals, their surfaces marred by the elements. A few were topped with faded flags, their colors long drained by the sun and rain.

  The air within the ring held a charged stillness, as if the very ground anticipated the clash of cultivators' wills. The unfinished dueling ring, though modest and incomplete, was a testament to resilience and ambition, a place where the spirit of martial prowess would soon be tested.

  Ryka had ordered the ring to remain uncompleted, staring at it from one of the seating chairs where the people of Black Rock would watch from. She observed as the workers, mostly initiate-ranked cultivators directed by their disciple-ranked supervisors, put finishing touches on the structure. Dressed in a black robe with the crest of the sect stitched into it, she watched in silence, enjoying the cool breeze that blew through the settlement, a soft smile on her face.

  Draven appeared at her side, moving through the rough stone-hewn seats as he sat next to her with a grunt, watching the structure as well. Her concept of the verdant realm was as esoteric as a concept could ever get, specializing not in battle but in nurturing; it was a concept that suited her intimately.

  Even now, Black Rock, the once dry, cracked settlement with barely any plant life, was slowly changing before their very eyes. Stubborn, rough weeds sprouted from the very ground, and even the once dry, baked earth was slowly becoming soft, much to the amazement of its inhabitants. A smile on her face, she glanced at Draven, who stared at the structure with a frown.

  “You don’t like it,” she said as a matter of fact.

  Draven scratched his rough beard, something she had seen Isolde try and fail multiple times to get him to shave off. Now, though, it released tiny smoldering smoke, a side effect of his concept. Ryka had often wondered why Draven hadn’t gone for the affinity of hammers, rather opting for a flame affinity to complement his earth affinity.

  Perhaps he had discovered something about his forging style that had caused it, but whatever it was, Ryka couldn’t for the life of her find out what it was. Draven grunted, “Still not sure why you want an unfinished ring for the fight,” he replied as she locked her fingers together.

  “For what it represents,” Ryka said as he glanced at her.

  “I see,” Draven replied.

  She laughed, “No, you do not.”

  “No, I don’t,” Draven grumbled as she shook her head. “But if it suits whatever goals you have, then that’s fine, I guess,” he muttered. Ryka glanced at him again.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “Not really, just the gravity of what’s about to happen keeps dawning on me like it’s the first time I’m hearing it,” the Forgesmith replied.

  Ryka nodded. “I agree,” she said. “A few days ago, we were barely trying to convince the imperials about our rights to be a clan. Now we’re about to fight an heir of the great clans for the rights to hold the territories of our former masters.”

  “Just yesterday we were nothing but disciples, simply etching out a daily living,” Draven mused.

  “Then we survived an invasion from a cult, the destruction of an entire lesser clan, and two destructions of our settlement,” Ryka listed out. “By all accounts, it would seem the hegemons favor us indeed.”

  “All of these had one thing in common, one person,” Draven said.

  “Tunde,” Ryka replied as Draven nodded.

  “And now he’s leaving us,” Draven said as Ryka raised an eyebrow, nodding at two disciples who bowed at them hurriedly, carrying large smoothened planks. Ryka waited till they were past before snapping her fingers, a shimmering green bubble of aura surrounding them before vanishing like it hadn’t been there.

  “He told you too?” she asked.

  Draven nodded, poking at the aura shield as it rippled in the air. “Came to see me after his second journey back into the wastelands,” Draven said. “Only Tunde would consider going back to the same place where he had been nearly killed three times,” he said.

  Ryka sighed, leaning back slightly. “He has always been different, even back at Jade Peak. Driven by something none of us could quite understand.”

  “He’s a fighter,” Draven said. “But more than that, he’s a survivor.”

  Ryka nodded, watching the workers. “He’s also restless. Black Rock is changing, and I think he feels out of place here now. Like he’s outgrown us, or maybe we’ve outgrown him.”

  “Maybe both,” Draven replied, his tone contemplative. “But wherever he goes, he’ll always be part of Black Rock.”

  Ryka smiled softly. “Yes, he will. And we’ll always be here, waiting for him to come back.”

  They paused in their conversation, watching the painting of the dueling ring before Draven spoke. “I can’t help but think that this fight will bring more problems than solutions,” he said.

  “Indeed,” Ryka replied. “If the heir wins, not only are we a stone’s throw from potential enemies, but trade would also become more difficult,” she started. “But if Tunde wins, which we both know is a distinct possibility, we’d be drawing the gazes of the great clans and any other groups interested in the borderlands on us,” she listed out.

  “It’s an impossible situation if you ask me,” Draven said, hissing lightly as he tapped rhythmically on the armrest of the stone chair he sat on.

  “Then we best start preparing for what is to come,” Ryka said coolly.

  Draven glanced at her. “You assume he’ll win against the heir?” he asked.

  Ryka glanced at him, a faint green glow in her eyes as she smiled. “Do you see him losing?” she replied.

  Draven turned his gaze back to the dueling ring, watching as its constructors began adding their finishing touches to it with a sigh. “No, no I do not,” he replied as she chuckled.

  The workers moved efficiently, their hands guided by years of practice and the pressure of the task at hand. The air was thick with anticipation, the ring itself seeming to hum with the energy of the approaching duel.

  “What do we do if he does win?” Draven asked, breaking the silence.

  Ryka’s eyes hardened, her smile fading slightly. “We prepare. We fortify our defenses, we strengthen our alliances, and we train our people harder than ever before. We make sure that when the eyes of the great clans turn to us, they see strength and unity.”

  Draven nodded, appreciating her resolve. “And if he loses?”

  “If he loses,” Ryka said softly, “we regroup, we learn from our mistakes, and we continue to build. Black Rock has faced countless challenges before. We will face this one, no matter the outcome.”

  The two sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the future pressing down on them. They both knew that the coming days would test them in ways they had never been tested before. But they also knew that Black Rock was strong, forged in the fires of adversity.

  ***********************************

  By high noon, the seats were filled around the dueling ring. Hundreds had turned out to watch the fight, and the few viewing constructs shipped from the empire proper floated in the air around the settlement, projecting the ring of the fight for eager viewers. All around the ring, the crowd watched with bated breaths, waiting for the combatants who would grace the dueling ring with their presence. Up in the seats reserved for special guests, Varis Talahan sat with his sister, waiting for the duel to begin, staring at the stone platform below with a thoughtful gaze.

  “I would thank the hegemons the day we leave this dry, humid hell,” Rhaelar said with a sigh. Varis didn’t remind her that as a master, she had the power to change the weather to whatever she wanted around them. Such words were wasted on his sister, and Varis knew that. Instead, he spoke on something more pressing.

  “We can only afford Black Rock a year’s respite from any direct or indirect sabotage from the other sects and clans of the empire,” he said.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Rhaelar paused from the action of fanning herself as she spoke. “You’re their patron, their benefactor, you can afford them protection for as long as you like,” she replied.

  “Not if the clan has anything to say about it,” Varis noted.

  Rhaelar sighed. “The branch heads and core clan members only care about our complete domination of the empire,” she started, “that and the endless wars with the technocracy they so love to go on and on about.” She paused. “This little settlement, this plan of the clan has come to fruition, and I couldn’t be more proud of you,” she said with a goading smile.

  “The bastard is dead. Uncle is free to do as he likes within the empire without the fear of rival clans banding together under the banner of some wasteland king,” Varis pointed out.

  “Indeed, and with our timely intervention and execution of the king, we have proven our right to take Black Rock as our own,” she said.

  Varis snorted. “I’m not sure they see it that way,” he said, nodding towards the lower seats where the elders and powers of the Black Rock sect sat, discussing among themselves.

  “Honestly,” Rhaelar started, “I see no reason why they should know. An invisible leash is still a leash,” she pointed out. “Might as well let them enjoy the feeling of perceived freedom. Nothing tastes sweeter than reaping the fruits of your rewards a decade from now when they’ve produced worthy lords,” she said.

  “They produced Tunde,” Varis said.

  Rhaelar rolled her eyes. “While I applaud that lord’s resilience,” she started, “few lords could ever claim they saw masters duel and lived to tell the tale, much less grow stronger. But even you must have realized that had it not been for your presence, he would have died at some point or the other, that pet of yours,” she said with a chuckle.

  Varis thought it over for a few seconds before speaking, “I guess we’ll never know,” he murmured, drawing a raised eyebrow from his sister as the drums began to beat. He ignored her giggle of excitement, wondering how she had somehow reached the realm of master even with her childish behaviors. Getting to his feet, he folded his arms behind him, watching the two combatants step out onto the platform. He moved like a blur, leaping slightly before landing in the middle of the ring, right between them.

  *********************

  Tunde stood quietly, watching as Varis landed between him and Chun. Dressed in the black robes of the Black Rock sect, he stared at Chun in his thunder grey robes, who stared back with barely restrained malice.

  “This duel will follow the strict rules of the empire,” Varis started. Tunde said nothing, flexing his fingers. Beneath his robes and curled into a ball in the pockets of his robes was the insectoid, fast asleep.

  “He looks like he wants to tear you apart,” Ifa’s soft voice flowed into his head. Tunde grunted, saying nothing. His time within the jade gardens, as the crystal formation within the wastelands was being called, had been a whole day. It had been enlightening, his learning process with Ifa, what few scraps the sentience could give him.

  Sentience that had completely opened his eyes to the truth. Tunde could feel the presence of the sentience at the back of his head, the same place he could feel the nascent yet strong presence of the insect, who he hadn’t named yet.

  “Lethal injuries will not be tolerated,” Varis continued, drawing Tunde’s attention back. “And if your opponent surrenders, you stop. Failure to do so may result in execution, by me,” he said with a deadpan voice as he stared at Tunde, who inclined his head.

  “Even the Highlord fancies us over the heir,” Ifa said with a triumphant voice. Tunde frowned, now was not the time to start underestimating his opponents.

  Varis nodded at both of them, then vanished from the middle without a word in the same manner he had arrived. Chun’s very body crackled with electricity as Tunde locked eyes with the heir, the both of them in a staring contest. Ethra sight came on as he saw the flow of lightning snaking through the air, the beginnings of a dominion technique.

  “Begin!” the Highlord’s voice said with power as Chun moved in a clap of thunder, already in front of Tunde. The lord realm lightning user smashed into Tunde with the force of a raging monster, blowing up dust around them, much to the excitement of the audience. When it cleared, Tunde held Chun’s fist in his aura-coated hand, Chun’s eyes wide with surprise.

  The heir was quick, a lightning staff forming in his hand even as he brought it sideways to smash into Tunde’s ribs. Tunde dodged it effortlessly, releasing the heir’s hand even as the dominion of the Zhang heir activated, the technique raining lightning bolts all around them with devastating effects.

  The bolts of yellow lightning smashed into the ring with resounding force as Tunde’s aura-coated body weaved through them, void sphere absorbing those he could. It was a dance of pure skill within the lightning bolts as Chun clashed with him again, the both of them exchanging raw blows so fast that to anyone below lord realm, they’d simply be a blur.

  Ethra sight revealed a mistake before Chun committed it, Tunde’s leg slamming into Chun’s ankle as the heir jerked to the side before he could form his projection technique of a spear of lightning. Tunde gripped him by the throat, slamming him into the floor with a thunderous crack. Fist clenched, Tunde paused, frowning as he released the heir, stepping backward as the lightning dominion technique dissipated.

  Chun struggled to his feet, shock in his eyes as Tunde spoke, “That was wrong,” he said, almost to himself before turning to Chun, taking his stance again as aura boiled out of him. “Again,” he said. It took a few seconds for Chun to understand what had just happened as he roared in rage and attacked.

  *************************

  Rhaelar sat up, impressed as she glanced at Varis. “Did you teach him that?” she asked.

  “He’s using Chun to practice,” Varis said, laughing. “No, no I didn’t teach him,” he said, more than impressed. Rhaelar eyed her brother, then turned her attention back to the fight again, this time watching the child closely.

  ********************

  Emi couldn’t believe her eyes, and from what she saw, neither could Wol. Tunde had beaten Chun without much effort. It hadn’t even looked like he had been trying, almost like he had been practicing. She saw Wol staple his fingers together as a serious look settled on his face, one she recognized.

  The Huang heir no longer underestimated the dark first; no, he considered him a true rival, something she didn’t think he had ever seen her as. Emi swallowed softly, rage burning in her eyes as she faced the duel again. Chun better not lose.

  “He won’t,” Wol said as she realized she had spoken out loud. “He better not, or we’re in trouble,” Wol completed.

  “Because of our clans?” Emi asked, hoping that was the answer.

  “No,” Wol said, shaking his head. “Because it means that cultivator has closed the gap between us in so short a time,” he finished.

  *******************************

  Tunde watched Chun become completely wreathed in lightning, flashing towards him even as he refrained from releasing the imbuement technique he had used on himself. “Oh my, I believe our friend here doesn’t take a joke,” Ifa said amusingly as Tunde deflected a blow that cracked the ground beneath him, weaving through the dozen more that almost pummeled him into nothing the next second.

  It was a battle of speed against his reflexes. As Tunde parried most of the hits from the heir, allowing one to slam into him, he rolled through the air. As he expected, Chun didn’t let up, the heir appearing next to him as a projected gauntlet of pure lightning smashed into him, driving him into the ground. He rolled away a second later before Chun smashed into the spot where he had been, getting to his feet and dusting himself off, taking a stance again.

  “Do you always run, coward?” Chun snarled, his eyes burning yellow.

  Tunde raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re the one along with your fellow heirs that attempted to kill me in the midst of battle against the forces of the king,” Tunde replied as murmurs began to break out in the assembled crowd, Chun’s eyes wide.

  “You couldn’t face me alone, a simple wastelander, isn’t that what you called me?” Tunde asked as he cracked his neck, taking a deep breath. “Filth, mongrel, waste of the Highlord’s time, I heard it all,” he continued as he rotated his arm. Chun watched him as he spoke, “I wanted to see how far I could take it, holding back my rage,” Tunde continued, “and I find that I’m at the end of my rope, so I apologize for my earlier efforts in the duel.”

  Tunde crouched, allowing his Ethra to flow through him, Ifa’s voice in his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said, “but unleash the asura,” he completed as Tunde smiled.

  Chun shot forward in a flash of lightning as Tunde dropped his imbuement technique, his body growing lighter in the blink of an eye. He dodged the palm blade strike of Chun, grabbing the collar of the cultivator the moment he went past him as the affinity of lightning sought to burn his hands. His concept moved into play, negating the affinity as Chun’s eyes widened even as Tunde slammed him into the ring again, dragging him up and slamming an imbued kick into his midsection.

  Chun rolled through the air before crashing into a column with force, smashing it to rubble. Tunde watched him in silence, waiting for him to get up as he turned his gaze to the seats where Varis and his sister were, locking eyes with the Highlord. A slight smile graced Varis’s face just as the rubble of the column exploded, the aura shield put in place by Varis himself protecting the audience from the rage of the heir.

  Chun had become the lightning itself, the power burning from the inside out of his body even as the lord forged a blade of lightning, raising it up before his voice thundered, “Seven echoes of the soaring peak,” he said before swinging the blade.

  “A named technique!” Ifa said with excitement.

  The attack tore through the dueling ring and straight at Tunde who drew his fist back, aura and Ethra coating it, as he gathered his concept.

  “Unleash your wrath,” Ifa said with no small satisfaction.

  Joran’s wrath smashed into the technique of seven echoes, completely obliterating it from existence as Chun was suddenly in front of him, Ethra sight following but just barely. This time, Tunde fought with the wrath of his concept, weaving between attacks to slam blows into Chun’s lightning-wreathed form. All around him, the lightning of the heir had begun to die out, as if a presence sucked it away as each blow he received healed faster than Chun could layer them.

  His attack, on the other hand, seemed to tear off Chun’s Ethra, much to his shock as everywhere Tunde hit seemed to dim drastically. Bloodied, Tunde’s blows, judged by Ethra sight to deliver the maximum effort, began to grow deeper, heavier, denser—it was raw force. He drove Chun to his knees, a kick to the skull had the heir’s head ringing even as he shot backward, stabilizing himself through bloodied eyes. Tunde was there before he could breathe, another blow to the skull and one to the ribs had Chun spitting blood, the air around them suddenly darkening bit by bit.

  Slowly, his dominion revealed itself—void realm. It had been absorbing everything Chun unleashed bit by bit, just enough not to draw his attention to the steady decline of his attacks, enough to let the heir think he had the upper hand from the start. Tunde’s blows rained uncontested now, even as Chun struggled to put up a fight.

  To the audience, who could only stare at the sight in shock, it was absolutely confusing. Here was the heir of one of the empire’s great clans, being beaten just like a novice cultivator of the borderlands. When Chun managed to free himself, it was to deliver a lethal attack, his clan’s signature lightning palm technique. It would shut down the heart of their opponents. Tunde could feel the danger coming from it and yet, it meant nothing to him.

  Nothing in this fight except his anger meant anything to him, not the heir, not their petty grievances, not even the flashy and usually impressive techniques he had been using. Tunde had seen Highlords fight; he had fought for his very survival a few days back—what was one lord to that?

  He caught the palm, gathering Joran’s wrath right in front of Chun’s eyes, which widened when Varis’s voice broke through the air. “Enough,” he said as Tunde paused, turning his gaze to the Highlord. “This is a pointless battle, the victor is as clear as sunlight. Tunde of the Black Rock sect wins,” he decided as a loud roar broke through the air.

  Stepping back from the battered form of Chun, Tunde stared at his bloody hand, balling it into a fist before raising it high into the air, the roars intensifying. He turned his gaze to his friends—Ryka, Draven, Isolde, Giselle, Harun, and all the others who were on their feet, clapping—before turning his gaze to Varis who watched him with a thoughtful look.

  “They realize a predator when they see one,” Ifa said in his mind with a chuckle. “It is a fitting start to your tale, don’t you think?” the sentience continued as Tunde said nothing, turning his gaze away from Chun who passed out on the ground where he lay. He agreed with Ifa—it was a fitting start to the tale of the void devourer.