My eyes wandered over the countless retainers across the yard. Some of them were locked in spars, weaving through with the blades, while others seemed to be running simple drills.
And through each of them, I could now feel the power radiating from them, the Ichor hanging in the air, ever present though more heavy.
After the trial, I had noticed it now. I could tell whether someone was a Touched or not. Feel for the number of Reliquaries sitting in them.
Most of them were Shaped. It was not that being Shaped was common. In fact, it was far from the case, but here before me was the elite of the Claiom retainers. The banner that directly served the head of the house, which was Harren in this case.
And all of them were led by Arn. A Transformed. One of the few in that rank among the House of Claiom, or the whole world for that matter. After all, their number was probably no more than a hundred.
Arn himself had come from one of the collateral lines of Claiom, and yet by his sheer strength he had been able to climb through the ranks, now standing as one of the closest confidants to Harren, leading his banner.
After all, it was not easy for the ones from collateral lines to rise this high. In fact, it was even hard for them to have an Aspect to begin with.
That was how it was for all the major houses. At the top there was the main line, the one holding the rights to succession where the Head came from.
Then there were the sub-lines, where most of the retainers of each house generally came from. Each house had dozens of different sub-lines going on, just to show the scale of each house.
And then there were the collaterals. Their sheer scale was even larger than the subs, but their bloodline was generally diluted enough that there being a Touched within them was vanishingly rare. Still more likely than among the general population, but still rare enough to be an anomaly.
And House Claiom was not even the biggest house; in fact, in size terms, it was probably the weakest and smallest. And yet the political power that it carried almost rivalled the Big Three of Life, Death and Strength.
After all, dream-based abilities were just that notorious and feared.
As I walked down the steps, I noticed heads turning toward me, and none of them seemed to carry the disdain the rest of the house carried for this face.
After all, they all had come to acknowledge Yun for the effort he had put in. But none of that had ever helped the rumours about him.
Well, let us just say, he did not have the best image out there.
Nothing but a spoiled brat of the head, entitled and never putting in any effort, that was how the world and the rest of the house viewed him.
To think I had already been branded as a bum despite not even having any say in it. Life really is unjust.
This is what I get for quite literally creating this world.
He finally fully turned to face me, his arms crossed in front of him as his hair slightly carried on the wind.
He was also one of the characters I had designed myself; after all, he had played an important role in the coming war. And looking at him now, I almost snickered at that.
Well, that is where his Sandbearer Aspect had come from, simply put.
Some part of me could not help but wonder, though, how lucky Yun had been to be trained by something like him. Most of the Touched would cross the world to be trained by someone like him after all.
And now I was sure going to milk the benefits that this body had left me with, of training under him.
"Heard you survived, young master," he spoke, his voice rough, yet seemingly light as a small tug sat on his face.
That was when I realised it: technically, he had been the last person Yun had seen, as he had fainted, only to never wake up again after that.
"Apparently," I muttered, already searching for my Jian in the corner.
"Shame, I had finally gotten used to peaceful mornings," he spoke, a short laugh in his voice.
"You will not be getting rid of me that easily."
I turned, already going to get the thin double-edged blade sitting in the distance.
It was thin, impossibly so compared to the other blades around it. It had been the only one that Yun had been able to manage to swing, after all, considering his strength. But that very necessity had given birth to a monster.
He had been just that skilled with it.
From the corner of my eye, I could already see Arn rolling his shoulders, preparing himself for the spar.
That was how it was for him through all those years. Coming here, sparring with Arn, getting beaten miserably, and working on the imperfections that led him to lose for the rest of the day.
And yet, never had Arn refused a spar; after all, I knew it deep down: he had enjoyed sparring with him despite the enormous gap that had sat between them.
He had never once used his Aspect against Yun. But a Touched was not just about their Aspect or Mark; they were quite literally a higher being compared to others.
So it was safe to say that even without Ichor, he had always held him back to the brim, and yet Yun had never even managed to land a single blow on him.
"So, how was it?"
His voice reached me from behind as my fingers wrapped around the black-threaded hilt of the Jian, the other hand already reaching for the worn sheath as I slid the blade out slowly. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
He had held this same blade for all those years, the blade that I was now going to use; the thought of it sat heavy within me.
"Fine."
I turned to notice his eyes on me. But he did not push.
"And what did you get?"
"Not much. I do not know how to use it yet," I muttered, and maybe he noticed the annoyance under my words.
"Well, you will figure it out."
I felt the weight of the blade settle into my fingers.
It was weird; it was the first time I myself had held it, but it almost felt like it was a part of my very own body, an extension of my skin.
"No Ichor then?" he asked me as I entered the ring, my feet tracing the packed dirt that had finally loosened under constant footsteps.
"Not yet," I muttered.
It was far too early for that. I did not even know what the hell my Act even meant or did yet. And while I did have an inkling of what the limits of my Imprint were, it was far from something I could use in an actual battle yet.
Arn unsheathed his long sword, the blade gleaming under the sun, its length almost double that of the sword that I myself carried.
I could almost feel my heart thrumming within me slightly now.
Is this how all the characters feel before a fight?
Damn, I love it.
My lips twitched slightly as I noticed that a grin had almost threatened to spread across my face.
My body moved almost instinctively, my right hand, the one holding the Jian, dropping low, the blade’s tip in my centreline, sitting at my eye line.
My left hand moved above my head, curving slightly in an arc as my body formed a crescent with the blade.
A short breath released from my mouth as I noticed Arn drop his sword in front of him, the tip lowered, both his hands around the thick hilt.