A cultivator needs to craft their own weapon. Even if that weapon is their body.

~Lugh, God of Battle and Craft

“Little bird, are you going to sleep all day?” Song Xue called through the door impatiently, and Otto snorted from nearby. “What are you laughing at, fatty?”

“You want be toy-thing?”

“Knock it off, pervert. You aren’t touching my legs, and if you try it, I’ll take out your eyes.” She grinned as a knife appeared in each of her hands.

“Too scrawny. Like big women.” Otto laughed.

Song Xue’s mouth dropped out before she let out a loud guffaw, a sound that startled Crow so much that he flung open the door, afraid that something had happened. He saw both of them laughing and only then realized the sound was Song Xue’s laughter.

They looked over to see Crow standing there naked. Otto laughed even harder, and Song Xue turned a bright shade of red.

“Ahhhggg, you really are a pervert! Put some clothes on. Dammit, you soiled this pure flower with your vulgarity.” Song Xue cried out as she fled, but strangely she didn’t avert her eyes. Otto was rolling on the ground laughing so hard he was crying.

Crow slammed the door and dressed quickly before any more ‘little bird’ jokes flew about. He really was unlucky, and no one asked her to come knocking on his bedroom door this early in the morning. Damn, she really is a femme fatale, and she will be the death of him.

He only remembered passing out during the rite, but that didn’t explain why he was naked. It was an unfathomable mystery why significant events left him naked most of the time. If grandpa Niall was here, he’d cry foul. Crow wondered if this was karma’s way of messing with him.

“Oh!” Crow called out while quickly dressing. “When’s my fight?”

“Gavin say come. Fight soon,” Otto said.

They arrived at the study, and Gavin had gathered Niall and Luthais, but only the people in the room knew about the fight. Gavin told Crow it was a mistake not to include others, but it was one he would let the boy make. They left Song Lin in charge of the House of Danu, and Song Xue and Mara went about their day as they usually did.

Approaching the Plaza of the Gods, Niall led them to stand in front of a statue.

“Do you know who this is?” He asked Crow.

“Lugh…” Crow answered after reading the name on the plaque. “He’s the god of battle and craft.”

“Few know of him. Did you know he is also the god of storms and the grandson of Danu? Although you are right, his most notable title was Master of Craft because he excelled at many Scholarly Talents. I mention him because he wielded a spear. Like your arrows, he never missed. You could think of the spear as a bigger arrow,” Niall laughed. “This spear was so bloodthirsty it gained a spirit of its own and would battle with or without its master wielding it.”

“A Soul-Linked spear?”

“Yes, exactly right. Lugh crafted his weapon using yew as the shaft and Abyssal Stone as the tip, which had to be immersed in water to prevent it from constantly lashing out with fire. Its original name was Gae Assail, but we call it Spear of Assal now. It has two powers. It never misses, and the wielder can always recall it back to hand. Your personality is like Lugh, but your determination is like his spear—you subconsciously crave battle.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t fight?” Crow asked, not sure if his grandpa was complimenting or insulting him.

“Damn you, boy! You are the son of Conall, who is the son of Niall—we always fight,” Niall roared. “I’m saying you are like Lugh because you refuse to back down, even when the odds are against you. Wanting to battle isn’t wrong, but doing so mindlessly is a waste. The spear is the most deadly when it’s wielded by its master. If you must battle, then become the brutal nature of this spear so that everyone remembers your fight. Make your opponent fear winning as much as they fear losing.”

“I will, grandfather.”

“Good. Strategy is important. Sometimes the best course is patience, and other times it requires sending a message—warning those who come after what they should expect.”

Crow remained silent for a breath’s worth of time. “Is that how you are handling the clans targeting me? With patience?” The question came out more bitter than he’d intended.

“It is. These duels I can ignore, even awakening your Source early I can overlook, but cursing you? That is something that must be repaid in blood. The Druid clans have become complacent with their place in this world, but I have not. Our people do not belong in the lesser worlds, but we remain here because of clans like the Duncans. They vie for scraps while ignoring the fat sheep one field over. You don’t have to worry about that battle. All I need you to do is stand out in the Arena. You provided us the key to victory, and now I just need you to do this one last thing.”

“You brought before Lugh for another purpose,” Crow said. “Lugh was also known as the god of oaths, so he held dominion over kings. Lugh was the first to unite the Draoidh and lead them, and he wielded justice swiftly and without mercy. There were other gods more suited toward justice and unification, but he was the first.”

“You are the blood of my blood, after all. Remember, wars aren’t won through emotion but planning and cold-headed calculation,” Niall said, and Gavin and Luthais stood by quietly. “I used you. There is no nice way to spin that, but as your grandfather, I have been tormented by the decisions I’ve made for the last few years. As the clan head, the opportunity to unite the clans once more and cut away the rot that’s infested our ideals, it…”

“Was something that you must do,” Crow said for him. “Do you remember what you said to me the day my mother was taken? You were muttering, but I remember it clearly. You said that calamity is fate’s way of giving us one last chance to fix a wrong. Either we break, accept things how they are, or harden ourselves and rebel against fate itself. Do you remember what you said next?”

“The Maddox clan does not break,” Niall laughed and slapped Crow on the shoulder. “If only your father was as smart as you, that barbarian is a bloodthirsty spear without a master.”

“No, you are wrong,” Crow was smiling. “My father isn’t an ownerless spear. He is headed toward his master now—my mother is no weakling either.”

Crow and Niall, grandson and grandfather, laughed in front of the God of Battle and Craft, and no one noticed the twinkle in the statue’s eyes.

“Good, now leave an offering to Lugh. Maybe he will smile upon your offering.”

Crow thought for several moments and then cut his hand before wiping the blood upon the haft of Lugh’s spear. A faint trembling could be felt within the stone. It came and went so fast that Crow dismissed it.

“Hah! Now that’s an offering worthy of a son of Maddox,” Niall’s booming laugh caught the attention of most people nearby.

A ritual is sometimes a private thing, formed before anyone realizes it is happening. Crow cutting his hand and offer his blood to Lugh became one such ritual. He didn’t know why he made that offering, but it felt right. In his mind, he had already made the determination to perform this same sacrifice every time he came to the arena.

Hope was a dangerous thing because it gave people a will to fight against all odds. The ability to hang on when all seems lost. A budding ritual gave Crow hope. Made him feel worthy, despite knowing he went to fight a battle he couldn’t win. Lugh’s end was something Crow decided not to mention to his grandfather. The god died to the sons of a slain enemy, but he died with his honor intact. It was an omen Crow tried to ignore.

Approaching the massive building south of the Plaza of the Gods, Crow felt it odd that the structure had no grand name. Calling it Arena felt like calling Father Oak a tree—it just felt wrong.

While its name might be dry, the interior was extraordinary. Crow could barely keep his shock and awe in check as his head spun around from left to right and took in his surroundings. Five gigantic arenas lined the out walls of the place, with the entry being large enough to have been the sixth arena. They formed a ring around the raised central platform, which gave anyone standing there a view of the arenas below.

Each of the five arenas had a symbol and an ancient rune etched into the outer wall above it. Wood, Fire, Water, Stone, and Metal were represented with the symbols Tree, Flame, Waves, Rock, and Sword. In the middle, above Crow’s head, was the symbol for Storm, and he recognized the cloud and thunderbolt insignia because it was the same as the one on the god Lugh’s chest plate.

Each arena was surrounded by seats except where the platform touched the outer wall. Each platform was precisely a hundred meters across, not including the seating. True to their element, the arena platforms had terrain suited to it. Wood was a forest, which might or might not be an illusion. Crow couldn’t tell from where he stood. Fire Arena looked like the inside of a volcano. Water Arena was a foliage-infested area where rain fell non-stop. It contained a small lake roughly in the center. Stone Arena was inside of a cave, but the walls were transparent, like glass, but Crow knew the rock only looked like glass to the viewers. Metal was the only one that Crow really found odd. It looked like a graveyard of swords, and they were sticking out everywhere, sharp edges exposed, some nearly rusted through. The terrain was jagged too, which exuded a type of sharpness.

As the challenged, Crow was allowed to choose which arena to fight in. Since he couldn’t use his Source, Gavin helped him by picking arenas that weakened his opponent’s natural affinity. However, that also meant that Crow had to contend against the elements too.

“Hey kid, you think this is impressive? You should see the Storm Arena. We are currently standing on it, but it is only activated for special tournaments or events. Such as the Trial of Tur Briste, because it has a soul formation built into it. We haven’t discovered all the various types of trials and arenas that are stored within it, but you’ll see in a few months.” Gavin explained.

“Good luck, grandson,” Niall said.

“Any advice?” Crow asked Otto, and everyone turned to look at the big guy, curious as to why Crow was asking him.

“Get back up,” Otto responded in his straightforward way.

“Huh?”

“You lose. No experience. Lack Source. Knockdown ten times. Get up ten times.”

Crow laughed at the ridiculous advice but realized there was some profound truth to it. “Very well, ‘get up,’ I will.”

Otto smiled and shrugged. “Force fight. Think Crazy. Make fight. Make put down. Not win but respect. Unbreakable.”

Niall’s big laughter rang out, and he slapped Otto on the shoulder. “Spoken like a real man, I knew I liked you.”

Crow was nodding now. There was something to be said for tenacity—an unbreakable will. Then again, they weren’t the ones about to get the hell beat out of them. Not saying anything else, he stepped out onto the arena floor and gave one glance around, and in the crowd, he saw a dark-haired woman in white staring at him. A dagger appeared in her hand, and she slowly drew it across her throat. Crow shivered and looked away, knowing that he’d pay for today’s transgression. Gavin was right, and he should have told Song Xue. It was too late now, and Crow couldn’t help but grimace.

They were in the Wood Arena, so Crow assumed his opponent, who had just appeared, had an affinity for stone or maybe water. As the two faced each other, a moderator appeared between them.

“State your name and clan loud enough for the crowd to hear.”

“Crow, son of Maddox.”

“Ewan, son of Moore. As a man I seek—” Before he could finish, Crow started laughing loudly.

“A man? So to be a man of clan Moore, you just need to fight a cripple? No wonder no one has heard of the Moore clan. Stop talking nonsense. Let’s just get this over with.” Crow said sharply, not even holding back with his words, and the crowds’ sudden laughter caused Ewan’s face to burn with anger.

“Y-you, how dare—”

Crow looked towards the moderator and asked, “Can we start?”

“Yes, activating the formation now.”

Transparent walls appeared around the fighting area, allowing everyone to see into it but nothing to leave. As soon as it reached the ceiling, clouds appeared overhead, and a strong breeze blew through the trees. Crow ignored all that and funneled his Qi into his Ghost Steps. His speed nearly tripled, and he appeared in front of Ewan before he could blink.

Smack!

A massive slap rang out, and Ewan took a step back in shock. People in the crowd gasped and winced at the sound. Ewan had activated his Source to protect himself before the slap landed. He only took a step back out of surprise.

“It is true,” Crow called out mockingly. “You do have a thick face.”

Gavin, who’d been watching from above, had just taken a sip of his wine when Crow spoke up, and he spat it out with choked laughter. He wasn’t the only one, but all he could do was shake his head. “This kid can’t help but poke the bear. I just hope he knows what he is doing.”

“You know the cripple?”

“I’m an elder of the Maddox clan,” Gavin replied.

“He truly has no Source?” the man asked, and Gavin turned to see who was asking him questions, but the man had his face hidden deep inside a hood. It was ordinary Druid garb, but he thought most people already knew of Crow’s circumstances.

“His Source remains intact, but he was cursed by Soul Burn.”

“Oh?” The man asked, startled. “Who would use something as vile as that?”

“The boy won’t talk about it. He refers to his assailant as the Crimson-Robed man,” Gavin said. He obviously knew everything Crow did but stuck with the story the boy told everyone else. “We believe one of the clans hired outside help to target the boy. Crow is a genius, and that much is uncontested. However, no matter why, harming the younger generation is taboo, and using this method is despicable.”

“This kid has some guts. I’ve used Soul Burn on myself, an experience I’ll never repeat, and yet this boy can stand there and fight. Sure, he isn’t using his Source, but that doesn’t stop the fires, and he isn’t willing to take even a step back. I have to admit, his bearing is to my liking.”

Back down on the stage, Ewan hesitated. Crow’s slap was humiliating, but if that was all the power the cripple could muster, then he might as well be fighting a mortal. It worried him that one blow might kill Crow. This fight was genuinely one-sided.

“Just give up, admit defeat.”

“Never. You chose this. Force me out.”

“Stop being stubborn. This isn’t even a contest.”

Crow said nothing and moved forward, striking with his fist this time. There was no way his Qi had enough power to break through a mana-infused body. His only option was to last as long as he could and to trust his combat instincts to avoid the worst of the damage. Crow knew his martial ability was unparalleled, at least among the younger generation.

Ghost Steps had long ago reached mastery at the initial stage. Using this technique, Crow had long felt the bottleneck that could only be overcome by visiting a cemetery, which he’d put off. Still, he’d refined the ability allowing his movement to become something ethereal.

Ewan’s body was rocked by fist after fist, and he could not defend against the speed. However, unlike the first slap, not one of the blows forced him to move. His frustration was building up at not being able to block or return the strike.

By the sound Ewan made, Crow determined that the Moore boy’s control wasn’t perfect and that he couldn’t disperse all the force of the incoming strikes. It meant that should Crow survive long enough, he could wear this guy down. It had only been a few minutes since the fight started, and Crow already reached his full fighting potential. His muscles and body were relaxed as he danced around the boy in front of him. A barrage of fists, elbows, knees, and legs struck Ewan until they were both sweating. The entire time Crow kept moving, knowing that the moment he stopped was the moment he lost.

After an elbow slammed down onto Ewan’s forehead, causing him to finally stumble, the older boy stopped hesitating. Rather than dodge the next strike, the Moore clansman allowed it but slapped out in retaliation. Crow couldn’t recover fast enough and felt the palm slam against his chest. It was a weak strike, but Crow couldn’t prevent himself from getting knocked back. His body struck a few trees before tumbling to the ground.

“Definitely real,” Crow muttered as he pushed himself to his feet. He had to use a little bit of his Source to protect himself, which was unfortunate. Before he could settle himself and reengage his movement technique, Ewan had already arrived.

“Rock Fist,” Ewan murmured. Voicing the skill was something most of the younger generation was taught to help their focus. Crow found the practice to be stupid because it announced what they were about to do.

Regardless, Rock Fist was an elementary ability that turned Ewan’s fist into a rock that was three times larger than his fist. His punch was sloppy, but it carried the weight of his Source and the mass of a large stone. The moment the ability struck Crow’s body, he cycled as much of his Source as he dared, mainly to protect himself from severe damage. Despite all that, he still felt his ribs cave in and heard them snap even as he went flying through the trees once more.

This time, when he finally got to his feet, he had to lean against a tree to keep his shaking legs from collapsing. He spat out blood and tried to assess the state of his body. Broken bones were a given, but he didn’t sense any troublesome internal damage.

“Get back up, eh?” Crow laughed through grit teeth and forced himself to let go of the tree and stand independently. He didn’t know where his sanity had gone, but the fact he was still coherent was enough.

“Stay down,” Ewan growled, coming forward with another Stone Fist. This time, Crow rolled out of the way, but his broken ribs made his dodge look more like a lucky tumble. Once more on his feet, he knew Soul Burn would take his consciousness if he had to forcibly take another blow. Ewan didn’t want to risk using any other ability. His frustration with Crow’s unwillingness to stay down was obvious.

Crow spat out a mouthful of blood and vehemently roared, “Stop holding back, coward. I will not surrender. I will not bow my head. I do not fear defeat. If you want me to be a stepping stone, then by the gods, I’ll make you fucking earn it!”

Ewan sighed in his heart because he knew if Crow hadn’t been cursed, he wouldn’t be his match. Winning lacked glory, and yet losing wasn’t acceptable either. Damn his foolish brother for putting him in this situation. Honor or not, he had to end this.

“You can only blame your own stubbornness—”

“Keep telling yourself that, you shameless dog.”

“Damn you!” Ewan pulled heavily on his Source and activated one of his more potent spells. “Pillar of Stone!” He called out as a pillar of rock shot out from the ground, broad enough that Crow couldn’t dodge.

Crow curled his arms around his head, attempting to protect himself. When it hit, he felt his body leave the ground and flip several times before striking with a heavy impact against the barrier. He had no idea how high he flew, and his vision had already darkened by the time he hit the ground.

The hooded man standing near Gavin nodded his head in approval.

“Elder Gavin, is it? I’ll stop by tomorrow. I’d like to meet the boy.”

Before Gavin could reply, the man had already turned to leave. He wasn’t sure what to make of that but ran down to the arena to ensure Otto didn’t do anything foolish. Those two boys really make people gnash their teeth.