“You barged in here and broke our door just because you were hungry?” Marke cracked his neck in a way that brought several smirks and smiles to life within the tavern, as those that knew him were able to guess what was about to happen to the disrespectful intruders.

“Wait,” Benn snapped. He dashed over as quickly as he could and grabbed hold of Marke’s threatening arm. “Alen,” he called over his shoulder. “Why don’t you head into the kitchen and fix our guests something to eat?”

“What?” yelled the owner of the Barley Brew, a fat old man without a hair on his liver-spotted head. “The hell are you going on about—”

“Do it,” he hissed.

Marke winced as his wrist felt the strain of Benn’s hardening grip. “What’s gotten into you Benn?”

It wasn’t just Marke. Everyone else within the room had noticed the abrupt change in their village head’s behavior.

Benn panicked. Covered in cold sweat, he glanced at the boy with the golden hair, who stood quietly as he watched his companion negotiate with the room. Benn was at the tenth level of the Profound Entry stage and one of the strongest people that remained within Malben Valley, and yet he couldn’t sense the cultivation level of the boy in question. This meant that at the very least he was at the fourth level of Integration, an entire level above Count Algrave himself, whose cultivation Benn was capable of sensing.

He quelled a nervous gulp as it registered in his mind that the newcomers were all wearing the same style of dress. A vest-like robe that extended to just beneath the knees, draped atop a comfortable tunic with long and flowing sleeves and a pair of cottony pants the colour of pine. The tunic was the same natural shade as the pants, with a light dip at the collar that added a stylish element to the outfit.

Eyes lingering on the close-fitted robes, which were a lighter shade of green than the rest of the getup, Benn speculated that these people belonged to some sort of uniformed group.

“Go on and take a seat by the bar there.” He gave everyone a cautious stare and followed after the new patrons. “I’m Benn, the leader of Talen Village—that’s where you are right now, in Talen.”

“I’m Nolan,” said the boy that seemed to speak for the group. “He’s Ian, the unimpressed-looking guy is Sean, and the kid’s named Esteban. We’re just passing through this place, we won’t be long.”

Benn decided to chance an inquiry. “I can’t help but notice that you’re all dressed the same. Might you be members of one of the mountain clans?”

“No—well I guess Ian is, but these are our sect uniforms.”

“You’re members of a sect? May I ask which one?”

The brown-haired boy, Nolan, gave the room a perceptive glance. Despite the fact that well over a hundred people had gathered here, theirs was currently the only conversation to be heard.

“We’re from the Earth Sect,” he said loudly.

No matter what area of the continent one happened to live in, whether it was the vast stretch of mountains known as the Dragon’s Tail, the endless swathes of barren land that made up the Northern Wilderness, the numerous easterly kingdoms or those of the southern steppes, there existed a universal understanding in regards to martial sects. Regardless of one’s ranking in society, it would prove both foolish and dangerous to offend a member of such an organization. The same held true even in the Thebes Empire to the west where small sects of less than a thousand members held as much political power as many prominent noble houses.

Benn owed his limited knowledge of martial sects to his grandparents, who had walked away from a huge amount of debt that they had accrued within the empire to found an obscure village within an infantile mountain community far to the east, well removed from the desperate environment that prompted their long distance emigration.

Staring at the boy’s supposed sect uniform, Benn recalled something that his grandfather had said to him when he was a child. No matter the sect in question all of them ran on the fundamental basis of greed. Whether it concerned the strength of one’s cultivation, the resources that could be obtained in order to purport the growth of said strength, the desire for power both personal and political; the entire purpose of joining a martial sect was to satiate the hungers of the ambitious and the talented.

“Where is your sect based, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m wondering if I’ve ever heard of it.”

“The Three-River Valley,” said Ian, the golden-haired youth.

“Has there always been a sect based there?” Benn knew of the place that the boy had just mentioned, as it was one of the ten largest settlements within this region of the Dragon’s Tail.

“Since the war started, yeah.”

“War?”

Dozens of ears perked up at the boy’s words. Only one of the larger communities was capable of threatening the people of Three-River Valley, meaning that one of the main powers of the region had likely entered into a stage of expansion. Depending on the outcome of the conflict, there was a chance that the victor might pick a fight with some of the nearby settlements, as often took place during times of war.

“Oi, Nolan, was it?” Old Pete walked over to the bar and stared the youth in the eye. “You said someone’s gone and started a war with the people of the three rivers. Any chance you could tell us who done it?”

Benn caught on to what Pete was getting at. Count Algrave had claimed the entirety of Malben Valley for himself, though he had openly stated that he had done so in the name of his master, whoever that might be. That he ruled over their valley as a count as opposed to a City Lord meant that he was part of a feudal organization, and that he wasn’t at the top. Might his master have also set his sights on the other prominent communities in the area? Just who was this mysterious conqueror?

“All I’ll say is that the Three-River Valley is entering a—what’d your aunt call it again?”

“They’ll be evoking the Settler Edict and entering into a state of expansion. It’s basically on a first-come first-serve basis for anyone strong enough to make their way to the valley.”

“Ah yeah, like he said, they’re entering a state of expansion so they’ll be accepting new settlers in the coming months. Our sect will also be taking in members before the year is out.”

“Please,” said Benn with sincerity. “Could you tell us who they are warring with? Our valley has also been targeted, but we have no idea who’s behind it!”

Everyone stared at the boy named Nolan, Benn’s passion mirrored in each of their gazes.

“Is it really so bad here?” The boy slightly raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen a lot of war these past few months and this doesn’t look like a place that’s seen any. I didn’t see so much as a broken fence on our way—shit eh, guess I spoke too soon.”

“What do you mean?”

Benn noted the exchange of sharp stares that took place between Nolan and Ian. The two boys had shared a message with their hardened expressions, which softened immediately after as the owner of the bar placed a pair of treys before them. They immediately helped themselves to the heaps of meat and vegetables that Alen had pan-fried for them.

“You’ll see in a sec,” Nolan sighed. “Eh guys, you gonna eat or you just going to watch me and Ian muck this down ourselves?”

The quiet man and the timid boy quickly joined their companions at the bar, Pete having vacated his seat so that they could all sit together.

“Who is it that’s at war with the Three-River—”

“The Towering Eaves clan.” Ian washed down a mouthful of buttered bread with a sip of water as one by one everyone within the room began to tense up and stare toward the door. “Though the way things are going they won’t be around for much longer. Hey old man”—he looked over at the owner of the bar—“where can I take a piss?”

Alen hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward a pair of doors at the far end of the room. Ian stood up with a stretch and then left to relieve himself.

Benn didn’t have time to process the boy’s words, for his breath had caught in his throat as soon as he sensed the large group of life signals that had suddenly appeared within the street out front of the Barley Brew. Forty auras that ranged from the middle to the later levels of the Profound Entry stage, with five more approaching the door which hung slightly ajar upon its hinges.

“How long have the people of Talen Village been gathering in such numbers, I wonder?”

A short man strode into the room with confident steps, his sloppy smile outlined by a messy goatee with countless hairs of differing lengths. His eyes settled upon Benn, whose mind nearly blanked out at the sight of the tangles of greasy black hair that he had seen every time that he had been summoned to the count’s palace in Scane. Orven! He cursed his luck. Of all the people to visit the Barley Brew today, why did it have to be Count Algrave’s nephew?

The four men that had followed Orven inside were all at the peak of the Profound Entry stage, same as their leader. From the scars on their rugged faces and the dings and dents upon their dull plate armours of dark steel, their appearances screamed soldier in every fibre of their being. The violet scabbards at their hips were particularly eye-catching, as were the short ebony handles that protruded from them.

Benn’s stomach sank like a stone in water as he recalled the twenty Enforcers that served Count Algrave directly, the ones that had helped him murder the most powerful residents of Malben Valley. It was rumoured that each of them wielded an Essence Fusion weapon of some sort or other, though no one had seen them in use since the abrupt takeover of the valley, nobody that had survived anyway. There was a good chance that the four men that had just walked into the room were Enforcers of the count.

What was going on? This wasn’t a chance visit, not with so many powerful fighters standing at attention just outside of the building. The count must have caught word of the meeting, a frightening thought considering that the people of the valley were prohibited from gathering in groups that exceeded forty in number.

“I’ve called a meeting of the villagers,” Benn said as steadily as he could manage. “Our crops haven’t been fairing too well, so I called everyone here to discuss ways that we—”

“Are you sure that this has nothing to do with the disappearance of your family?” Orven walked over to where Benn stood beside the strangers that had entered the Barley Brew a few minutes before him, though he didn’t pay them any mind.

“How do you know about that?” Benn lost all patience in the face of the villains that had been taking advantage of the valley’s residents since they had stolen leadership away from the previous lord. “Where are they? What did you guys do to them?”

Orven let a tense silence build up before responding with a greasy smile. “You know full well where she is. At the palace with the others.”

Marke pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Why are you doing such terrible things? How can you terrorize us like this?”