When Eric woke up completely refreshed 4 hours later, ears still ringing from the scream he had felt clawing the back of his throat… before firmly calming his racing heart, wiping free his sweaty palms, and slamming the terror and fury seeping through his subconscious firmly behind the door of ‘past shit that’s over and done with’… the first thing he did was go over his notes, having taken full advantage of the spiral notebook and pencils Samuel had on him without a lick of shame.

First, he made sure he could replicate both the sigils and septagrams he had inscribed onto the floor as a way to contain and hold both summoned spirit and necromantic energy that would empower the vessel. Then, with a fresh summoned spirit beast carcass, he made sure as well that he had mastered the ideal flow of necromantic energy through his vessel, so as to maintain the carcass much as possible and, when he reached a point of true understanding, allow it to rejuvenate the body to such an extent that the body was actually jolted back to full homeostatic life. Or at least, be able to mirror it, so long as the body maintained full integrity. That would be the point where Eric’s zombie-making skills would graduate to Revenant status, and would actually mark a significant accomplishment in any necromancer’s progression.

Of course Eric intended only to use the cadavers that he had claimed and kept in his ES Space just seconds after making his kills, assuring that cellular degradation was minimal, and almost assuring perfect specimens just a few heartbeats away from being revenant tier undead anyway. Or at least, that was Eric’s goal.

At long last, after checking his sigils a third time, he gave a satisfied nod, now feeling the gentle currents of necromantic energy through the sigils he had painted on his bull sized boar as clearly as he did the crimson flow of his own essence through the septagram both binding and containing all sorts of potent energies on the ground.

He couldn’t help but smile at the potent essence he sensed in his own blood, or how quickly necromantic energy seemed to line up like metal shavings to a magnet before it.

No wonder Necromancy was always portrayed as a path of wizards commanding legions of undead. At least in the stories he had read. Stories that seemed to contain seeds of truth after all, despite having been written in the pre-apocalypse.

Necromantic Energies seemed unusually malleable to control. And possessing both the Essence of Dominion himself, and about to embrace, with Samuel’s help, a school of necromancy actually titled Path of Dominion, he was quite optimistic that tomorrow as going to be a very good day.

But now, fully refreshed after just 4 hours sleep, allowing him to take full advantage of all his cognitive gains over the last few extremely hectic days, he found himself more than eager to study and learn all he could. He couldn’t help grinning with excitement when his thought of all the cool toys now at his disposal, such as the double brace of wands he had, designed to invoke Fire, Frost, and Lightning. All the arcane classes those tools might open up. Not to mention his glorious ace in the hole… his newly claimed plasma blaster, basically the arcane equivalent of a Tac-50 antimaterial rifle. A weapon he was damn certain no newly integrated world should have at the disposal of invaders if there were anything like rules in place where swords, spears and arrows seemed to be the order of the day, but at this point, he would put nothing past the goblins, or a corrupt System that was as much a tool for the elite to get and stay ahead, as a resource offering a ‘fair playing field’ for all.

He couldn’t help flashing a cold smile at the thought. Because sure as hell, if his foes could use it against him, he’d made damn sure to return the favor.

And of course, learning how to use his new toys wasn’t his only goal. Personal development was as well. Not just the necromancy skills, as fascinating as he had found last night’s lessons to be despite his exhaustion. He was eager to see what delicious stat-boosting boons he could earn with a hundred kills with his javelin, and perhaps with the blaster rifle as well. Titles he’d best scoop up soon, before someone else claimed first dibs on whatever potency would be unlocked from his world for a one time boon, in addition to greater class selections for everyone who at least tried to earn the titles.

Assuming he could earn any such titles at all, in this pocket realm.

A pocket realm he quickly found didn’t allow access to his Dominion Interface Map, only a local map that was intriguing enough.

Which meant it was impossible to contact with Caliban… and ask him, beg him, to get in touch with Rica, and let her know, however awkward it was through a third party, that he missed her terribly, felt awful about his psychotic mother who he had only found the other day was an actual power-mad Faerie Queen. That Aurelia Silver wasn’t just an opportunist working for a particular elven clan within the Sylvan Faction. Rather, she effectively WAS the Sylvan faction, with who knew how many Houses or clans within, each with their own Contenders and champions that all swore fealty, ultimately, to his mother. Including his own sister, who had somehow graduated from girl playing the role of a warrior-princess vying to unite a world under her banner… to truly being a Contender for Earth’s throne.

A thought which still filled Eric with a certain amount of bemused disbelief.

Almost as much as the fact that… technically… he was as well. Even though he was just in it for the sweet, sweet stat boons he hoped to acquire by consuming multiple territories under the Path of Endless Bounty. A path that would, hopefully, leave the lands he claimed at least a bit better than when he had founded them. Which, even if that didn’t always work out as he hoped it would, was a fuckton better than turning beautiful woodland vistas into desolate wastelands, even if the infusion to Strength and Vitality a certain darker path had promised would have been even more glorious. Because he loved nature, always had, and as much as he craved power, he wasn’t a monster.

At least, not yet.

But that didn’t change the fact that the Winter Queen herself had effectively invaded Rica’s space and probably terrified the hell out of her. And as much as Eric trusted his sister and would have her back against any foe, the fact remained that an unknown power had had little Ria utterly at their mercy, even if Elonia had done little more than coo at the child while Aurelia smiled her icy smile and coaxed whatever secrets she could from Rica.

And the worst part of it was, he couldn’t even ask her to forgive him.

Not when he dare not go anywhere near Freetown, especially not Blue Quarter, and most especially not the Blue Palace. Not until he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his mother and her lawyers and messengers were gone, and that there were no traps sprung that could turn Eric from a warrior living life on his own terms to a dull-eyed drone, enslaved by elven codices he didn’t even understand and was for the moment utterly ignorant of, that might bind him to her for life. For all he knew, elven children were the property of their parents for all time. God knew Aurelia had always treated both of her children like prized pampered pets more than people whose own needs or desires had any worth at all.

“Because sometimes ignorance really is bliss,” he muttered to himself.

And that was the kicker. For whatever reason, with the way arcane laws and obligations worked within the System, so long as he could honestly say he was in the dark about any particular issue, he was free of any traps or obligations that might otherwise ensnare him. But the moment he found out otherwise, especially if it was by Aurelia’s own lips, Eric was absolutely terrified that Sylvan magics of obligation and galactic laws would snap about his soul so tight that he would never break free.

And that was what tormented him most of all.

Of course he wouldn’t twice about racing through bullets and flame to save Rica and her child… and in a sense, had done just that. But as much as he adored Rica and her cute little dimpled smile, as much as he ached to hold her tight in his arms and drink in her cries of rapture with fierce hot kisses, as much as he savored the dream of holding her hand in his own, cherishing her as weeks and months turned to years walking by her side, forging a wonderful life together... the fear of becoming his mother’s slave, forever her puppet after being torn free of the Path of Power he had claimed as his own was a horror so great that not even the promise of Rica’s captivating smile could make him brave his mother’s vile knowing laughter, ever again.

Because as insane as it had been to think that just plugging his own ears with blood and his own essence would keep him free of the Winter Queen’s trap, it had worked.

As he had known it would.

And that same intuition made it damn clear that if he dared go back… he’d never leave a free man again.

Which meant that Rica was lost to him, no matter what he did.

At least here and now, he had a chance to grow in power, knowledge, abilities, possible class choices, and most importantly of all, all that really mattered…

Be free.

Above all else, he would be no one’s thrall. Most especially not his mother’s.

But still, the knowledge that that laughing bitch had effectively chased him away from a girl he had sworn to protect… a woman even Caliban feared could claim both him and all his wealth as if just an extension of her own property, unless he always stayed a step ahead of her… it filled him with a terrible rage and restlessness that begged for distraction.

Distraction that Eric found in the exquisitely crafted cultivation manual Samuel had tossed him, soon captivated by the exquisitely precise diagrams conveyed with just a few strokes of a masterful brush. Diagrams detailing the five major elements and the beneficent and destructive cycles between them. Wood fed Fire but destroyed Earth. Fire melted Metal and Metal Poisoned Wood. Yet from Metal flowed Water which itself Fed and nurtured wood.

Eric tried to think of it in terms of nutrient rich water feeding the roots of a great sequoia, which did indeed dig its roots into the Earth, after lush green canopy was fed by the life-giving fires of the sun. He smirked at the mental image that felt so harmonious to him. Sylvan, he supposed. Though what youth his age didn’t enjoy a walk through the forest?

Equally interesting, if not more so, were the depictions of meridian gateways and channels flowing throughout the bodies of various cultivators, and upon each depiction was what appeared to be an ideal circuit or, according to the manual, flow of Qi through the gateways forming a complete circuit through the cultivator’s meridian channels. Apparently, most cultivators had clogged gateways and channels full of waste and sludge, and the earliest steps of any cultivator’s journey was getting rid of this buildup of waste and toxins within the body. Early steps that would nevertheless go a long way towards improving health, mindset, and longevity by purifying the body and cleansing the gateways to let in a steady supply of life-giving spiritual energy.

He momentarily thought of how deep breathing exercises, yoga, and aerobic exercise all helped to clean lymph nodes and perhaps touched upon the more physical aspects of this cleansing. And Eric could easily see how healthy living probably did contribute to the improved health to those practitioners, yet he sensed it went far deeper than that. A tingle in the back of his mind, an echo of whatever he had experienced with his Trash Tier technique, and he was suddenly certain that this was the farthest thing from a crackpot text.

It might not be Western medicine, but it most definitely had truths conducive, if not outright vital, to his own growth and wellbeing.

In fact, it’s explanation that the core Eric was currently infusing for the sake of a System approved Class involved his Upper Dantian and was quite separate and distinct from the Lower Dantian used by most cultivation manuals including this one, which would be where most cultivators eventually hoped to forge their own cores, was eye-opening, answering a question he had only just begun to wonder about.

The manual then went on to explain that the System, an ever jealous beast, would try to lure cultivators along its own path using Middle Dantian hybrid classes that were ultimately just System creations that might allow one to use Spiritual Energy as well as Arcane to attack or heal oneself, but it’s artificial crystalline paths couldn’t hold a candle to the powers of true cultivation.

Eric smirked at that, the friction between what he supposed were competing growth paths within the multiverse made exceedingly clear with the scathing commentary in what was otherwise a very concise and to the point manual.

Though he did find it curious, as he continued to flip through the work, getting a feel for the manual as a whole, when seven meridian gate diagrams became ones showcasing the more complex patterns that would be practiced by those possessing 12 major gateways.

Eric’s eyes widened as he made out the title of that sub-discipline. The Royal Path.

Though he almost slammed shut the book entirely when, with a half-smile, he flipped the pages to the next section, blinking before a depiction that could only be called primal. What looked like the outline of a massive serpent with wings, showing no less than 18 meridian gateways, headed by the chapter title: “Dragon’s Domain.” That section was definitely more intricate and detailed than the others, with a fusillade of honorifics, as if the author were genuinely afraid of offending a draconic reader perusing their work for sheer amusement’s sake… the very end of that extra long chapter stating that the next sub-section would be applicable only to a dragon-lord’s most favored servants.

And there Eric flipped the page, finding some brief notes on the most basic of cultivation exercises that would be practiced by orcs, goblins, and ogres. All of which, Eric was more than slightly amused to see, had only 5 Major Meridian channels of significance. But the tome assured that cultivation would prove exceedingly beneficial even to their inferior bloodlines.

Eric couldn’t help but grin at the tone, pausing only long enough to check on Samuel and more relieved than he cared to admit to find that his charge was completely free of fever or swelling and that, save for still looking a bit emaciated, which Eric was sure some more grilled bacon and organ meat would rapidly cure, he seemed well on the road to a rapid and complete recovery, as one would expect from a 16 year old boy otherwise in excellent health.

He noted as well that the stone slab of a door was undisturbed, the ventilation holes unmolested, and he didn’t spot a lick of hostile killing intent, which he had been surprised to feel so strongly in this realm, pointed their direction from anywhere. And the fact that his sense of a Title meter slowly filling that he had gained after so many tusker kills the day before still felt just as full even after his rest, made him hopeful that, if he wasn’t being delusional about the whole thing, there weren’t time limits on titles earned in this pocket realm either.

Pure sweetness.

Now, to stop delaying.

Because as much as he feared finding out that his System’s mockery was for good reason, and that if he failed to glean anything here, in a realm so rich in Spiritual Energy aspected in his favored element, then he might as well hang his head and accept that he was no more a cultivator than Samuel, able to taste but not truly touch anything of significance… he also knew he’d be a fool not to try.

No matter how many frustrating hours it took just to sense his own meridian channels, let alone do anything with them, it was certainly worth the effort. Perhaps it was even more important than trying to snatch up a quick title or two before the invisible timer none of them could see finally ran out, and the period of title boons was over.

If anything, now was the perfect time to dare this path, he told himself, licking dray lips and drinking deep of his final ice-tea filled flask, feeling his heart genuinely racing as he read through the first twenty pages very thoroughly before coming to the heart of this manual, what made it so different from the dozens of cultivation novels he used to enjoy reading, once upon a time.

Because no gruff, but ultimately kindhearted white-haired master sensei, or training regiment requiring hundreds of hours of meditation and exhaustive exercise, was needed for him to reach a state where he could get a sense of his own spiritual energy flows.

According to the manual, one needed only to touch the corresponding diagram to get a sense of one’s own inner meridian network and Qi flow. An act that would allow the privileged owner of this manual to achieve what would normally be an extremely difficult and time-consuming process in the literal blink of an eye, thanks to the manual’s help.

Only then would one be ready to take their first true steps along the path of cultivation, mastering the arduous process of cleansing waste and impurities from channels and strengthening their pathways. It was a process that itself could only be done over a period of months for a few geniuses and monsters, or years for everyone else. Because only by breaking down the blockages clogging their meridian gates, could they ever hope to actively channel the flow of Qi through their bodies, or one day, far in the future, build their own core.

Also according to the manual, the natural flow of life force and spiritual energy experienced by the unenlightened was entirely due to peripheral channels that coincidentally mirrored one’s lymph nodes, and was entirely auxiliary to the primary channels that the manual focused on.

“I knew those charts were magical,” Eric said with no small amount of excitement, filled with an unexpected and profound sense of relief that he had finally stumbled upon a crucial bit of aid that was no doubt the right of any scion anywhere else but here on Earth. The key to those first crucial steps, learning to sense one’s own channels and Qi flow, however clogged it might be. And what could be more vital to any cultivator than a Spiritual Energy diagram that would resonate with his own Spiritual energy flows and let aspirants understand themselves in their own mind’s eye? How better to strengthen and purify one’s own network of gateways and channels?”

Eric flashed a relieved smile, knowing he was hesitating, but taking a final bit of solace that the book had conceded with what almost seemed smug satisfaction when comparing itself to hybrid System classes.

Because it seemed that System-generated classes weren’t the only ones that could benefit from surges of potency… the book conceding what it itself confessed had once been a closely held secret safeguarded by sages terrified that cultivation would be twisted along evil paths. But considering that any System enhanced adventurer could level up simply by embracing bloody slaughter, the book revealed a long held cultivation truth. For those with even the slightest amount of the correct affinities… the potency of one’s kills could also be converted into pure spiritual potency that could cleanse, strengthen, and revitalize one’s entire network.

The book went on for a page or two imploring its practitioners to stick to the true path, while still making it clear that Cultivation could be embraced for the same quick, savage, glorious gains as System level-ups through slaughter.

Eric chuckled softly and shook his head, suspecting that he knew exactly what was meant by the right kind of affinity.

If his hunch was correct, he had all that he needed to excel along a path that would eventually allow him to claim Vitality infused Peaches that could add years to his life.

But only if he could embrace and learn cultivation techniques in a period of weeks that might otherwise take months or years for anyone to master. Years for those who didn’t have their lives impaired by literal dozens of sentient spirit boars just as eager to gore Eric to death as their upright orcish kin. Bloodthirsty beasts that Eric was just as eager to hunt down as they were to hunt him, heady thoughts racing as he contemplated all the ways they might fill him beyond a happy belly and an increasingly saturated Upper Dantian.

Eric fastened his gaze upon the text with desperate intensity, trembling fingers gently touching the exquisitely rendered sketch of a man showcasing so perfectly the idealized flow of energy between his seven meridian channels.

For long moments Eric stared, trying to lose himself in the picture, as his heart began to pound.

Whispering a soft curse as stinging eyes caused a drop of water to strike the precious page before skittering off, the crackling spiritual energy protecting the precious manual from damage of any sort.

Including a cultivating failure’s bitter tears.

Eric hissed and closed his eyes shut.

It was all he could do not to slam the priceless book against the far wall.

Instead, he leaned his head back and allowed the sting in his eyes to slip down cheeks as he took slow breaths, seeking to center himself as best he could.

“You’re being a winy bitch. Who the fuck cares if you don’t get any golden peaches? You’ve stolen an impossible fortune of gold. Rescued your friends. Have over half a hundred in Strength, and are getting one-on-one lessons from a necromantic prodigy who isn’t playing games, or holding anything back. What level niner has any of that?”

Eric rubbed away the stupid sting in his eyes, giving a rueful shake of his head. “Even now, I dare stride a path of power that would put me heads and shoulders beyond the most elite spoiled scion in the galaxy. I’d fucking bet my fortune on it, assuming I live long enough to put it into full effect. So who the fuck cares that I can’t cultivate worth shit?”

He closed his eyes, hating the bitter sting. Knowing he had felt something, something! When he had pushed away that lich that had been intent on flooding Junk Town with the undead… or maybe it was just a ghost of envy that he felt, and really nothing more than that, his Wrath and other essences already a grand boon he was grateful just to have.

But still, no need to let the book go completely to waste.

He shook his head and did the breathing exercises as best he could. Imagining, perhaps just for the sake of imagining, a gentle flow of energy swirling through mostly clogged channels, visualizing tiny bits of impurities exiting with each exhale… before altering his mental image to one of his waste being burnt away by his own sweet hot Fire essence. Because why not? It was just a fantasy, and meditation had always relaxed and focused him, the very few times in his life he had been able to sit still long enough to even try.

The only thing he didn’t like about his visualized practice was that it felt vaguely… wrong.

And he had no idea why.

He wasn’t aware how much time had passed when he finally opened his eyes, gazing at the bemused countenance of a much improved-looking Samuel peering thoughtfully down at him.

“Didn’t work for you either, huh?”

Eric smirked. “How can you be so sure of that?”

The boy quirked an eyebrow, pointing to the crumpled book in the corner.

Eric winced. “Shit. I thought I had resisted? Guess not.”

“Don’t worry,” the boy said with a chuckle. “The book’s surprisingly resilient, I’ll give it that. And at least the pictures are cool to look at, aren’t they? Just close your eyes and hover your hand over those enchanted sketches, and it almost gives you a sense of what we have to do. Almost. Even if we can’t make out a word that the book actually says.”

Eric blinked at that, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Because hadn’t he read every word?