Eric couldn’t help but flash a grin as Pavel gave him the strangest look, before his happy demeanor turned to an angry frown.

“Eric?”

“Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” The near legless Pavel winced. “Seeing as my life is literally in your hands...”

Eric sighed. “Even though it’s in my ES Space, the interface isn’t letting me claim the mystic armor or swords of Scar’s cronies. It says I’ll jeopardize my cultivation base if I try to claim those artifacts.”

“Of course.” Pavel nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Eric’s brow tightened with frustration. “But that makes no sense! I was able to claim Scar’s gear with just a thought! The system even said it would be cheaper to permanently bind the treasures to my person, which is a damn good thing, because I can feel how heavy it is, even inside my storage space.”

“That’s because you claimed Scar’s equipment fighting only with melee weapons, cultivation powers, and fists. The spiritual requirements have been met, so all his cultivation treasures are yours. The pair you took out with your highly illegal blaster rifle, on the other hand, can no more have their treasures claimed by you than by any street thug or assassin.”

He paled at the look on Eric’s face. “Please don’t drop me. I do naught but report the truth. Once you walk the cultivator’s path, particularly with spirit-treasures, you begin to walk karma’s path as well. At the very least, that means one sect can’t steal from another by assassinating their competitors with sophisticated arcane weaponry from miles away. As far as your blaster is concerned, I could care less. Even though that weapon is outlawed on all newly transitioned worlds, and the damned thing took out my legs.”

Eric sighed. “Yet somehow, a band of cutthroat goblin assassins triple my level were permitted to use it against me.”

Eric took a certain bleak satisfaction that even Pavel’s features hardened at the mention of the slimiest conniving bastards in the galaxy, as far as Eric was concerned.

“Lucky for me, outlawed assassin blaster or not, even the System acknowledges my right to make use of any equipment I claim from my would-be killers.” He chuckled ruefully. “Though it seems that karma, the cultivator’s version of the System? Draws the line at my using blasters to claim spiritual treasures, even if I was acting in pure self defense.”

Eric peered thoughtfully at the man trying to keep a stoic expression as Eric made his way towards shelter, his life so utterly in Eric’s hands that he felt something painfully close to a parent’s responsibility for a wounded child. Even if Pavel was a grown man, he was crippled, his life now utterly in Eric hands.

“As for what happened between us earlier, I’d say I’m sorry but… well, let’s just say the me of right now is sorry that the you of right now is crippled, wants to help, and hopes we can be friends.”

This earned a painful chuckle from Pavel. “After not only sparing but saving my life, now going so far as provide me with shelter? We are most definitely friends.” The cultivator’s smile turned imploring. “And if you can actually help me rescue my wife and children… even just help me restore my legs so I can claim them myself...” The dark elf swallowed. “I would consider you my kung fu brother for life, and will gladly swear an oath to that effect.”

Eric’s pleased smile turned thoughtful. “Speaking of oaths… how binding are they? More to the point, how exactly does this karma thing work? Seeing as I now have Pristine Meridians that I plan on filling with mystical fruit juice in the very near future...”

This earned a pain-filled chuckle.

Eric winced. “Sorry, didn’t mean to jostle you. You’d think with my absurd Finesse stat...”

His new friend shook his head. Even as he squeezed tight the straps securing stumps still oozing blood. An injury which worried Eric to no end. “No. The burden is mine to bear. For you, all I have is gratitude. As to your question, unlike the depictions within the novels my wife loves to read, karma’s chains rest lightly upon our souls. Fight fellow cultivators in honorable duels if you can, save in times of conquest or war, using the skills and Qi abilities you’ve honed as a cultivator.” He patted Eric’s shoulder. “Of course, no one can blame you for embracing the art of survival above all else. But if you refuse to rise to a cultivator’s principles, his spiritual treasures will forever be forbidden to you.”

Eric gave a relieved smile. “Okay, so you can choose to accept duels and have at it with melee weapons or Qi attacks if you want their loot, but the System, or karma, won’t rupture your foundation if you do whatever the hell you have to, in order to survive. You just get a greyed-out loot panel. Is there anything that might do worse?”

“Worse?”

Eric nodded. “Like, you know, rupture your foundation? Your cultivation base?”

“Of course.” Pavel nodded.

Eric winced. “Shit.”

The dark elf laughed. “Basically it amounts to keeping your word.”

Eric smiled. “So, the Cultivator’s Oath thing is in full effect.

“Indeed it is. And a wise cultivator may be agreeable and friendly, but he swears to very little.”

Eric froze, gazing intently down at the suddenly worried-looking Pavel.

“Young Master?”

Eric winced. “Alright, that’s silly. Just call me Eric. No more pretense.” He flashed a bemused smile. “Besides, you already gave me your word not to stab me or my mine in the back so… we’re doubly good.”

Pavel flashed a relieved smile. “Thank you for your trust, Eric.”

“But that still begs the question… has your sect trapped you in a dozen oaths that basically makes you their bitch for all eternity? How worried should I be, if we end up parting ways?”

Pavel actually chuckled. “Very little, actually.”

Eric blinked. “But I would have thought...”

“That I was a slave in all but name? Not at all.” His bemused smile faded. “Scar might have been a bit of a menace, the mirror of his father, but, fortunately, that elder controls only a very small faction within our sect.”

Eric frowned. “But that won’t stop him from striking you dead if you’re forced to deliver news of Scar’s death, and he’s at least powerful enough that he’ll receive no more than a snap on the wrist.”

Pavel sighed and nodded. “Precisely,” he said, as they approached their little clearing, and Eric was surprised by his startled cry when the all too familiar animated skeleton raised its bony tusks in what Eric thought of as polite greeting, and not for the first time, Eric wondered if Samuel could sense the area beyond the cavern entrance, thanks to his sentinel.

Eric cleared his throat. “It’s me, Samuel! I’m back with a… guessed. So for fuck’s sake, no shooting!”

But Pavel was still gazing at the animated skeleton with something bordering on terror. “Heaven’s Mercy!”

Eric frowned down at the man. “Seriously? You’re sect wields Wind Qi that can cut clean through a spirit boar like a slab of butter, and you’re frightened of a simple skeleton?”

But Pavel’s wide-eyed look of horror only grew. “Eric, this is necromancy!”

Eric nodded. “I know.”

Pavel gazed at Eric for long moments. “Please don’t tell me you’re a...”

Eric winked. “I’m a lot of things, my friend. Still figuring out my path, actually, before I finalize my level ten class.”

“But Eric, necromancy is a forbidden art!”

Eric snorted at that.

“More importantly for you and I, daring such arts risks tainting your meridians!”

Eric nodded. “That much I already figured out. Fortunately, I have an edge.”

Eric chose to interpret his friend’s look of speechless horror as curiosity. He winked, whispering to a trembling Pavel as he entered the spacious cavern within. “I’m aligned with fire. I can burn plaque away pretty damn quick, especially if it didn’t have a lifetime of mortal living to calcify right onto my meridian vasculature.”

“Eric, elemental affinity, even one as useful as your own, isn’t a trump card for burning away impurities!” Pavel frowned in sudden thought. “Though your affinity might give you an edge, allowing you to clean your plaque a bit faster than those of other affinities.”

Eric laughed at that. “Actually it works damn well when your soul is also attuned to the essence of flame.”

Pavel’s look was one of disbelief. “You’re saying you’ve actually managed to kindle Soul-Flame as a basic cultivator?”

Eric sighed and shook his head. “I don’t even know what that means. All I can tell you is that yes, necromancy will spit up plaque like a sick child spewing on a snow-white rug, but I can burn it away pretty damn quickly. But considering the fact that I need to keep my Pristine Cultivation base pristine, I haven’t touched the necromantic arts for weeks beyond practicing with chalk, and I don’t plan to any time soon. Not until I’ve claimed a certain set of royal peaches for myself.”

Pavel was slack jawed at hearing Eric’s plan. “Wait, it wasn’t just sheer mischance that had you claimed a spirit fruit before Scar could claim the boon of a title of his own, the first beyond sword mastery he’ll have ever earned? You truly are competing with our sect to claim the imperial fruit!”

And before Eric could even respond, Pavel was screaming at the sight of a boar the size and mass of a rhino that was snorting and stomping on the ground, glaring Eric’s way with eyes lit with an eldritch green flame.

Eric laughed with approval, giving a rapidly approaching Sam a thumb’s up. “Sweet revenant, buddy! I’m glad I left you my largest kills to play with.”

Sam gazed at their newest guest with a look of rapt interest. “Shit, Eric, what the hell happened? And who’s your friend?”

Eric chuckled. “Pavel? Meet Sam. Aspiring cultivator and as badass a necromancer and as skilled an instructor as you could possibly want.”

The pale-faced dark elf gazed at Sam for long moments, before bowing his head. “I am in awe of your wizardry… for all that I fear for your peril.”

Sam winced. “Yeah, I know. This really, really isn’t good for me. At least not yet. Not till my meridians are so clean I can cycle away any new plaque without it sticking to the old and clogging my channels so bad that I’m stuck endlessly chipping away at it again, just trying to clear enough to cycle.”

Sam’s rueful chuckle turned to a hard-eyed glare. “But priorities change when you find out a kill squad was sent to claim your prizes and purge your ass. I’d rather slow down my cultivation and have a nice present for any sleaze-bag looking to kill me than be easy meat for assholes far better at the cultivating game than me.”

Pavel winced as Eric put him down on one of their grass-stuffed hide cushions as best he could, before nodding thoughtfully at Sam’s words. “When you put it that way, I can find no flaw with your strategy.”

Sam smirked. “I take it you’re one of the assholes who came to kill me, and my kung fu brother took pity on your legless ass?”

Eric glared Sam’s way. “Dude! Seriously?”

Yet Pavel was chuckling, albeit painfully. “That’s pretty much exactly what happened. Your master… kung fu brother? Did take pity on my fallen form, rescuing me from boars I was too exhausted to fight off any longer. And although I never held malice towards either of you and was compelled into the service of my former superior...” he sighed. “It’s true. I didn’t fight his commands, for all that Scar and his father subscribe to the old ways. Service without question until death.”

Eric winced. “So you were oathbound.”

“Only to Scar personally, and only for the length of a single mission. Even his corrupt, overzealous father would have earned too many raised brows did he dare try to compel me any further than that.”

Sam gave Eric a pointed look. “Who is this Scar and his cronies?”

Eric smirked, answering by pulling free the gear owned by Scar himself, the only one who’s spirit treasures he could make us of without imperiling his cultivation base, though it seemed that making use of mundane supplies from any of them caused no strain at all.

But with a perilous objective now demanding his immediate attention, he refused to do anything that might cause even the slightest tremor within his foundation.

Sam’s eyes widened with awe when Eric traded his own armaments for the Wind Blade and the shimmering hauberk of pristine mithril links he had successfully claimed from Scar, leaving on only his essence-infused aketon as padding.

The young necromancer flashed a brilliant grin, giving Eric a thumbs up. “Sweet fucking prizes! They are radiating magical Qi… or, I guess were calling it Spiritual energy? It’s badass, but it isn’t exactly arcane. So, I take it the assholes are dead?”

Eric smirked and pulled out all the bodies with an act of will, even as he tightened the straps of the loose chain mail long shirt that went half-way down his thighs, this artifact constructed much like mail shirts had historically been back on Earth, with plenty of room to fit all types of people and degrees of padding, using multiple straps and cords to tighten and evenly distribute the weight. Which meant that one size truly did fit all.

Eric was gazing at Pavel with something close to awe. “Dude, I feel the weight of this shirt!”

The dark elf’s eyes twinkled. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

Sam quickly shook his head. “No, you don’t get it! With my Strength, it should be light as a feather.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Like my saber, designed for English cavalrymen with a hoped-for average of 12 Strength, though a well trained swordsman of 10 Strength and decent Vitality can use it almost as well. But now, my saber feels so light, that it’s like I’m just flicking a reed around, and when I embraced my own fucking ingrained instinct and tried to rip Scar open with an iado skill check, all I got was mocking laughter and a Qi strike that nearly killed me!”

Pavel flashed a sad smile. “Before your Boar Punch struck with such force that you ruptured his skull, and snapped his neck, killing him instantly.”

Eric refused to flinch at the memory at the sound of crunching bone and squirting brains, a precious life filled with endless potential he had no choice but to claim. “Damn right I did. It was him or me, and I will feel no shame cleansing the world from psychopathic monsters who think nothing of enslaving others by oath or collar, or heading kill squads happy to crucify what they thought was a powerless young man.”

Sam whistled. “Sounds pretty badass! But Boar Punch?”

Eric smiled. “He means a corkscrew overhand.”

Sam blinked. “And you killed him with that?”

Eric gazed at his friend for long moments. “74 Strength. 67 Quickness. Rank 10 in Unarmed, mostly thanks to you. That asshole’s head exploded like a melon. And I came so close to dying, I don’t even want to think about it.”

Even Pavel paled at those numbers, Sam chuckling bitterly. “I hate you so much right now.”

Eric smirked. “Love you too, Sam.”

“I think it was the surge of Qi that killed him as much as your mighty blow,” Pavel opined.

Eric winced. “I think I’m doing something wrong. I was so badly hurt I could barely tell, then, but the first time I actually managed to channel Qi… I felt like it was tearing me apart. And that’s even after I selected the Empty Fist perk for my unarmed skill evolution.”

Pavel frowned thoughtfully at Eric. “I fear I know very little about System skill evolutions. But as for your difficulties channeling Qi through your blows without tearing yourself apart, that is easy enough to explain. You’re still a basic cultivator Eric, and I can sense that you have only just completed that most crucial first step on the path to ascension: Forging vital channels between all of your meridians. It’s only when you forge peripheral channels aligned with your unique affinities and proclivities that extend all the way down to the tips of your fingers… or feet, if you favor kicks, that you can safely channel Spiritual Energy through your own body into the environment at large, without risking rupture, or forcing the formation of imperfect peripherals.”

Eric blinked. “Shit. So even if I am on the verge of intuiting a Qi Strike...”

“Best hold off until you’ve achieved the ideal peripheral meridian formation under the guidance of a clan elder.”

Eric chuckled bitterly. “Of which there are none, Earth pretty much forbidden from any access to any decent trove of knowledge, thanks to some shadow council eager to keep us weak and cripple our potential. All to make sure that we can’t compete with the scions of who knows how many powerful sects that are out there, all of them eyeing Earth like a juicy ribeye steak, all of them eager to get their cut of the action.”

Pavel’s expression grew solemn. “I fear you are right, friend Eric. The headmaster of our entire sect, who is himself aligned to fire, is expecting this fruit for his own lastborn son, after all. The last thing he’d dream of being a concern is, well, native interference.” His gaze turned apologetic. “I fear ours is not the only quartet that you will be forced to face, in pursuit of those spirit fruit.”

Eric shook his head. “Bloody fuck. Of course they aren’t. No doubt I’ll have to deal with more level 30s who can use their Qi attacks freely. An advantage I have no hope of matching as a Rank 12 cultivator. Because after that punch, I felt sick as shit, and I’m now certain that not all of it was from Scar’s Qi attack. I think it was my own as well. I’m just grateful as all hell that my channels don’t feel strained now… or maybe they were repaired along with everything else, after an hour’s comatose slumber.”

Pavel’s eyes widened. “You feel no strain, truly? After your Qi strike tore through Scar’s skull?” He nodded thoughtfully. “But of course. It is exactly as you said. System Classers really do regenerate, all their injuries repairing fully in an hour’s time.”

“Only those who have Vitality over 20 can actually regenerate, and most starting adventurers are the farthest thing from that,” Sam noted. “And if you have, say, only a 10 Vitality, you’re going to need to sleep or meditate or just suffer through it undisturbed for ten hours before you get a System reset. But yeah, that’s what all the adventurers my grandfather interviewed told us. No matter how sick, maimed, or cursed they were, after a good night’s sleep, everything was completely healed.”

Pavel looked down at his legs, then back at Eric, a desperate light in his eyes. “Then there truly is hope for me.”

Eric nodded. “I think there is. But why the hell should we weight til we bring you to a pod? We’re still trying to figure out the best classes and the background skills, stats, and titles or perks that we need to get the best classes… so no reason you shouldn’t hold off on that until the path you take is one that we know won’t threaten your own cultivation base.”

Pavel’s smile became pained. “No offense, friend Eric, but the thought of remaining a cripple when an Elder will most surely want me dead, when my wife and children have no idea where I am, and are thus vulnerable to any vindictive repercussions, when the thought of starting over in a newly ascended world is now appealing to me just as much as the elders warned us it would…”

Eric smiled. “I understand. Above all else, you need to get back on your feet. To be able to defend yourself, rescue your family, and of course, help train your newest kung fu brothers to the best of your ability.”

Pavel gazed at Eric for long moments before flashing a rueful grin. “Such training I will give you, and gladly, save for the techniques I swore an oath never to reveal to outsiders.” He quickly rose his hand when he caught Sam’s hurt gaze. “But there is a great deal I will happily teach you. And truly, as newly fledged cultivators, those advanced techniques will do you far more harm than good.” His eyes grew solemn. “Right now, the most pressing problem are those who will follow Scar and his band. Eager to claim those peaches, and of course, avenge the fallen.”

Eric squeezed shut his eyes, shaking his head. “Shit. How much time do we have?”

Pavel sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Eric, there’s no way to know for certain. Much of it depends on how impatient Scar’s father is, as he waits for words of our progress. To be fair, it should be days before they even suspect something is amiss. The curse trap they brought to cripple the Greater Spirit Beast guarding the sacred tree will take several days and quite a bit of sacrificial blood to activate, after all.”

Eric blinked. “Wait. One of those assholes I took down was basically going to use poisoned bait to take out that spirit boar?” He furrowed his brow. “But what about honorable cultivation duels and all that? If karma’s being so hardcore about denying me the spiritual treasures of those I killed by arcane blaster, how the hell is it okay with your former squad taking a bunch of golden fruit after poisoning the guardian of that very tree? Not even honoring it with what I’m guessing would be an epic battle.”

Pavel flashed a humorless smile. “Our quartet was chosen for a reason. Wind Qi affinity means that only the most desperate or those exquisitely skilled at balancing their affinities would dare infuse their meridians with permanent spiritual fires. However, the young master I’m referring to, heir to our sect’s most revered elder, is allied with flame. Just like you two. Because even if his henchmen dare not eat a single fruit, they may still be given away, freely, as a boon, that act of grace rendering mute all adverse considerations, allowing the fruit to be savored in all it’s potency and glory.”

Eric chuckled bitterly. “Talk about cheesing the system. The taint of foul play is the burden of messenger boys who won’t be eating the fruit anyway, their beneficiary absolved of all sin even as he accepts a gift of those fruit, never mind that he orchestrated the whole thing.” He gave a rueful shake of his head, folding his arms with a smirk. “So basically, your sect is able to skirt the rules of karma just as aptly as powerful System-affiliated families can stack the deck in their favor with newly integrated worlds like my own.”

Pavel sighed. “As much as I regret saying it, there is indeed truth to your words.” Concerned eyes gazed up into Eric’s own. “And you should know that my sect, my… former sect… is guarding the gate to this realm. Scar’s Father has broken through to Bronze so he, like other System and Cultivation elders, is relegated to a strictly advisorial capacity, allowed to use his power only against underlings, members of his own sect, or their immediate family.

Eric winced, all too painfully aware of that loophole, and just how damned powerful those upper tier players could be, having fled for his life, or at least his sanity, against a winter queen he had sensed even then could have frozen Freetown over in the blink of an eye. Eric had no doubt that she could have enslaved the minds of the entire populace, compelling them to kneel before her and worship her as a god, or as queen of the fae, with the soft haunting notes she had muted to effect her son alone.

An awful compulsion he had escaped only with his own Dominion-infused blood sealing shut his ear canals, hiding behind multiple protective wards in an underground tunnel. And even then, it had been all he could do not to surrender to the monstrous hegemon that was his mother. Yet despite all that power, constrained by the rules keeping all the titans with vested interests in this newly blossomed world in check, she was still being forced to sit back, watch, and endure the devastation of her own faction, as goblin treachery tore free all her hard-won gains, nearly killing Eric’s sister.

Eric clenched his fist. In that matter at least, his heart went out to the woman he both hated and loved, both of them forced to face the horror of a world where Elonia was constantly forced to risk her life on the front lines.

But unlike his mother, he, at least, could act.

And he would.