As if in a trance, Eric continued to embrace the dance of steel, flowing effortlessly into the farmost training chamber he and Sam had made such frequent use of, before allowing himself to cut loose and move like he had never dared before.

Racing forward with a roar, swinging his blade with the weight and fury of countless Sylvan swordsmen who had come before him, at one with the echoes of their struggles against opponents kitted in impossibly resilient mail so like Scar’s own, knowing that there was only one counter to impervious mail.

To strike with such force and fury as to pulverize everything underneath inviolate armor with the sheer force of one’s blow.

Eric’s wind blade, graced with an exquisite edge honed to a sharpness he could scarce comprehend, sliced near effortlessly into the rock behind the massive slab of meat he had fused to the cavern wall, cleaving through toughened rawhide-like flesh as easily if he were slicing through butter. Even the necromantically enhanced bones giving the back wall slab of meat structure and resilience shattered and exploded as if they were made of peanut brittle with the force and fury of Eric’s disciplined swings.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Not when facing enemies of Scar’s caliber.

He knew he’d never dare wear the Qi-infused armaments he had claimed from foes killed by blaster as opposed to an honorable duel.

But nothing said he couldn’t summon them forth in the pair of seconds he gathered his killing intent like never before, even Pavel hissing when Eric embraced the flood of alien memories now roaring through him, howling just as loud as he swung his blade with such devastating force that the mithril hauberk was sent flying across the room… without him breaking a single mithril link.

But the human shaped piece of necromantically infused boar he had body-sculpted to fill it didn’t fair nearly so well.

It exploded into pulpified chunks of meat and gore that sprayed over Eric and half the chamber.

You have saved versus Meridian Rupture!

You have successfully incorporated Cleaving Blow with Imperial Blademastery!

You have successfully executed Cleaving Blow with Mithril Blade!

You are now suffering temporary Soul Depletion!

You have successfully obliterated your target!

Yet Eric’s fierce joy was short lived as he crashed to his knees, hit by a wave of unexpected exhaustion and a strain that terrified him to feel.

For he had indeed communed with the memories of past warriors also pushed past their limits, blessing his Blademastery with the echoes of another weapon feat that Bardiche had granted him.

But it had come at steep and unexpected cost.

Because of course it would tap into his temporary Soul Reserves, the Mana Pool equivalent for necromancy and, interestingly enough, weapon feats as well. Even with his effective Soul Reserves at a glorious 52, over triple his Mana Pool which could channel quite a number of Flame bolts, that single Cleaving Blow had tapped him down to the point that he was now on his knees and fighting nausea.

Perhaps it was because it was the first time he had dared tie that feat to the Way of the Sword. Or maybe it was because he had dared to generate a Cleaving Blow with a weapon nearly twenty-fold the weight of his 1821 saber. Or perhaps it was simply because it was made of a material his Interface had just affirmed was indeed actual Mithril.

Either way, the results had been absolutely devastating.

Which meant that he could unleash a surprise Cleaving Blow in the middle of combat against unsuspecting foes and hopefully catch them utterly off guard to devastating effect.

But as it stood right now, if that one blow didn’t kill his foe… he was as good as dead.

Yet far scarier than that was the fact that, after all his desperate efforts to heal and better himself… he had still managed to play the absolute fool, nearly rupturing his Meridian channels yet again.

An utterly drained Eric ignored Pavel’s surprised hiss, immediately closing his eyes and assuming the lotus position, forcing himself to feel the extent of his injuries with frightened mental fingers.

And he couldn’t hold back his desperate sigh of relief when he found, miraculously, that his meridians were still as fit as he could hope for. No more strained than if he had given his muscles a good workout with proper stretching, just a year ago.

He sighed with relief, only then daring to open his eyes and face what he feared would be accusatory looks from Sam and Pavel both.

Sam, to his credit, wasn’t shouting at Eric, for all that there was now a crimson patina of obliterated tusker meat covering the back half of their cave. He was just gazing at Eric in wide-eyed disbelief.

“Dude… what the fuck!”

Eric winced under Pavel’s regard, the powerful cultivator now peering at him with a lazer-like focus and an expression void of all emotion, despite his earlier hiss and curse. His gaze definitely that of a master judging a potential student.

Eric swallowed, feeling an unwelcome surge of remembered anxiety from a gaze so similar to that one. Looks that would, rarely, transform to slow nods of approval if given by Aurelia’s powerfully built and exquisitely deadly champion disguised as nothing more than their family’s personal trainer.

Looks that from his mother that would turn to imperious summons, beatings that would leave no bruise upon his pristine features, and words that cut sharper than any knife, Aurelia refusing to believe that his skillset would never be compatible with her own.

Just looking at Pavel’s gaze brought so many unwelcome flashes that he couldn’t help but crack a bitter smile. “Before we do anything else, promise me that you don’t give a shit about whether or not I can act.”

This earned a surprised blink. “Here I just saw you dare to fuse what I can only surmise must be System powers to a mithril blade that by some miracle didn’t rupture your meridians. A strike that would have devastated any opponent, even if you’re now as vulnerable as a babe with that single foolishly impressive blow. And you’re worried about your acting skills? Do you mean like bluffing your opponent in a duel?”

Eric shook his head. “I mean you’re not allowed to slam the back of my head because I misalign my blade, or flub the lines to any goddamned movie script I have absolutely no interest in performing. Deal?”

Pavel gazed at Eric for long moments.

“His mother was a famous actress back on Earth,” Sam quickly explained. “And, um, a bit of a psycho bitch. No offense, Eric.”

Eric smirked. “None taken.”

Pavel frowned. “May I ask who your mother was?”

Eric nodded. “Sure. Aurelia Silver. Though I doubt you’ve heard of her. I get the impression that movie theaters or NetWatch vids aren’t exactly that common, outside of old Earth.”

Yet the elf before him paled. “The Winter Queen is making a play for your world?” He gazed at Eric for long moments… before bowing his head. “Truly, I am glad that Scar was brought down. As is proper and what he deserves.”

Eric adamantly shook his head. “I’m strictly a free agent. I claim no ties to the Sylvan Alliance whatsoever.” He cleared his throat. “Besides. Those goddamned orcs are tearing through our… I mean Aurelia’s soldiers, territory by territory. All thanks to goddamned goblin sniper squads breaking so many codes binding everyone else. But somehow, those fucks can get away with it!”

“Of course they do,” a coldly smiling Pavel said. “They’ve bribed the Terran Council countless billions of credits, and considerable land rights to any territory they successfully claim when your world’s ascension has been stabilized.”

Eric blinked. “No fucking way. And I thought you were just a cultivator? No offense.”

Pavel chuckled. “I’m a cultivator, yes. But no Sect survives in a galaxy overrun by so many powerful System figureheads without being exquisitely savvy in the realm of politics as we solidify our positions in those realms where Spiritual energy takes precedence, and concede our former grip on areas where Arcane might reigns supreme. All in return for concessions and accords that assure our long term viability and strengthen our standing overall.”

Eric smirked. “All that, and you know next to nothing about System pods or classes.”

“Of course not, Eric.” The dark elf shook his head. “The line between our disciplines is clearly drawn everywhere, save within newly blossoming realms like your own. Only here will you casually find fortuitous amalgamations of Cultivation and System abilities unified in anything like a viable whole.”

Eric blinked. “Shit. So if you had actually grabbed a System class...”

The man flashed a tired smile. “My legs would have been restored. And I would have in all likelihood stumbled upon a Class with a fair amount of power. But the likelihood of my ever being able to ascend to Bronze or beyond, or ever compress my future core to Gold as a near deity that could effortlessly control the destiny of an entire world? Slim to none.”

Eric paled, gazing at the dark elf for long moments. “So that’s how high the power progression goes in this brave new universe? Gold tier means your basically a god? Fuck. Just… absolute fuck.”

Pavel laughed. “My extremely limited understanding is that even there, you will face challenges and competition with the hunger for ever more power, even if it’s just to cherish and protect the worlds you have claimed under your stewardship. You will still feel compelled to grow ever stronger, up the endless ranks of Gold, just as you had all the tiers before. Because what fool would actually use his power to destroy a precious world and all it’s resources, a world where he could live with absolute indulgence for countless eternities, worshiped as a god, a king, or just a playboy beloved by billions?”

The man’s eyes twinkled as he spoke on, Eric finally getting it.

“Xianxia progression. Shit! You don’t know any Gold tier cultivators. You’re speaking from your awesome taste in literature?”

The dark elf laughed, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And how many of those novels do you think we’re written by actual Golds? Biographies of realm masters enjoying the conceit of their glorious, and in some cases chillingly violent exploits and conquests being disguised as no more than fiction to delight countless billions of children and adolescents?” He chuckled softly. “My four sons being just a few of their many billions of fans.”

Eric swallowed, humbled anew by truths revealed, suddenly feeling acutely guilty for having nearly killed this man who was a father many times over, with an entire family counting on his continued survival and wellbeing, even now.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Pavel, I can’t tell you how...”

The man raised a clenched fist. “Say nothing, kung fu brother. For nothing need be said.”

Eric paled and bowed his head. “Of course… kung fu brother.”

The man chuckled softly. “Now to ground ourselves once more, before we begin in earnest our own pursuit of ascension, we who are still finding the paths that will shape us for years or centuries to come. Lest bitterness or envy taint our own pursuit of truths that might, if we are truly exeptional and lucky, one day lead us to Bronze, we must take fierce pride and joy in such an accomplishment, and realize that Xianxia stories are just that. Tales written by desperate dreamers. For Golds are beyond rare. The trillions that strive for and fail such a grand accomplishment are beyond count.”

Eric couldn’t quite hold back a smile. “Still sounds like something out of a cultivation novel.”

Pavel grinned. “But in the reality we know, just achieving Bronze will make you a champion to be respected, even feared, on most worlds. It might even be enough to make you a king, depending on the competition, and just how far you can ascend that ladder. Yet for all that at least half of newly integrated worlds are captained by experienced Bronze tier champions, or a council made of such, most worlds are ruled by actual Silvers, whether Cultivators or System adherents. Men and women who are powerful enough to force entire nations blessed by powerful Bronze Tier armies to submit utterly to their will.”

Eric whistled, recalling all too well how terrifying was the ice-cold killing aura his mother radiated over Freetown, and he already knew that she had been holding back. Utterly. That the fierce winter blizzard she had emitted was just the tiniest bit of her power trickling free, her goal not to destroy, but to entice her son. And how miraculous it was that earplugs made of his own blood and the essence of Dominion had been enough to actually let him walk free.

“Sounds like Silvers are just as badass as I had envisioned Gold to be,” Eric admitted. “In other words, living nukes. Which means that Golds are absolutely absurdly powerful planet-killers. Or would be, if planets weren’t precious resource jewels that no one that powerful would be stupid enough to casually destroy.”

Pavel dipped his head. “Correct. Even the weakest Silvers will inevitably claim the throne of whatever world they find themselves on before too long, while powerful Silvers ascending the ranks might expand their authority over a dozen worlds before too many centuries pass.” Eyes that had glimpsed secrets Eric couldn’t even fathom pinned Eric where he stood. “Silvers like your mother. Now. You were in the middle of showing me your basic forms. By all means, continue.”

Eric gazed at the man for long moments, coming to a decision. “I know I dare not claim the Spirit Treasures of the pair of… fallen I dealt with in unorthodox fashion,” he said, as two faceless dummies made of bones, meat, and covered by shimmering red scales suddenly appeared. “But as I just demonstrated, there’s nothing wrong with me using their mithril armor as a tool to hone myself, a benchmark to struggle against. So I’m hoping you won’t mind if I use the enchanted beast hides radiating so much protective Wind Qi that they were using as leg wrappings and padding to further hone my skills? I think they’d be perfect for these training mannequins I’ve constructed. Don’t you?” ,

Pavel pinned Eric with his ice-cold gaze for long moments. “You would actually dare fuse elements of System feats, Cultivation and necromancy?”

Eric froze under the man’s cold gaze, and surprisingly it was Sam who cleared his throat and spoke up. “Actually, me and Eric, and all humans, really, have a green light on practicing necromancy and blood magic. It’s part of our cultural heritage. One of the few things in our favor that all the System savvy schemers couldn’t steel from us, though god knows the goblins have been trying to do just that.”

Pavel’s stony expression turned to a thoughtful look before giving a considering nod.

“The wise man uses every tool before him to counter his foes, and never lets his enemies control the terms of engagement. So, yes, Eric. By all means, continue your blasphemy.” He flashed a rueful smile. “So long as your cultivation remains in pristine condition, I will forgo all judgment. If anything, I should commend you on your innovative use of the unorthodox, particularly when it helps ensure your own survival during Earth’s integration.”

Within moments Eric found himself facing a pair of dummies covered in what he suspected was nearly indestructible mithril armor, the perfect tools for further training his skills. Training mannequins that had actually earned Pavel’s nod of approval. For his own protection, and to familiarize himself with the full battle-kit worn by cultivators like Pavel, he had also donned the aketon and leg wrappings favored by Scar’s sect.

In Pavel’s own words, it was the ideal defense against Wind Qi strikes, though not necessarily the impossibly sharp edge of the blade itself. Eric’s eyes widened to learned that few save favored scions of the sect were even equipped with that much, and it was only because Pavel had been drafted in to this mission that he was kitted in exotic armaments at all, his blade alone truly his.

Pavel gave him an approving nod. “Now your hands and legs are at least protected to an extent against Wind Qi blades, though only your hauberk and helm will protect you against the actual edge of a mithril blade.”

Eric nodded his understanding, particularly once Pavel explained that dueling Wind cultivators were more concerned with the projections at six feet than mithril at three, at least for their legs. The near indestructible chain mail shirts and mithril warring state-style open face helms were excellent for countering slashes from wind, steel, and pretty much everything else. Save thrusts to the face which, Eric was quickly given to understand, comprised a very small percentage of any wind cultivator’s attacks.

Which, of course, had given Eric the element of surprise he had needed to kill a sneering scar with a single devastating punch, before sinking to the ground, having been so close to death himself that he got chills thinking about it, even now.

Because that awful feeling of feeling his life slipping away, ruptured organs bleeding out and decompensating just a few points per minute beyond his regeneration, and had he not just been able to wait out the bell on death’s claimance, System reset hitting him literally in the nick of time… he shuddered at the thought of how close he had come to death, still remembering the crushing blackness of oblivion the instant the System had restored him anew.

That was one ordeal he was determined never to endure again.

Which was why he was lashing out even now with an exquisitely balanced blade that just happened to be many times the weight of any weapon he had ever held before, flowing through the air as gracefully as a dream, thanks to his inhuman stats and absolute dedication to his art.

An art Eric put to the test not just going over basic forms, but where it truly counted.

From the very first instant combat was initiated, his blade was meant to leave his sheath and strike, preferably multiple times, before his opponent could even blink, let alone respond in kind.

Iado skill check made!

And what a visceral rush it was, actually feeling the burn in his shoulders and forearm once more as the sword’s mass actually forced him to use his strength, putting far more power behind his draw cuts and cleaving slashes. Yet he felt no slower than when he drew and struck with his saber.

If anything, his movements felt more fluid.

More natural.

And if the warped and broken mannequin before him was any indication, finishing off his series of underhanded slashes with a cleaving sweep that tore right through the narrow space between indestructible mail shirt and helm, his technique had even improved.

Or perhaps, the blade now in his hands was a much better fit for his fast-draw techniques, when all was said and done.

Synergism detected! On Earth as well as Elven kingdoms, iado evolved specifically to be used with blades like the one in your hand. You now enjoy an increased chance of successfully striking before any opponent can react! Increased chance of landing critical blows with your chosen weapon!

Iado is now Rank 11!