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Otis was a diligent young man, but it was lessons like that which truly tested him. The eight elements of Arcanis? The reality of a life spent where magical energies were tangible and affected the environment? He had fought hard to stay focused on Utsumi’s lecture as the professor found it apt to cover topics that children understood intrinsically back home, but in the end, the Strigidae found his mind wandering, and he slipped his notes from natural sciences out of his bag, only tangentially listening to Utsumi as he reviewed geology and fossilization. The last month and a half in Earth had been rather enlightening, really, and the sheer amount of books that the library contained on all sorts of subjects was enjoyable too. A part of him couldn’t understand it, really, how so many others could be disinterested in mathematics or history. It was fascinating, really, comparing differences in technological and societal developments between the two worlds, as well as how Earth and Arcanis even understood territory differently; one formed political borders through war and negotiation, while the other settled it largely through differences in elemental affects.

Meanwhile, it felt as if he had already learned basically everything that the good professor was covering in this particular class, barring the specifics of the spellbooks that he used. Perhaps Otis’s education was unbalanced while he was still studying in the capital, but it felt like all the magic theory he had studied in anticipation for higher education at Silver Gate Academy was now backfiring spectacularly by making him bored as hell during his actual lessons. Wasn’t too bad of a thing though. The amount of ‘extra’ review time that he had for magical theory meant he could memorize a couple more spells in his spare time, and the few cultural notes on what Earth-denizens interpreted the arcane energies around them as was pretty charming too.

Still felt like something he could find in a well-produced Youtube video though. Sometimes, Otis really did wonder if he wouldn’t have been better off using his tuition to fund a globe-trotting adventure instead. Alas, the ‘mundane’ education in Silver Gate Academy was his fetters, keeping him locked in place. Otis sighed, rubbed his eyes, then realized that class was over. A form sat before him and he cocked his head to the side, confused about the connotations of all this. Consent for…what, exactly? He stared at it a bit longer, before shrugging. Confusion was never anything that bothered him for long, not when he could just ask someone else. He slid his notes back into his leather bag, swept his shawl off his chair and back onto his shoulder, before striding over to Koyuki, one of the smarter students in his class, who also fulfilled the requirement of being of the nation of Japan.

“Hey, Ko,” Otis said, golden eyes locking onto her own. “What did Utsumi say at the end? Kyoto’s the old capital, yes? How long’s the trip? You know any interesting places there? Or places to eat, even? Seidoujima’s alright, but not very traditional. How’s the nightlife there? You’ve been there, right? Wanna room up? I’ll be your alibi if you’ll be mine. Talking about if there’s a curfew. Did he say anything about a curfew?”
The Borders of Thunderstruck Grove
Nothing changed for Klein, not really, as he finally accepted his job. A flickering of light, and a screen flashed before his eyes as he jumped more than ten levels in an instant, obtained three new abilities as well. It wasn’t nearly as many levels as the others, but it wasn’t too bad either. With this, at least, he would be able to finally begin growing in strength as well, no longer wholly reliant on his Nuclei’s ability to contribute to the group.

The others had reconvened at the Keystone at this point as well, a dusty, sweaty Raime being the last to join them. While perceiving the world at six times the dilation of a normal individual, the scout had still noticed that many other Immortals were shooting out of Nyu-Taro at speeds rivalling or surpassing his own. For the monsters closest to the city-state, however, as well as the adventurers who actually stopped to fight them, he had been…not a blur exactly, but fast enough of a target that no one bothered. Searching and foraging couldn’t be done on the go though, not unless Raime stopped in place and allowed his subjective time dilation to fade away, and after a session of picking at unknown plants and weeds, he had come away with thirty seven assorted vegetables: eight blue star-shaped herbs, twelve snowflake-esque weeds, ten orange buds with spiralling petals, and seventeen more of those white herbs he suspected were painkillers. The value of his herb collection was hard to tell when Raime had no concrete idea what they were, but at least he had them.

A more concrete form of success, really, was found in a new awareness of how exactly rishi could be made within the game. The wooden planks nailed to the wall informed of escort missions, yes, but also of requests to kill a variety of monsters. Of the Thunderstruck Grove in particular, vagrant onis were going for the price of 20,000 rishi per head, with the proof of kill being their horns. Less extravagant, but still a great bonus, were reanimated warriors. These went for 10,000 rishi, but only if you could find a family crest on them, or any other form of identification. Grieving families didn’t pay, apparently, for corpses of questionable identity. Finally, there was a special commission from the Ryoku-Jo clan, personally funding an endeavor to slay all bandits and criminals within the Grove, offering a reward that could go all the way up to 500,000 rishi. It was a lump sum payment though, apparently based off the infamy of those that were slain rather than the amount, and it required one to bring back the heads of their foes to one of the clan’s outposts for identification and examination.

Regardless, it was with this knowledge that the group set off for the Thunderstruck Grove, taking the northern gate out of the city-state. The terrain became more varied as they walked down the well-trodden path, often passing and being passed by groups of other Immortals. The quality of the gear seen on the bodies of their peers was definitely a couple steps up compared to the type of people who they encountered at the Pearl Bloom River or the Goldspun Fields. A Mohawk-sporting woman in lacquered wood rode a massive bear that sparked and sputtered with crystalline bolts. A slender youth in fine robes carried a well-worn book in one hand and a sundering spear of jade and pearl in another. A bulky shadow, form not betraying the swift silence in which they moved, shot past them, the scarlet of their scarf trailing behind them. Nyu-Taro was the neutral city-state within Horogi, the cradle of this nation’s newest Immortals, and Thunderstruck Grove appeared to be where the strongest of the newbies went to complete their training.

And like that, it stood before them.

Smoke and fog mixed together as scarred, skeletal trees clawed at the sky above. The dirt here was dark, blackened, shrubbery yellowed and sparse. Moss-grown stone statues could be found here and there, some half-consumed by tree roots, others cracked and broken. They served as landmarks; there were no clear roads here, and the obscuring weather swallowed people up whole. Sounds of conflict were muted by the density of the trees, and perhaps some other factor. Only the occasional scream sounded clearly, but maybe that was just from the evil spirits that lingered within this forest? Was that clattering just some loose stones, or of dry bone? Did someone in the party sigh, or was that the breath of a stalking monster? As the party delved into the forest and considered what they ought to prioritize, whether it be bandit hunting, monster slaying, or tunnel searching, there was at least one thing to be optimistic about.

It wasn’t night, yet.
I'll wait till Rune says something, but I'll be working on an edit for my post then. @Pyromania99 should probs do the same.

Nick lagged behind; it was uncertain whether the young man would follow the rest all the way into the depths, especially as the stench of decay grew stronger, as the darkness grew thicker. Not all were made for such escapades, and Isidore could only hope that Nick didn't make any rash decisions.

The darkness shone with blue light as the quartet passed the point of no return.

There was a chasm underneath the prison, home to a garden of tar-stained flowers and trees. That sweetness, once overbearing, was now undercut by the smell of brine, like the world’s shittiest salty caramel. The walls of this cavern were made inaccessible to them all by the ocean water that seeped into the place, while the garden was the territory of shadowy humans, lumbering disconcertingly around the place. The former researchers of the prison above? Or more of those wretched experiments, made puppets by the tar-plants.

Then, there was the clattering of feet against stone off in the distance, muffled by vines. Isidore turned briefly, noting that of the three that had followed, two now remained. Nick was gone, having taken the sealing of the entranceway as reason enough to escape. Isidore's expression remained unchanged. Loyalty or conviction hadn't yet had any chance to grow amongst these strangers. Such action couldn't be faulted, but it would be remembered.

Isidore let out a breath, let out all the tension that had built up in his body.

Time to continue.

Not certain whether the others could see so clearly as he could, he kept a firm grip on Octavia’s leash, as he began to walk upon the raised platform, keeping an eye on the largest plant at the back of the garden. Black stones impaled it, but it was through those same black stones that it could grow its progeny upon the surface, to birth creatures such as Octavia. It was a detour, and he had to drag Octavia with him as he did so, but Isidore wasn’t fool enough to walk boldly into the territory of the tar-plants. All the toughness in the world meant nothing once restrained by a dozen ancient roots.

“Donovan, shield up. Protect the others. Octavia, there are things moving within the garden to our left. We are approaching the largest of the tar-plants, the one whose roots stretch all around this place.” He paused. Levity may be appropriate in these dark times, so deep underground. “If any of you were a fire-breather in your past life, this would be a good chance to show off.”



Isidore coughed, then allowed his muscles to relax further.

The door, he hadn’t mentioned. It was left open for a reason, and that reason was still unknown to him.

Ying Yue frowned, not even sparing a glance towards the islander. She had heard of punishing training before. Meditation under a waterfall while you slice down logs dragged down by the flow of water. Climbing steep mountains with only the strength of your fingers. Wrestling with bears, tigers, monkeys, dragons, Buddhas. But to gain strength, through the consumption of the dead? It…hm, putting it that way, it wasn’t that strange. After all, the old maid always told her brothers: “Eat meat to grow meat. Don’t eat meat and grow weak.”

There was still a world of difference between eating cooked chicken and eating raw chicken though, and there was even more of a difference between eating a chicken killed quickly, and eating a giant dogman that was violently battered by the entirety of an army. To prefer the latter over the former, to do so without hesitation too, that could only be considered the sign of demonic influences, or some barbarous tradition.

Or maybe she was being a bit hasty, when this Eri Ka could be as harmless and helpful as Zhu Bajie.

“Then eat so much as you desire,” Ying Yue spoke, sweeping one hand grandly over the battlefield, the corpses of the dead dragged away by the metal-clad warriors. “I’ll not interfere with the cultivation of your own abilities, so long as you don’t begin devouring your brethren in the pursuit of power, Eri Ka of the Iron Gut. As for me, I am named Ying Yue, eldest daughter of the Geng family. These are strange circumstances, but unlike two others amongst us, you’re not a danger.”

Her nose twitched slightly. The rancid smell of blood and battered flesh wafted out of Eri Ka’s mouth with every word.

“Though your breath smells of the dead. Washing your mouth before an audience with their king would do much in improving your image.”
I'm waiting for Polaris to post before I do, and I think he's busy with school or work or something like that, but otherwise I'm chill.
𝕃𝕆𝕎 ℝ𝔸ℕ𝕂 𝕁𝕆𝔹𝕊 = ℂℝ𝔸𝔽𝕋






𝕃𝕆𝕎 ℝ𝔸ℕ𝕂 𝕁𝕆𝔹𝕊 = ℍ𝕐𝔹ℝ𝕀𝔻












𝕃𝕆𝕎 ℝ𝔸ℕ𝕂 𝕁𝕆𝔹𝕊 = 𝕄𝔸𝔾𝕀ℂ𝔸𝕃












𝕃𝕆𝕎 ℝ𝔸ℕ𝕂 𝕁𝕆𝔹𝕊 = 𝕄𝔸ℝ𝕋𝕀𝔸𝕃






































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