Chapter 25: The Holy Land

Luke stared at the back of his token, in Cyzicus’s throne room, along with all the hopefuls and the Emperor himself.

Out of the dozen or so trainees that the Hero had originally recruited to participate, only four, Luke, Rex, Rose, and Nikitas, had both advanced to the Warrior-tier in time and passed the assessment.

Of them, only Rex and Luke were truly optimistic in their chances.

“Two minutes.” Lukeus sighed, from his spot atop Nutbutter. His eyes locked on his own token.

“Why did you decide to compete anyway? I thought you were against the whole idea.” Luke asked. His sudden shift in opinion had caught him completely off guard, especially with how vitriolic he had been about not participating, and even now, months later, he hadn’t been able to figure out what had changed. Running away, whenever the subject was brought up.

The Emperor’s Grandson shrugged. “I’m allowed to change my mind.”

Rex snickered, and while Blinky, shrunken down in cape form, gazed at everyone in the room. “You know, I was talking to Meleager earlier.” Instantly, Lukeus went pale, and raised his hands in objection. Undeterred, Rex pressed on.

“I bet this has nothing to do with the fact that Atalanta beat you up and called you a weak, unfilial coward when we were—”

Lukeus pulled a fist-sized rock from his storage ring, his arm moved like thunder, and the object cut through the air, with a whoosh. Rex, wearing a face splitting grin, stepped forward and caught it with surprising ease.

“You’re throwing rocks now?” He teased, tossing it up and down. “I wonder what she’ll say about that. Hitting your own little brother. How shame–”

Cyzicus cleared his throat, and instantly the smiles slipped from everyone's faces, and the mood descended to awkward silence.

Luke glanced at the Hero-tier cultivator before looking away. Even now, months later, he was still affected by the death of his lover. More even, than by the death of his grandson. He looked lost, and lacked the jovial spark that had animated the man when Luke first met him.

Luke wasn’t even sure if Cyzicus even wanted to break through to the next tier anymore.

A day or so after they had broken open the rings, he had glued himself to the teleportation altar, and as far as Luke knew, hadn’t spoken a word to anyone since, despite attempts from both Clite and Nel to the contrary. It was a surprise he had even gathered them here to see them off.

It made him consider what he had actually lost. The Emperor had no wife, and all of his kids and grandkids were in the Warrior-tier, and what that actually meant for him.

Where warriors lived for centuries, heroes measured their life span in millenia, and advancing to the Hero-tier was a bottleneck that most cultivators lacked the ability to cross.

He had lost someone who he thought he would be spending the rest of his life, thousands upon thousands of years with.

Luke felt sympathetic, but it also made him think about his own reasons for doing what he was.

All this time, he had been rushing through the ranks, and had happily celebrated every single Stat Point he had earned. Afterall, it meant he was doing the right thing. That he was making progress.

He hadn’t ever stopped to consider though, what the price of that power was.

He had been appalled by killing at first, but increasingly, he felt numb at the act. Since then, he had just assumed that killing others, and living with that guilt was a part of being a cultivator.

He has assumed that a guilty conscience was the only price for his power.

He hadn’t even considered the idea that any friends he made would die before him. He knew that he would be a god, and gain eternal life. But what about Rex, or Lukeus? Even if they advanced to the Hero-tier would they become Saints? If they did, would it even matter?

They would still die.

When weighed against eternity, let alone a thousand years, even hundreds of thousands would be but a fraction of his existence.

The only ones he knew for sure would always be at his side were other gods, and he didn’t even know how to feel about that.

Living a life, where the only people he could count on to always be there were jaded, callous, and near universally despised immortals, didn’t ring of a good time.

Or maybe I’m just being harsh. Zeus seemed alright. Cybele was chaotic… and I’m pretty sure that she robbed the shit out of me, when she took the circlet… whatever that was, but she also paid for it. Sort of? I’ll have to see what one of those Pomegranate Seeds go for, but even then, I still don’t know what the circlet was worth. Considering that she took it at all though, I doubt it was a Low-tier item. Saint at least, but probably higher. Possibly even divine.

Before his thoughts could spiral even more, the token rose from his hands, and into the air where it rapidly began to spin.

Cyzicus cleared his throat. “The time has finally come! I wish you all the best of luck. Do your utmost, and do not be disheartened if you do not do well or fall short of your expectations. I have seen the effort you have put into your training these past few months, and I want to thank all of you for working hard at my behest, and whatever the outcome, know that I am both grateful and proud.”

The second he spoke the last word, the tokens slammed into each of their chests. The world flickered red and blue around them, and when they opened their eyes, they were standing in a large open field, among thousands of others. With the nine suns of Theos high in the sky, at their highest point in the sky.

Luke took his first breath in the new land, and his eyes widened in wonder the moment the crisp air made its way to his lungs.

It smells like grease.. But fresh… and good.

The atmosphere was so rich in mana, that he could practically feel the energy settle itself like soot on his frame. Ready to be used. Just the mere act of existing in the world seemed to make his cells sing. He felt his own mana come alive in a way that he had never felt before, and it devoured the energy in the air.

He didn’t even need to open his Status to know that his Arcana stat had gained some points, just by sheer virtue of existing in this place.

Beside him, Blinky’s jaws clattered around her eyeballs in rabid excitement, and he had to avert his gaze, her form writhed, expanded, and shrunk, all at once.

“This is insane.” Rose muttered. Her hand flexed, and a moment later, it was enshrouded in a bright blue flame. It, Nutbutter, and the Blinky drew the eyes of everyone in their immediate vicinity for a scant few seconds, before they looked at the rest of the crowd in wonder.

Nodding slightly, to her, Luke attempted to rise a few feet in the air, only to find that his mana was completely unable to grip the space around him. Trying a few more times, he gave up. Spinning on his heels, he surveyed the crowd.

Like the Argo, the people assembled in the field were diverse beyond what Luke had anticipated.

A few miles away from him, there was a group of cyclops dressed in orange leather, each one of them, dozens of feet tall, and looming over the crowd. Their lone eyes stared at the rest of the contestants with a mixture of nervousness and mistrust.

A ways behind him were a herd of minotaurs. They were giant, the shortest among them fifteen feet tall, with massive horns wrapped in ribbons, limbs covered in the flat fur, and faces that were mixtures of bulls and men.

Behind them, a collection of white-winged and white haired women immediately put him guard, before he realized that none of them were Arke, despite the uncanny resemblance. They, like the Cyclops, looked nervous. Their oval shaped heads on a constant swivel as they examined the assembled warriors with caution.

None of them, however, shocked him more than the familiar forms of two people a less than a dozen feet away from him. His thoughts ground down to a screeching halt, as he burned their images in his head, and turned away before Rex or Lukeus noticed him staring at their backs.

Both Arya and Spiros looked just like he remembered them. Both were dressed in the red robes, traditional of warriors on the archipelago, and Spiros was even leaning on a spear. The same gold one, that he had spent hours trying to steal while he was in the tomb and waiting for the altar to charge.

It’s fine. They don’t know it's me. Can’t really. I look completely different, I’ve gained like six inches in height, my sword gained a foot in length, and looks different on top of that. Even my voice is deeper now, so really, I have nothing to worry about. He thought, unable to help the tinge of disappointment from worming its way into forming a lump in the bottom of his throat.

The realization of his safety wasn’t the comfort he thought it would be. There was so much he wanted to talk to them about, and share. Of where he had gone, of what he had done, but none of it was stuff that he could say. Even if he could, they wouldn’t know it was their friend. Someone they knew, and had spent weeks imprisoned within a tomb with.

Before he could dwell on it further though, a hush fell over all ten thousand of those that were assembled.

A fire swirled to life in the sky above them. It started small, but as the seconds passed, it became increasingly larger, and hotter.

He felt the blistering heat on his skin, and the air itself began to ripple and distort. Sweat escaped his pores and evaporated instantly. Leaving him parched, and dehydrated in s short few seconds.

Struggling to stand, he resisted with every fiber of being to reach into the Seed, and swallow all the water he had stored inside it. It was here, above anywhere else, that he needed to be careful not to let anything slip.

He knew enough about cultivation, and the abilities of warriors and even heroes to know what would and wouldn't stand out to them, what could be explained by talent, and what couldn’t. Gods however, were a drastically different problem.

As ageless beings that had lived and watched Theos for ages, ones that knew the intricacies of mana, better than anyone else alive… he couldn’t take even the slightest risk. So while he was confident that not even Cyzicus could sense when the Seed raised his stats, he knew instinctively that deities wouldn’t fall under the same umbrella.

Danger Detected.

The warning flashed before his eyes, and instantly, Luke dismissed it, but unlike every other time, it didn’t go.

A red icon, of an eye, appeared and floated at the very corner of his vision.

He was being observed.

He had never quite known why the Seed gave its warnings when it did, but in this particular instance, the message, and every message before then, was clear as day. The warning always, without fail, came when he was being observed by greater forces. When what he possessed risked being discovered.

Don't use it. Don’t pull anything out of the inventory. Don’t mess with stats… nothing. Just appear normal Luke. He repeated the mantra over and over in his head.

In the sky, the heat coming from the flames, gradually, and oh so slowly, began to wane. The flames slowly began to congeal and thicken. Forming sinuous strings that combined to form a vague, humanlike shape.

It brought its hands together, and clapped.

Water began to rain from a cloudless sky, and like balm, seeped into their skin giving them sweet relief from the blistering heat moments before.

It clapped again, and as soon as it came, the water and the heat vanished. Leaving them once again, standing on a field of green grass, under a cloudless blue sky.

What did he just do? Luke thought, his mind an anxious mess, and even mana palpitating nervously.

Hephaestus looked down at them from his spot in the sky. He looked young. In his early thirties, and was dressed simply, in white trousers and a shirt that hung loosely over his muscled frame, and lacking any shoes. His hair was blood red, and steel gray eyes bored into him and everyone else with an intensity that betrayed his power.

He smiled.