The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

A flash of light passed through the shroud of night and shone on the accursed, and they halted as if stiffened by poison, even the ones burning in the flames stopping dead in their tracks. Oscar used the chance to carry away two injured Exalts, dashing toward the healers in the back. As he set down the injured, they clasped his wrists and murmured out his name in a trance, a state of semi-consciousness, smiles plastered across their bloody and charred faces. The healers rushed with buckets of water and attended to the wounded. Having no more to do, Oscar pried their grips from his wrists and patted their heads.

Another night had gone and went by, but this time, the grace of the day didn't improve his mood. Others scrambled, hollering orders to one another; the sounds of rapid hammers quickly replaced the crackling of the burning chasm. They worked fast on the repairs. Fresh stones and mortar filled the broken gaps in the walls, one section having been collapsed by a powerful accursed ramming into it from within. Oscar made his rounds, circling the walls to assess the damages. So far, no one had died yet, a miracle in this eleventh land, and many credited it to him.

"Lord." The Exalts stopped and bowed in reverence at his coming, raising their elemental armaments to him. Oscar said nothing and acknowledged them with a firm nod. Serit was right, and the only way for these people to survive out here was through the strong belief they had in him. He had become their icon, the light in the dark, as Ignyres said. He accepted that role since Gilbert and the others refused to depart from theirs. If the Caerulumen wanted to spill blood, then he'd have to rise against them.

"Well done, everyone. Rest now and prepare for the final night." Oscar said, patting one on the shoulder. A single unified shout answered, and they bowed once more before dispersing. It had been almost a year now since he first entered the eleventh land, a week shy of the full year. He gazed at the ten orbs shining radiantly in the blue sky, knowing they would turn dark for the next seven days. The final night in the eleventh land had no light, no stars, only the blank darkness that lasted for the full week. Preparation was key. Everything led to this last week before the dark tower beckoned.

"We did all we could, Oscar. It should be enough." Erden grunted and dug a hole with his hooves, seemingly bored.

"It's never enough. Not enough." The battles here paled in comparison to the ones in Volten's memories. He knew everything in Fallen Heaven was merely a prelude to the true war ahead. The horrors of the past would repeat in the future, so they couldn't falter here or be content with what they have now. Frustrated, Oscar kicked a stone and headed deeper into the base, pondering on how to win over the powerful forces opposing him.

'We apologize, boy. A thousand apologies can't make up for what you have to do. May your flames soothe your allies and render your enemies to ash.' Ignyres spoke in a gentle tone like the faint crackling of a fireplace, unusual for the fiery Ancient whose words typically burned with searing intent. 'There's still twelve hours until the final night. What will you do?'

Oscar didn't answer, his mind made up. From the start, he had been heading toward his hut after patrolling the walls. After a few minutes, the shabby shack appeared over the hill, but his gaze fixed on Avril standing near the entrance, her head snapping around with worry, clearly looking for someone, him. She looked exhausted, pale-faced, with sweat sticking her hair to her skin as if she had taken a bath. The moment her golden eyes met his, a bright, radiant smile lifted from her soft lips. Holding back no more, Oscar sprinted ahead, driven by instinct and desire, snatching her into his arms, an adorable yelp coming from her.

"W-wait. What will become her? She worries and tries to run." Avril couldn't speak further as Oscar embraced her and deepened a long kiss; her protests caught in her throat and turned into soft moans. Taking her inside, he finally let her go and felt her hot breaths on his face, the sounds of soft gasps and panting filling the room. In his arms, his beloved could barely breathe, her eyes moist in delight and cheeks blushing a fierce red. Lightly bitten on her neck, Avril stammered, "N-n-wait. Renn and Gloria are coming later for a meal. A-after that."

"We won't have time afterward—my dear wife. We still have an hour or so before they arrive. I want to spend the last day with you." Oscar whispered in her ears that tinged a deep scarlet to the tip. Hearing no retort, he laid her slightly flailing body down on the thin fur bed, wrapping her arms around her stomach, her back on his chest. Without warning, he bit on the back of her neck, the one weak point, and she immediately softened and let out a lustful cry, surrendering to his advances and even taking the initiative.

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An hour and a bath later, Oscar sipped a bowl of hot corn mash soup, the wild corn found and harvested from a place near the outer edge of the eleventh land. Gloria and Renn gave him strange looks, their eyes wandering to the swelling on the left ear. Beside him, Avril wore a pelt of fur around her neck while munching on her carrot, odd for the hot day, but he held down his chuckle, remembering the slew of red marks over her neck. His son and daughter turned to the pelt, forcing Avril to tighten it with a grumble, and stared at one another with raised brows.

"So. Are we getting a new younger sibling?" Gloria said plainly, a playful smile crossing her face. This damned daughter used to be so adorable and clingy but had inherited Maia's teasings. Avril choked and coughed, helped by Oscar's pats.

"Not now. Once we're outside Fallen Heaven, I guess the time would be right." Oscar said, caressing Avril's head. There were many others in his army who had formed endearing relationships, even a few marriages here and there, probably due to the constant impending death looming every night. But no one desired to have children in this place. It meant one fewer Exalt to aid in the defenses and a weakness that required heavy attention. The only person mad enough would be Sirsi. 'I wonder where she is…' The fact she still lived was a threat to Avril, and he couldn't allow that.

"Great! I'm so tired of Renn talking down to me. He'll have someone new to scold every day." Gloria cheered.

"Only you, Gloria. Only you." Renn finished his soup and chewed on a mutton jerky strip, small and thin. Oscar looked at his flimsy piece and savored it for as long as he could. Renn sighed and put his down. "Food's going scarce. Eight hundred people is too much to feed. Uncle Serit shouldn't have let everyone in."

"Gloria, Renn, I want you to wait in the inner walls with your mother. Converse your strength for the final push." Oscar waved his hand, dismissing Renn from complaining and gesturing for him to sit down. "Don't. Your Ein isn't enough to last the entire week, especially if you're using Reis. Same for you, Gloria. We'll need you near the end but not the beginning."

"I agree," Avril nodded, drinking from a jug. "Renn, you should spend this last week with that woman you've been talking with."

"Ah?" Renn twitched as if caught off-guard, and Gloria laughed. For the past few months, Oscar noticed his adopted son getting quite close with a woman from Shattirma, even seeing them walk together as if in their own little world. While he was happy for him, the problem remained that she was from Shattirma, and finding her after exiting Fallen Heaven might be impossible, considering the state of the world in the Great Scouring currently underway.

"And Gloria, when will you find someone?" Avril turned her sharp gaze to Gloria, who jolted from the mention.

"Maybe later," Gloria rubbed her neck in clear embarrassment, mumbling to herself.

The rest of the brunch went on and ended. The children said farewells and departed. Oscar shaved his beard, wore a fresh set of white robes from Volten's tomb, and fastened Volten's sword on his back, the blade spearing upward. He stood behind Avril and braided her hair tenderly, tying them back. She turned and pecked him on the lips, stroking his cheek with a knowing expression—no words needed to be exchanged between them. She understood him, and he understood her. If he decided to fight a war, she'd be beside him now.

"The mount awaits," Outside, Erden chuckled, unfurling his antler wings into a sort of stairs. Oscar grasped Avril's hand and walked on the branches of Erden's wing, lifting her gently to sit. He hugged her from behind and said, "No matter what happens, even if I'm responsible for the death of so many. Will you still love me?"

"Never had a choice. She chuckles and pats his head." Avril smiled. "If you become too troublesome, I'll pull you and take you home."

"Alright," Oscar chuckled and jumped to the ground, leading the way onward. Erden trotted by his side. As he approached, the loud clamoring of eight hundred Exalts fell silent. A great gathering had assembled around the main building or what remained of it. The roof and walls were removed, and a platform was erected several feet above the ground, enough to overlook the entire span of the outpost.

"My Lord. Lord Terr. Our Savior." The crowd parted, creating a straight path forward to the platform. All knelt and prostrated themselves before him, their heads sinking lower than their knees. Avril seemed uncomfortable, so Oscar gripped her hand. The only sound audible was his own footsteps matching Erden's hooves, the others silently waiting for him to take his place. Oscar put on his helmet and stepped on the platform.

Serit approached and unfurled a long banner, presenting it on his knees. "We argued for a long time about what symbol we fight under. But we found it." The banner showed a shape resembling a flattened helmet with three horns, the outline of his helmet. Its black color became more distinct on the white cloth. "Your master's symbol, your symbol, is ours now, too. Take your place, Lord Terr."

Oscar wielded Volten's sword and tied the banner to the blade, the long strip of cloth stretching fully to the breeze, showing the symbol. He stood before a stone throne, an improvement from the boulder he had sat upon for a near year. Turning, he faced the crowd, eyes wide with expectation and fervor. Avril lowered her head and shook it slightly, to which he smiled weakly. Like a flag post, Volten's sword jabbed into the platform, and he sat on his throne.

Everyone cheered, raising their weapons. Their zealous cries filled the air. No longer were they the Defiants, scourges of Shattirma, and outcasts of the Primal Council. They were his army.

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