The Exalt Cultivation Fantasy

Act 4: Fallen Heaven - Chapter 697: The Icon

Serit's stomach lurched in pain as he laughed heartily, stumbling into the main building where none would approach if not for the most important of matters. The warm light of the ten orbs beaming through the gaping holes in the roof added to his brightened mood. Just now, his beloved Avila informed him of Oscar's agreement and conditions, an absolutely hilarious series of conditions. Though, he couldn't blame his brother-in-law since Avila was quite intrusive and overprotective. What mattered was Oscar agreed to act out as the icon of their resistance in these foul lands.

"I'm serious!" Avila gripped his collar and lightly shook, flailing his head up and down. Her frustrated look drew Serit in as if in a trance, yes, entranced by her lovable reactions. Without a word, he pulled her in and kissed her dearly, reminded of what he was fighting for, struggling every day for. Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted from his tongue, his wife having bitten him. Serit retreated and smacked his lips, tasting a hint of blood. Avila wasn't in the mood for proper intimacy, which sprouted a hint of jealousy in Serit, his brow knitting as he thought of Oscar and Avril, who acted without care for the others.

"She's my sister…." Avila clacked her teeth, annoyed and irritated.

"And she's his wife. Let them be. They've suffered enough, and I'll be responsible for putting more burdens on him." Serit frowned, remorseful of elevating his brother-in-law to a status he never desired. He couldn't imagine the sheer weight of being the one everyone turned to as a source of strength, but in these harsh lands, that is what they lacked. Tactics, strategy, force, strength of arms, and alliances were not enough. True unity had to come from a shared belief, and that was Oscar. Last night, he didn't expect a shining beacon that literally turned the accursed to fight for them, but the effect was beyond his expectations. The meeting in the morning proved it.

'I have to make use of it, or else it'd all go to waste.' Serit apologized inwardly to the ones he would manipulate and Oscar, who would lead them.

Avila sighed and hugged him from behind, stroking his blonde hair. "I feel sorry for him, too. But I don't want you to feel burdened. Are you an idiot?"

"Indeed I am, Avila! So, please, comfort me." Serit flipped around and brought her down, holding her on the ground. A very rare whimper sounded, and Avila blushed fiercely, the red practically dripping from her cheeks. Serit sighed in satisfaction. Teasing his dear wife soothed him, easing the tenseness gripping his heart and mind, and unable to resist, he pecked her lips several times. Her elbow jabbed into his chest, forcing a grunt of pain. Serit fell back and leaned on a boulder. Avila appeared before him and initiated her own passionate kiss. Of course, she never wanted to be at a loss or on the backfoot, but Serit knew it would only stoke her passion more if he incited that competitive spirit.

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"Anything from Tiron and the other leaders?" Avila said through gasps and pants, her breathing rushed and hot on his face.

"They're well hidden in the ranks of Lockwood and the Primal Council. But don't ruin this moment with them." Serit played Avila's game and toppled her over, which only ignited her desire as she flipped him over, an unending game until one submitted. A part of him wondered how Avril might react seeing her older sister behave in such a manner, but right now, he had to subdue this tigress.

"Uncle!" A piercing cry interrupted the lust-ridden session, and they both stiffened, glancing toward the fumbling Gloria, who stammered and stuttered, blushing blood-red and darting her eyes as if trying to avert them. "A-a-a-ah. Uncle and Aunt." She bowed. "Outsiders are approaching. Dad went out to meet them."

"Outsiders?" Serit was startled and rose, helping Avila to her feet. A great pillar of Ein erupted and speared the sky, surging with awe-inspiring power, Oscar's power. He grabbed Avila's hand and sprinted forward. "Gloria, Renn, stay here. We'll take care of it." The timing was too rushed. He didn't expect any stragglers, outsiders, or deserters for another week. What on Talos happened for them to come out after one day?

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…….

"Join us?" Oscar withdrew his Ein, but Erden prowled and circled the strangers, ever careful of any sudden movements. As Erden's deadly glare fixated on them, they knelt and held their hands up in surrender. They numbered five men: one Greater Marshal Exalt, one Middle Marshal Exalt, and three Lower Marshal Exalts. They should be able to sense his Grade Six Exolsia, yet despite their numbers, they had given up. Upon closer scrutiny, Oscar grimaced at the state of their clothes, ragged and torn, the scabs and scars of a recent battle adorning their battered figures. "Were you run out of your fortresses?"

"I am Shallen, Lord of the Kyers of Shattirma. But here, I am just a slave, fodder compared to true masters of our world. These are my people." Shallen said, a hint of exhaustion leaking in each word, the kind Oscar had heard on many after a terrible battle. "We served under the Shattered Scion and fought the first night. But I have already seen the signs. When the time comes, we'll be abandoned or left behind, given naught but scraps to scrape by as the core forces are untouched. I have foreseen this."

"Then why come here? You escape from one master to serve another?" Oscar asked, his foot stomping right before Shallen.

"I come because of two signs. First, word has reached far of an outpost surviving the accursed, a small group that defies reason. In such a small group, I don't believe I'll be a mere soldier. Second is this." Shallen reached into his space pocket, Oscar's hands gripping into fists, ready to bash in his head. Relieved not to kill in the morning, as Shallen pulled out a scroll, Oscar waited and widened his eyes at the bounty poster for his head.

"What is the meaning of this? You come for my head?" Oscar tapped his neck, Erden roaring in response.

"No. No. It is simply shocking. Fallen Heaven only allows what it allows into its sacred lands. Yet, it allowed so many to carry these bounties. It could only mean you are truly hated or beloved by fate. I choose to believe in the latter. For you have led this small outpost and survived. I want to join and fight not as a servant or fodder but as a proud Exalt. Will you grant me that?" Shallen thumped his chest, and the others followed.

"Oscar!" Serit arrived and brandished his short sword, Avila aiming an arrow at Shallen. Oddly, the deserter remained calm and closed his eyes as if awaiting his judgment. Oscar gestured for them to halt and explained Shallen's reasons. Serit whistled at Avila for her to go and interrogate the newcomers. Her special Prinstyct was very helpful for these moments, revealing the underlying emotions in a person. As she questioned them, Serit nudged for Oscar to follow.

"This because of you?" Oscar asked, hiding his words behind Ein.

"Very hard to plant spies in the forces of Shattirma when we had no presence there to begin with. But one or two stragglers aren't notable to them. After all, they don't have the resources to concoct truth elixirs for everyone and can't spend the time interrogating every person if they even had someone like my flower. But yes, I did have them ready to spread word…in all places." Serit said.

"So give them false hope to come here, expecting to survive on better terms? You just want more soldiers." Oscar lowered his tone in anger, but Serit seemed unbothered.

"I admit it is all manipulation, but don't tell me you won't fight. These men have a better chance with us than others. They're here for better conditions. One look at what you can do, and they'll fight for us with renewed confidence and loyalty." Serit smirked, looking quite unpleasant to Oscar.

"If I decide to leave now, what will you do?" Oscar asked.

"Is that something you're willing to do? I've studied you." Serit glanced up and down from head to toe. "You may wish to break free and not be the person who has to lead or fight, but that's not who you are. You'll fight, and you'll win because that's what you have to do."

That statement sounded frighteningly familiar to Volten's speech. Oscar shook his head. Now that it had gone this far, he couldn't leave. It wasn't in him. He studied Serit, seeing the slight somberness scrunching the wily face, and clasped Serit's shoulder. "You don't seem pleased about it either."

"It's my war. I don't care what the Great Ollanar says or what bullshit is fed to the others. I wanted to be the one to lead us. However, I must relent to you. I can't be the one they turn to in times of desperation; only you can fill that role. But let me help you. I'll handle what you can't." Serit reached out his hand, and Oscar clasped it in agreement. Serit nodded and smiled, a pleasant one this time.

"They're clean!" Avila finished her line of questioning and hung her bow across her shoulder. Shallen and the others followed Serit away, leaving Oscar alone with Erden. The cold breeze intensified, battering the grass off the dirt in a green tide. Oscar looked up at the sky, remembering it was futile to tell the time by the light, and decided to return to the outpost. The second night was drawing near.