The Exalt Cultivation Fantasy

Act 4: Fallen Heaven - Chapter 699: Six Months And The Rumblings Of War

Oscar woke up and gasped for air, his heart pounding like a hammer in his ribcage, forcing his lungs to squeeze and tighten. Drenched in sweat, he sat up on the thin bed of fur and grabbed his elixir, gulping down a mouthful. Over a few seconds, his breathing calmed, and his heartbeat lessened, the relaxing effects cooling the blood pumping in his bulging veins that began to settle back under the skin. Another horrid nightmare and another sleep cut short. He couldn't bear to walk down the blood-ridden street any longer, the faces of the dead turning to whisper while sinking in pools of blood. Closing his eyes, Oscar meditated, inhaling and exhaling in rhythm as the scenes and exhaustion went away.

'You're not sleeping much. Fires need to be maintained well, and time must be given to breathe. You're choking yourself, boy.' Ignyres said.

'It's fine. It's fine.' Oscar ignored Ignyre's warnings and looked over at Avril sleeping by his side, her enticing uncovered back in his sight, even more alluring with the few red marks spread over. She wasn't disturbed by his sudden wakening and remained in a deep sleep, probably drained from fighting the accursed and the passionate session afterward. The burning rope made from strong fibrous grass dangling from the thin roof of wooden planks had been charred halfway, the small embers slowly traveling and spreading upward. It meant six hours had passed since the daybreak, and six hours remained until night.

'Only two hours….' Oscar sighed as he got dressed and covered Avril before kissing her cheek. After four hours of satisfying their desires, he slept for a mere two hours, barely qualifying as a nap. Passing by the stone pillar that held up the roof, Oscar pushed aside the tarp of sewn grass and stepped outside, the cool breeze of the day brushing his sweat-ridden hair, a much-needed respite. Grabbing a cup full of water from the well, he poured it on himself, shivering from the cold water crawling down his back.

"I'll head out. Watch and protect her." Oscar said, taking a bite out of a ripe, blue fruit.

"Naturally," Erden yawned and rested his large head on the bundle of grass, chewing a few strands. "Still don't want to talk about your nightmares?"

"No. I'm fine." Oscar asserted and departed, feeling Erden's big eyes digging into his back. In six months, the entire outpost had been repaired and improved. He walked straight on a paved road of bricks and stone, sweeping his gaze over the walls that reached twenty feet high. It even accommodated a series of watch towers that reached higher, offering a good vantage point for the ranged attackers. At a crossroads, he halted and considered his options, nodding when he decided to visit Hector at the workshop first. He had to check on the most important projects.

Dozens of chimneys and pipes protruded from the grassless gray dirt, a vast field encompassing a small farm. They expelled heavy clouds of smoke and flakes of ashes that scattered over, granting the ground its grayish hue. A gaping tunnel with long downward stairs led to the workshop, and already, he heard the pounding of hammers that struck on metal and anvil, the roaring of the flames bursting out of the furnaces, and the hisses of finished products quenching in oil. The entire place was underground, yet not a spot was dark or in the shadow, for the flames burned brightly, and there were many furnaces.

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"Boy! You've come!" Hector noticed his arrival and strutted over with a maddened smile. It had been only six months, but the changes in this old master could not go unnoticed. The hair had visibly gone white, the beard wild and overgrown. Deeper wrinkles streaked across the soot-covered, craggily skin. But some things remained the same. The beady eyes carried the same seething toward the others, and the mouth spilled harsh words and curses, shoving off the onlookers who bowed and stopped their work. Hector made a motion for him to follow and entered a chamber below, where another waited for them.

"My Lord!" Auren knelt, ashes spewing out of his brown hair. The young brat laughed wildly, not minding the dirt on his hands as he rubbed his eyes.

Hector clicked his tongue and dragged Auren back up. "Enough of that."

"How's the progress? Are we any closer?" Oscar ignored their exchange and headed toward a tall golem, reaching twelve feet tall and clad in scarlet armor thicker than a shield, the shoulder broad and looked as if aflame. It stood in a deep groove carved within the rock, the chest open and exposing three cores. Beside it were three others: golem warriors of gold, azure, and teal, standing inside their own spaces.

"Not quite, boy. Those designs of yours are far too complicated. What sort of madman came up with these? Just the cost of creating one makes me want to smash my hammer at the waste." Hector spat on the ground, smacking his lips.

"I, for one, would love to meet the creator. The formation designs in the cores are absolutely splendid. I barely needed to enhance them." Auren said in reverence, but it came as a shock to Oscar that Auren could even improve on the formations. After all, these golems were designed by the greatest mind that plagued even the great Primaeres to this day.

"No issues on the costs?" Oscar asked.

"We spent a third of your treasures on these four monstrosities. This hull here!" Hector slammed his hammer on a chest plate, resulting in a loud ringing noise that lingered for a few minutes. "It took several grade-four fire elemental ores of the highest quality. Don't get me started on the three cores per golem. Damned madman. It'll be a few more months until they're ready. Come! I want to show you these, too."

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"Now these, my Lord, are amazing!" Auren perked up and leaped to the other side, wheeling out one of the four entombed in the wall. On eight wide wheels, a strange battering ram faced toward him. It resembled a small steel house with a triangular roof sitting on wheels. A cannon stuck out forward, formations layering on the three sections of the shaft. Auren rubbed his eyes again, coughing from the dust wafting from the wheels. "But they're still a while away from being finished. We used maybe another third of our resources on them."

"Aye, I can't wait to see them in the battle. Especially these." Hector slapped the roof of the battering ram. "Fabricators should see how their creations are. Would have gone faster if we had help."

"You know I can't do that. The less people know, the better." Oscar circled the special battering ram. "Unless you want a bounty on your head like me."

"Nah, I'm good." Hector laughed, shaking a hammer at Auren, who scribbled endlessly on his notes.

Looking upon the four golems and four battering rams, Oscar slowly clenched his fists, enduring the pain of regret. If only he had had these during the war decades ago, perhaps it would never have reached the dire circumstances where nearly everyone died. But after years of blockade, the Brilliant Drake Empire lacked the immense amount of elemental ores, plants, and Marshal Exalt beast cores required to craft them, settling on regular Sentinels. Yet, Volten's grace gifted him with a vast treasury beyond a normal empire's resources. How laughable. He consoled himself on the fact the bastard Saul would have manipulated events to end up the same way.

After saying farewell to Hector and Auren, Oscar left the workshop, enduring a few more bows and stares from the fabricators, more numerous than six months ago. Seeing not many people outside, he assumed many were either sleeping or resting. A rowdy cheer attracted his attention, coming from the other side, and Oscar put on a helpless smile as he went over to the source. Slowing his steps so they barely crunch the grass beneath, he hid behind a large boulder and peeked out at the dense crowd gathered around a sword stuck in the ground, Volten's sword.

Per Serit's request, Oscar placed the sword down here to dispel any dissenters and thoughts of greed. It was understandable, considering many would believe the sword was special and the reason for the accursed turning, thus resulting in some coveting it. They were correct, but only Oscar could empower the sword to act on their behalf. Scores of people surrounded the sword, drinking bowls of stew and sharing cooked lamb shanks. They shook the ground as they cheered on a man marching to Volten's sword. Around three hundred had gathered here. In the six months, their numbers had grown to six hundred strong, just shy of the might of the other three human factions.

The man reached Volten's sword and dusted his hands with ashes. Shaking his head, Oscar watched the man grip the sword and pull hard, the strain dyeing the head a deep purple as blood leaked from the nose. The crowd stomped their feet and chanted for the man to keep it up; quite cruel, in his opinion. It seemed Volten's sword had enough and rejected the man, sending him flying with a forceful burst. The man coughed and gasped, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, garnering the laughter of the others.

"I said it, didn't I? Yes, the sword is special, but it only acknowledges our Lord." Shallen, the first of the migrants from the other factions, crouched and lectured the man on the ground. It only seemed like yesterday when Shallen came in with hopes of living better and freer, but now, there was none of that bright determination in his eyes; only a wild, fanatical gleam flashed across the pupils. The man who had come in hopes of living could now give his life for Oscar's sake. Oscar hated that. Shallen raised his voice, "Who else? It is clear our Lord has been chosen. The Primal Council, the Shattered Scion, and Gilbert lead because of their strength, but our Lord has something greater. Fate determined he wields the sword. Fate is on his side. Who else can claim that? He fights on the front with a shining light on his back. Who else can be our leader if not him?"

The crowd raised a resounding cheer. Some were lords of their own territories, others were renowned fighters who were bound to no faction, but now they all cheered for him. Oscar said nothing, put on his helmet, and strode into the crowd. A few noticed and gawked, pointing at him before prostrating themselves on the ground. Before long, the entire crowd knelt. Oscar didn't enjoy it and hastened his pace, reaching the sword. Upon its freedom from the ground, the sword hummed audibly so that all could hear, and they responded with a shout of affirmation. In their hands, they brandished the armaments crafted from Volten's elemental ores, another reason for their fierce loyalty and more fuel to the rumors of the claim he was beloved by fate. In Shallen's own words, who else could collect such a vast treasury if not led by fate?

"Disperse," Oscar said, putting the sword on his back. "Rest and prepare for the night."

"Yes, Lord." They said as a collective and left, clearing out the grounds instantly.

Oscar heard Serit's yawn from the side, noticing the sluggish smile on his brother-in-law's face and the unkempt clothes. It seemed Serit also enjoyed a good time after the night. Serit eyed the few stragglers on the edges and gestured for them to leave, having something to report.

"What is it?" Oscar asked.

"Some spies report the three factions will be convening tomorrow morning, setting off right after the daybreak," Serit said, pouring a bowl of stew from an open pot. "No doubt to discuss us. We offer food, shelter, free elemental armaments, elixirs, and some friendly accursed. I didn't expect to reach six hundred people in six months, though. That's thanks to you."

"Hmm. where?" Oscar glanced at him, then grew annoyed at the lack of an answer, speaking harshly, "Where?"

"Under the dark tower. It's an eight-hour trip for us and six for them since they have the surrounding fortresses. They'll believe none of us can show and interrupt." Serit smirked and pointed at him. "You're going."

"Am I, now?" Oscar stole Serit's bowl and drank it in one gulp.

"At least meet them and make some demands. The point is to stall and keep them guessing before I can enact my plans. Understand?" Serit grumbled and took a new bowl.

"Actually, I do have one thing I want from them." Oscar pondered and nodded. "Alright, but I'll go alone. No one else is to follow. Understand?" He returned Serit's assertion and towered over his brother-in-law.

"Just don't get killed out there."