The beat of his heart remained ever so clear.
He did not feel an ounce of exhaustion, even after what he had just done. Twelve Flesh Awakening Warriors lay dead around him, their blood seeping into the dark stones, and yet his breathing was steady. His muscles did not burn. His mind did not fog!
The Mana coursing through his flesh, his bones, his blood, his marrow, his organs, all of it sustained him in ways that traditional cultivation could never match.
As his weapon and the weapon of the Bone Tempering Warrior buzzed against each other, he kept his eyes on the enemy. He could see the visible shock and fear within them, emotions that the Warrior was struggling and failing to hide.
This was not what Lukaku had expected to find in these backwater territories!
Emotions drove the enemy in front of him to speak in the next moment, his voice cracking with barely contained fury and terror.
"You know what you have done, Dross?!"
Lukaku’s face twisted with rage that was trying desperately to mask his fear.
"You have raised a blade and killed the forces of The Sworn! The swords of The Anointed Ones!"
He pressed harder against Damian’s spear, but neither weapon gave ground.
"Your indiscretion by killing Flesh Awakening Warriors alone is excessive! And should you do anything against me, you would doom yourself and your whole tribe!"
...!
Damian’s eyes became even colder as he heard these words.
How could everything a single Warrior said be so vile?
How could one person embody so perfectly everything that was wrong with the Great Hierarchy?
"The Lands of Stone are cruel and unforgiving already."
Damian’s voice came out calm, almost conversational, a stark contrast to the blood that painted his skin and the bodies that surrounded them.
"And yet those from slightly more fortunate tribes choose to look at others in less fortunate tribes as if they are animals. As if they are waste."
His grip on the spear tightened.
"You so desperately try to cling and claim yourselves as the swords of those who care even less about you. The Anointed Ones do not care whether you are The Sworn of their Vassal Tribes or whether you are Tribesmen from Unbound Tribes."
His Mana-lit eyes bore into Lukaku’s.
"To them, all of you are the same. I..."
...!
Damian shook his head.
He wanted to say more.
He wanted to explain that he knew this. That he had lived this. That he had heard all the conversations and witnessed how those who considered themselves royalty looked down upon all others without distinction.
He had seen how regardless of whether they were from Vassal Tribes or Unbound Tribes, many were turned into slaves to do the jobs that others did not want to do. Kur, they called them. Men and women turned slaves regardless of their affiliation. Property. Things to be used and discarded.
His father and mother had taught him different.
His Ama, his mother, had taught him different.
She had shown him that the Dross were people, not waste. That the Sworn deserved respect, not contempt. That power was a responsibility, not merely a privilege.
But not everyone had his Ama.
And the vast majority were certainly not as kind as her.
His words seemed to have dazed the Bone Tempering Warrior, who was looking at him with a grim expression. The casual way Damian spoke of The Anointed and The Sworn, the familiarity in his voice when discussing the Great Hierarchy, none of it matched what a Dross tribesman should know.
There was a pause in their confrontation, weapons still locked but neither pressing the attack.
Before the battle continued, Damian could always obtain more information so that he was not in the dark on what was going on. Knowledge was power, and right now, he knew almost nothing about who these people were and why they were here.
"Alright."
Damian tilted his head slightly.
"So what Vassal Tribe should we be fearful of?"
As he said this, a figure emerged from the darkness behind him.
The rings on Grandmother Essun’s gnarled stick echoed out, clicking and clattering as she walked. Her ancient eyes were heavy and filled with malevolence, a cold fury that transformed her bent form into something that seemed far more dangerous than a mere old woman.
She passed by Damian and the Bone Tempering Warrior without a word, but as she moved past Lukaku, she gave him a deadly menacing stare. Her yellow teeth showed in something that was not a smile, and Lukaku flinched despite himself.
Then she continued on, reaching the Chieftain and the two surviving Warriors of the Purple Stone Tribe. She crouched before them with surprising grace for one so aged, pulling out a wooden container filled with Bloodmoss Paste from somewhere within her layered garments.
She began to tend to them in silence, her gnarled fingers surprisingly gentle as they applied the rust-colored remedy to their wounds.
Lukaku’s gaze remained heavy and on high alert.
His eyes never left Damian.
The young man who had slaughtered twelve of his Warriors still stood before him, blood-soaked and Mana-wreathed, and the Bone Tempering Warrior was not foolish enough to look away even for a moment.
"You want to know who I am?"
Lukaku’s voice had steadied somewhat, falling back on pride and bluster to mask his fear.
"Very well. I am Lukaku of the Iron Serpent Tribe, a Sworn Tribe that has served the great Neolithic Empires for five generations."
He straightened slightly, some of his arrogance returning.
"I hold the rank of Fang Commander among my people, and I am here as the right hand of Lady Morgana."
His eyes narrowed.
"Lady Morgana is a Sworn Commander of the Iron Serpent Tribe, blessed with power and vision beyond what lesser creatures could comprehend. She has taken command of the Golden Tribe in these territories, bringing order to the chaos of the Unbound."
...!
He tried to smiled grimly.
"The Butcher you killed was one of her enforcers. When she learns what you have done here tonight, when she discovers that Dross have dared to raise weapons against The Sworn..."
"Your tribe will burn. Your people will become Kur. And you will watch it happen before she allows you to die."
...!