The Solitary Path to Divinity

The two of them circled the python, trading blows. Dozens of wounds crisscrossed its massive body, blood streaming down its scales—but for a creature this size, nothing fatal. Lowell and Monty had already burned through several mid-grade spirit stones just to keep up with the immense drain on their spiritual power.

"Another incense stick's worth. If we can't finish it by then, we bring in the others." Monty called out to Lowell, sweat pouring down his face.

"Fine."

Lowell wasn't faring much better. The python was stronger than either of them alone. Without their artifacts and the constant replenishment of spirit stones, they would have fled long ago. But bringing in the others meant more people to split the Ginseng. If he could kill it now, he could take extra plants for himself. Who was going to stop him? Vera? That nobody Leo? They'd have to get past his lightning spear first. When it came to Foundation Establishment, even fellow disciples didn't count for much.

"Black Flame Lightning Wheel!"

Lowell roared. His spear, already crackling with power, erupted in black flames. The ordinary rock nearby crumbled to dust at the touch of that fire.

He spun the weapon. The black flames coalesced into a massive wheel, lightning arcing around its edge. Where it passed, a deep trench gouged the earth.

Even the distant python hesitated, wary.

Monty's eyes narrowed. Lowell's talent with lightning techniques was formidable—head-on, Monty admitted he might come up short. And on the other side of the cave, the Palace still had two more core disciples. His face darkened.

"Six-Point Ice Seal!"

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He pointed at his ice spike. Four more identical spikes materialized around it, the central one swelling into a massive icicle. All five shot toward the python's head.

On the other side, Lowell's black flame wheel rolled forward with the force of a thunderstorm.

The python shrieked, its tail lashing out. It shattered several of the wheels, scales flying, flesh tearing. But it held.

Then the massive icicle descended, aimed at its skull.

At the last instant, the python opened its mouth. A fist-sized cyan demon core shot out, meeting the icicle. They clashed once, twice. The core dimmed. The icicle's shell cracked, shrank back to its original size. Four of the smaller spikes shattered. But one—one curved in a strange arc and shot toward Lowell's unprotected back.

Lowell had just unleashed his last wheel. His power was spent, his momentum exhausted. They had been winning together—on the verge of wounding the beast, maybe killing it. He never expected an attack from behind. Never expected his ally to turn.

He sensed it at the last moment. Not enough. He twisted, avoiding his heart. The spike punched through his armor—too fast, too sharp—and tore through his ribs. The cold that followed numbed half his body. He nearly froze solid.

The python, its core damaged, shuddered. Fighting humans was bad enough, but now they were fighting each other. It didn't understand. It didn't need to. Slowly, it retreated toward the pond.

"You—Monty—what are you doing?" Lowell's voice was raw, blood staining his lips as he fought the ice spreading through him.

"What am I doing? Keeping the Ginseng for myself, of course. Your herbs, your weapons—sell them, and I'll have enough for several Foundation Establishment Pills. With my talent, Foundation Establishment will be all but certain." Monty's laugh was ugly, triumphant.

"You're dreaming. Even if you kill me, Quincy and Vera will make you pay. With Quincy’s artifact, you can't possibly beat her." Lowell spat blood, desperate.

"I don't need to beat her artifact. I'll just stab her in the back like I did you. Don't worry—you were so fond of her. I'll enjoy her, then send her to join you. Consider it a kindness."

Monty laughed. The fight had been chaos. No one had seen this coming. Two Palace disciples, sensing the turn, tried to slip into the cave. Monty's spike flew. They raised their blades—blocking a shadow. The real spike took them both.

He retrieved his weapon and planted himself at the cave entrance. "Kill them. Less to share, more to take. Their gear, their herbs—today's a good day."

His disciples obeyed. They turned on the allies they had fought beside moments ago. Monty cut down three more himself. In moments, the scattered Palace disciples were slaughtered. One, fleeing blindly, stumbled into the python. It swallowed him whole.

Lowell watched, helpless. His team, dead. His chance at survival, fading.

The python, confused by the sudden slaughter, slipped back into the cold pond.

Monty raised his spike to finish Lowell—then stopped. A sound from deeper in the cave.

His face tightened. Even with Lowell dead, there were still Quincy and Vera. Two core disciples. Quincy alone, with her Golden Core grandfather's artifacts, would be a hard fight. And Vera's archers—seven of them, disciplined, dangerous. In a straight fight, his people would lose.