Arthurian Cultivation

Saint Ginevra, known as the Ascendant Spear, was engaged in a challenge of piety. The challenge was not the cold, desolate place she found herself in, nor the weak monsters that dribbled in on occasion. The great challenge was the pathetic sheep she had been tasked with keeping alive.

Shepherds were a big part of the Ray of Bonds' teachings, and she had always sneered at the use of a peasant’s profession as if it could teach a Saint like her anything. Now, after experiencing the constant battle to keep her own flock of dawdling idiots from wandering off and getting eaten by some mangy pests, she held a newfound respect for those peasants.

The Paiges in particular were like newborn lambs, wandering around on unsteady feet. Regular sheep were bad enough, getting caught in bushes and bleating for help. At least the ‘bush’ had been a monster lying in ambush; it was a foe. The lambs, though, were beyond useless. She had lost three of them in the last week: two to the cold and one to a fall into a gully. What kind of cultivator perished from falling over? A feckless lamb whose journey to ascension to the Court of Stars was a failure before they could take the first step. She wondered if the heretics had to put up with such pathetic displays of power.

Cardinal Wexlan seemed confused about the heretics. In one breath, they were all deviant barbarians, each as wise as a lump of clay, given form and baked into mere imitations of real cultivators by the iron will of those few who commanded Mithril levels of stolen holy power. In the next breath, the heretics wielded the cunning of the fox, the savagery of the wolf, and the stubbornness of the bear. They used these attributes to endlessly plot and scheme ways to bring down good and honest servants of the Guiding Star.

Even when acknowledging their threat, they were still equated to beasts. This undersold their danger. Beasts were nothing compared to a human who was prepared for them, just as she slaughtered the fur-coated giants before her.

Her spear danced. She had not got a chance to challenge herself here, and this fight would barely warm her. She used her spear to carve through the abominations. She restricted her blade blessing; there was no need to waste it. The foes were vermin at best; they didn’t deserve her blessing, let alone her Covenant or Divine Mandate.

She carved them up. Briefly, she considered leaving them there for the flock to collect but thought better of it. The sheep would only get into more trouble. She picked up one of the corpses. The fur was oily and smelled most foul, but it would be good for fighting off the cold and keeping the lambs safe. More importantly, even with an ugly mockery of the human visage, the meat would still be of use. It could be cooked, and the flock seemed to have an insatiable need to graze. Such needy creatures they were.

She flung the corpse back towards the camp and then did the same with the rest. As she did so, Ginevra paused in silent reflection. Something about this was not right. Where had these monsters come from?

Three days ago, the main camp was destroyed by the bear demon. It had slaughtered its way through most of their number, and now only the dregs who had been in the support camps remained. With the Inquisitors demanding priority on entrance, many of their soldiers had taken to hunting to keep themselves busy.

They had hunted everything for miles around. The reason was a mix of sport, food, and security. They would bring the spoils back to camp and celebrate their triumphs, doing what they could to salve the wound of missing out on the bounty of the Divine Realm. It was ironic that most of these weak prizes now lay within the blessed formation, likely feeding that giant demonic bear.

Ginevra had never been one for hunting, or rather she had been happy to be led to monsters worth her time by others. She knew little of the habits of such creatures, but her instincts told her something was amiss.

Had they been stirred up by the unusual number of avalanches she had sensed today? She had been tempted to investigate but held back. Knowing her luck, she would have returned to find her sheep competing to ram themselves down the gullet of a monster. She scanned the area with her divine senses, looking for any sign of divine power being used. Had the heretics found them?

She sensed no humans. The use of blessings, whether that pure power of the blessed or the twisted energy of the ‘gifts,’ had a distinct feel. There was nothing but her flock. In the background, there was endless power of ice and earth, as well as the wind. She felt something in the wind, a strange power that she didn’t recognise. It was thin and weak but complex, a mix of power, not some natural phenomenon.

She was distracted from that oddity as her senses pushed down the mountain and found more beasts approaching, a whole horde of them descending on their position. She leapt back to the camp, appearing before the Paladin assigned to the camp. He was a young man, recently promoted by the trials of cleansing the Divine Realm.

The man took a knee to hear her words. She resisted the urge to chastise him. His promotion meant he should stand with a bowed head when receiving her orders, especially as he was technically the leader of this camp. She glared at the hut where the Priest and other Paladin stood in proper displays of deference. The Priests had stolen the veteran Paladins for their protection and left her with only untested metal for commanders.

“Paladin Astra, foul abominations are closing in on this camp. Summon a few from the other camps to help you reinforce your position. Get your soldiers ready. I shall slay all that I can, but some might slip through. Call upon the other Paladins from the East and West camps to aid you. I will not be pleased if the few scurrying vermin, who are not worth my time, are able to overwhelm you.”

“Saint of the Ascendant Spear, how does this fit within Cardinal Wexlan’s orders?” This was a question from the Priest, asked in a tone of genuine confusion, a pilgrim seeking enlightenment. How she wished to enlighten him by throwing him and his master into the sun!

She cursed the tenets of the Ray of Bonds. Two had vexed her endlessly: loyalty to the Principal, and unity in conduct and mind. For the sake of unity, she couldn’t call out the fat, wrinkled pig. He sat with her best soldiers ready to defend him, despite the fact that he was second only to her in combat strength. In the last two days, they had done nothing but watch over him as he fed the divine tool that kept the demon in check.

Technically, it was his right to squander that power. He was the Principal, the head of this decimated family. His word was law, and his laws were a reflection of his soul. A craven excuse for a man.

She prepared her thoughts. She was unused to not being the Principal. It was rare for two Saints to gather, and rarer still to find a Cardinal out in the field. She struggled to find the right words to maintain the facade of unity. Looking over the shoulder of the Priest, the formation loomed. Barely visible due to the shadows and eddies of divine power, she saw the silhouette of the demon looming over the camp, two eyes, each as big as her head, watching the proceedings carefully.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

She might be disgusted by the Cardinal, but it was only thanks to his knowledge of the runes that they had survived. He had twisted what was once meant to be a tool of defence into a trap. That act of desperation was no miracle as he claimed. The runes had trapped them with it. The power it required was too great. They had to feed it constantly as they waited for reinforcements. All the while, the bear was testing it, looking for a moment of weakness.

The Cardinal called it a beast, but she knew better. She had fought other beasts whose power equalled her own. They were as smart as any human, and this one was waiting for its moment to strike. She didn’t need the Blessing of Prophecy to know it would get free. They had had a chance before, but now? Their power was too meagre, and this new threat had already tipped the delicate scales in its favour.