Defiance of the Fall Chapter 1412: Feisty Feast

The earth trembled as it got consumed to carve out a route. Merely a few months prior, kicking up such a commotion would surely have triggered Ibtep’s antennae to detect incoming peril. Now, it got overshadowed by the massive upheavals of the terrain. Regarding the Beast Emperors that compelled constant vigilance? The majority had already relocated to richer territories. The risk from unpredictable energy surges had become somewhat easier to handle, yet Ibtep realized there was no cause for joy in that.

Sausage finally arrived at rich soil, halting there. Ibtep perched on their twelve-meter steed for fifteen minutes, meticulously probing the conditions overhead. Silence prevailed. Content, Ibtep commanded Sausage to remain underground before excavating a narrow tunnel to the top. With antennae quivering, Ibtep scanned both directions prior to ascending.

Parting from one’s mount as a knight equated to losing one’s limbs, but Ibtep certainly wasn’t venturing onto the surface unarmed. The diverse array of odd grubs and stunning creatures inhabiting the Left Imperial Expanse had granted Ibtep a thorough enhancement, with most focus directed toward endurance.

Their gear, crafted from the skin of a notably slippery grub, concealed its user’s aura almost flawlessly. Additionally, the scent sac, blended from beetle waste and desiccated plants discovered within a memory lantern, repelled most flying hunters. Still, excessive caution was essential in this enigmatic realm. More than a year of scouting had proven that point.

What use was gathering all these excellent bloodlines if death claimed them far from their origins? Who would carry their findings back to the colonies?

Ibtep searched the rusty heavens for dangers. The avians nesting in adjacent peaks were fortunately absent. A yearning chirp in their thoughts drew Ibtep’s gaze onward, to the Farsee Court adorned with its five glowing rings. It hadn’t drawn noticeably nearer since their initial entry into the Left Imperial Expanse. Both had preferred that distance—at first, anyway.

Sausage yearned to advance her own growth further. Ibtep harbored doubts. The terrain’s initial teaching was clear: deeper travels invited escalating hazards. Sausage had advocated wariness by digging persistently into the soil. Ibtep had no qualms heeding a grub’s wise counsel.

Thus, they lingered in the untamed areas, evading fierce beasts and fellow Sealbearers while bolstering their own strengths. Ibtep eyed the completed emblem on their left palm. The count of lanterns explored likely surpassed a hundred now. Many proved worthless until they mastered detecting those with promising prospects, and progress surged once they deciphered the subterranean currents.

Regrettably, those currents all conveyed the identical message: venture inward. The surrounding energy, though abundant relative to their homeland, was steadily drawn toward the nine spires bordering the continent. This progress had influenced Sausage, making her more receptive to the earth’s summons.

She bore no blame, and grasping Ibtep’s restraint eluded her. Sausage hadn’t endured the sour sting of loss, witnessing comrades return from battle in fragments. She hadn’t traversed colonies resounding with emptiness after their fighters sacrificed themselves. Sausage couldn’t fathom the dread of fate’s unpredictability, where remote occurrences could devastate all she cherished without her involvement.

Ibtep exhaled and dismissed the musings. “Saucy, keep focused on the goal. Do you detect anything?”

A chirp affirmed the soil stayed calm. Ibtep retrieved Precious from their garment to verify. The larva measured just three inches wide, boasting six fuzzy feelers nearly matching its full length. They fluttered in the breeze for ten seconds before the creature curled and dozed off once more. Ibtep nodded approvingly.

Precious—a altered larva finely tuned to the emanations from the Outer Courts’ pillars—had shielded them from encountering Sealbearers repeatedly. Ibtep trusted its capabilities somewhat, but to what end? Ample territory existed for all, rendering conflicts with other explorers unnecessary.

Alas, the absence of trails and Sealbearers merely verified another foraging zone had depleted. The lanterns once blanketing the frosty valley had merged into the landscape, and the heavens ceased restoring the vanished ones. This pattern held true across the board. From examining a dozen lanterns hourly, Ibtep now considered themselves fortunate to find a dozen daily. Worse still, half floated so high in the air that Ibtep avoided nearing them. Their second hard-earned wisdom was that the skies posed greater threats than the ground. Thereafter, they traveled solely beneath the surface.

Reaching this spot demanded three complete days, so Ibtep couldn’t depart right away. They combed the valley until uncovering something noteworthy. Silver blades releasing a invigorating aroma of renewal blanketed an entire hillside. Jointly, they elevated the local energy by a slight level, underscoring their potent spiritual essence.

A immensely potent entity had formerly resided in an venerable tree crowning the rise, but it departed amid the exodus. The grand tree had its vitality drained, leaving it an empty shell. Fortunately for Ibtep, the Peak Beast King overlooked taking the foliage. It might have relied on the might of countless worms cultivating the earth underneath.

Poor strategy.

The worms surged toward Sausage regardless of her superior rank and lineage, believing numbers could surpass superiority. They might have succeeded, but why battle solo? The worms’ bravado vanished as over a hundred elite combat larvae spilled from a pouch attached to Sausage’s harness. At that juncture, retreat was impossible.

“Batch Seven?” Ibtep murmured while gathering the hillside, sparing only partial attention to the clash below.

The explosive incantations from the worms felled several dozen foes. Such losses merely purged the weak from the group, insufficient to alter the outcome. To minimize casualties, Ibtep invoked [Feisty Feast] for a brief surge in the emerging force’s power. The skirmish concluded before Ibtep completed collecting the blades.

Further searching across another day brought no significant finds. The encountered lanterns ranked as the poorest quality. Such recollections might conceal unexpected boons, but the risks outweighed the rewards. Not every one allowed free departure, and Ibtep had endured week-long confinements multiple times.

“Time to head home; the young ones must be famished,” Ibtep sighed, stroking Sausage’s rounded neck.

The trip back nearly doubled in duration as they paused to gather provisions en route. Although energy densities waned, certain locales teemed with excessive fauna. The mountain overlords had isolated themselves or sought superior realms, allowing youthful and driven creatures free rein. The beast waves from the disruptions barely reduced their ranks, and the surplus of remains simplified Ibtep’s tasks.

One day, Sausage breached a dense layer of solidified slime and descended into one of their auxiliary passages. She eagerly squirmed toward the persistent chirps afar, her six tucked wings quivering in eagerness. Ibtep echoed her sentiments. Almost two months had passed since their last visit to Incubator Four, established directly over a Fire-aligned vein.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Such a risky endeavor held potential for catastrophe as energy streams altered, costing more than one group that way. Yet the survivors emerged transformed. The Left Imperial Expanse’s bloodlines were remarkable, requiring merely the proper nudge to advance.

The scorching waves from the nursery pit proved nearly intolerable, compelling Ibtep to employ a protective artifact. Sausage, shielded by her insulating layers, remained unscathed. Her vast dark orbs fixed on the furious crimson larvae spewing lava at rivals while vying for prime cultivation positions. A handful spotted the observers, but ingrained familiar odors identified the visitors as allies.

“They’re incredibly robust,” Ibtep concurred with Sausage’s chirps. Her subsequent response prompted a frustrated tail slam against the barrier.

“However, it falls short,” Ibtep stated. “We possess ample time. Eighteen thriving settlements stand achieved already. Aim for twenty-five prior to advancing. By that point, you’ll have assimilated that ancient cranium from the Memory City. It could propel you straight to the subsequent level.”

Sausage grudgingly consented and calmed fully after Ibtep personally offered her several favored wolf bodies. The pair observed the offspring a bit longer, periodically tossing in a Beast King remains. Each instance ignited the cavern in fire and thrilled clamor.

This existence suited them perfectly. Let others chase peril by charging toward those ominous spires. Such fates held no appeal for a mere cultivator. Any capable grower knew that gradual progress trumped haste.

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“Feeling improved, Sonny?”

The surroundings whirled for several seconds before stabilizing on the inverted sight of a gap-toothed, four-eyed satyr sporting sparse violet locks. The soothing, ethereal radiations from the elder’s gaze roused Galau, prompting him to expel the violet fluid flooding his chest.

“Way better,” Galau coughed. “Mind setting me down, Grandma Pimsi?”

“Certain? There’s loads more of the beneficial brew available. You wouldn’t want lingering issues, eh, Sonny?”

Galau peered below at the cistern right under him and the foul sludge his head had soaked in across eleven days.

“Positive. I feel completely recovered,” Galau asserted firmly.

Even if false, Galau refused another round of that revolting ordeal. The ordeal only heightened his admiration for Zachary Atwood. Emily had shared tales of Emperor Atwood’s trials to attain his stature, and Galau hadn’t erased the horrors witnessed in the Tower of Eternity.

Were Emperor Atwood present, he’d likely guzzle the entire reservoir without protest. Observers beheld only the splendor, ignoring the grotesque sacrifices fueling his might.

“As you wish,” the satyr replied with a shoulder lift and cranked the pulley she gripped.

Galau swung clear of the well, touching down on the violet turf nearby. He loosened the bindings on his ankles, easing the rigidity as he rose.

“And how long until my complexion fades from purple?” Galau inquired cautiously.

“That hinges on your soul’s potency and the dedication to its care. Gifted youths absorb the leftover essence in weeks,” Grandma Pimsi explained with a broad, toothy smile. “What, concerned the ladies will shun you in that hue?”

“More like fearing my partner at home bars my entry,” Galau quipped dryly, drawing a hearty guffaw.

“Minor staining is a trivial cost for the byproduct,” she beamed. “She could view it as intriguing.”

“Perhaps you’re onto something. She’s rather unique,” Galau grinned. “You truly decline compensation?”

“What use has an aged goat for extra funds? The Empire secures a cozy retirement. I lack for nothing, and you repaired these aged formations,” the satyr dismissed with a head shake. “Drop it. Care for a meal?”

Galau eyed the violet meadows, their yields all corrupted by the residue from the shuttered Dasar Potioneering Factory. Its proprietors vowed economic revival by tapping the area’s distinct spirituality for soul-fostering elixirs—items in perpetual demand among nearby Mentalist Clans.

Rather than boosting prosperity, they unleashed an environmental catastrophe by discarding alchemical waste and Earthly Taint into the water-infused Dragon Vein sustaining the zone. When officials caught on, the vein had twisted. The culprits had vanished, slain or fled.

Remediation efforts never materialized. The Empire opted for cheaper reparations to residents over tackling the altered vein. The vast soul-nurturing residues yielded a bonus some experts deemed research-worthy. Certain groundwater zones gained soul-restoring properties. Mastering such changes could yield infinite restorative draughts.

Grandma Pimsi and select locals capitalized, converting disaster to gain. Through experimentation, she excavated eight restorative shafts. Numerous cultivators endured the drawbacks for the low cost and solid gains. Someday, the factory’s new scholarly overseers might eliminate the undesirable traits.

Regrettably, the ethereal perks bypassed local produce. They solely adopted the acrid flavor and noxious odor from the seepage. Galau firmly declined the supper invitation. He’d consumed vile fare during Muscle Brigade days, but hadn’t descended that low. Instead, he devoted the following day to completing the formations encircling the final shafts before bidding farewell to the loquacious satyr.

Galau refrained from leaving the memory realm promptly, choosing to dwell in the adjacent small settlement. Coincidentally, his inn room overlooked the Anima Court’s soaring spire. Grandma Pimsi had queried his future plans, yet he lacked a clear reply.

He harbored no regrets forsaking the Daedalian Court, despite holding a Threadwinder Seal. Without his grasp of the Limitless Empire’s arrays, Galau would remain a battle-thrall to those fanatic neo-imperialists. He still shivered recalling his breakout night. Perhaps Emperor Atwood’s fortune had begun influencing him. How otherwise to account for that convenient meteor storm distracting his guards while concealing his path?

Debating the eastern Farsee Court against the western Anima Court, Galau chose the latter. As a budding Array Master, he acknowledged his soul’s relative frailty. He’d toiled to address it since fleeing the Centurion Lighthouse, but soul cultivation proved gradual and unrewarding. Galau believed the Anima Court offered potential aids.

To imagine failing even the initial trials, denying him a shot at confronting a Soultaker of Ultom and entry to the Anima Court. The ordeal even scarred his soul. Luckily, he’d traversed the region en route and learned of Grandma Pimsi’s operation. Else, his plight would worsen.

Still, mending his soul reverted him to the starting line. The Anima Court’s pillar visible through his pane seemed impossibly remote now. Was he deluding himself? He’d abandoned the Daedalian Court’s core prematurely. Presently, he felt overwhelmed in unfamiliar territory.

It transcended the heightened trials of the outermost memory zones. Galau had employed clever bypasses to outpace his abilities, yet he’d veered significantly off course. Scores of sealbearers had already arrived. The fiercest had penetrated that daunting soul containing the Anima Court, though many intruders still ransacked the vicinity for gains.

Should he retreat to safer grounds?

Galau struck his face and whispered encouragement. “Pull yourself together. She’s out there kindling halos while you wallow idly.”

Admittedly, weakness and peril surrounded him, but so be it? His lighthouse origins were far grimmer. Could he truly abandon this realm of prospects over opportunistic foreigners? He retained advantages, and the Inner Region dazzled increasingly.

Ruins, artifacts, and memory lanterns abounded for those reaching this depth—enough for eternities. It seemed the Left Imperial Expanse was casting off its deceptive shell, unveiling its authentic form. Suitable chances must exist for him. Galau had observed a contestant infiltrate the Anima Court by impersonating a Soultaker of Ultom. Why not him?

More than one intact-seal lantern awaited, and his aliases weren’t vital. His lighthouse stint instilled equilibrium between caution and daring. If a month in the Inner Region failed to prepare him for the Anima Court’s Soulgate, he’d prepare for two. Indeed, what meant years to a Hegemon?

Hesitation wouldn’t serve now. Time to devise a path. Initially, those researchers bunkered in the factory likely needed aid. Why else manifest a memory domain in this remote spot?