Zeyn Strider grumbled under his breath as the team escaped. The backpack he carried contained nearly a hundred Jin of supplies but felt like they weighed less than ten Jin. The things belonged to the 29th Pia’Vasi, and had been lent out to raider teams like them. He wished he could keep it, really, but they were tagged by tracking runescript lines that had been incorporated into the spatial expansion. Disable that and it would disable everything that made this thing special. Not that he knew much about runescript but his paramour, Maryn Shaun, who was also a childhood friend, dabbled in runescrivening.

Besides, he could always buy one when he became rich. It was a hundred gold crowns, wasn’t it? For a decent bag. A lesser bag would only give an expansion ratio of twenty to thirty percent and would cost a couple of gold marks. That kind didn’t lighten the load either but they would be just as useful. These bags could carry ten times more space than what the outside looked like, and dropped weight by a factor of ten point something.

Hmmm. So his goal in life was to reach Knight then live off his stipend? Knights received one hundred Sovereigns a week, or a silver crown, which was a tenth of a gold mark. So, twenty weeks of not spending anything would get him a basic bag, huh. ‘Course, he wasn’t particularly frugal. More often than not, he scraped the bottom of the barrel of his weekly allowance by the sixth day of the week. Well, fourth day if he had to pay for an expensive date, heh heh.

So it was more likely that he’d only save ten Sovereigns a week, so it would probably take him a hundred weeks, or nearly two years to save up. But then again, it wasn’t like he’d really remain idle. There were many jobs and openings that paid well in the Empire. Provided he lived through this current strife anyway.

His glaive, Decapitator, was held resting against his right shoulder while he ran. The weapon was long enough that holstering it across his back was incredibly awkward and would often trip him up if he wasn’t careful. The solid shaft was just a little bit taller than he was, but the sword attached to the business end added nearly eighteen inches to its length. The blade was curved and thick, and was sharp on only one side. The point could be used for stabbing, but its penetrative power was rather lacking compared to the cutting force. It wasn’t named Piercer after all.

The Strider Glaive Heritage didn’t have a lot of variations. It was a rather shallow Heritage after all, with only a couple of Knight-level Ancestors as its founders. No other had reached Knight, at least until his generation. Well, he hadn’t reached it yet, either, but he was confident of his chances.

Recent and not so recent events in Faron’s Crossing had given him…enlightenment.

Zeyn stroked the leather sheath covering his Decapitator. The safety device could be removed within a second of combat with a simple flick of his finger and a swishing motion. He’d have to retrieve the thing later, but even if it was lost or destroyed, it wasn’t as if it was irreplaceable.

Yuriko Davar’s unexpected return had been a surprise, and a rather mixed blessing. Zeyn had been pressured by the others to train…not so much because someone forced him, but that he couldn’t stand the thought of falling behind. Yuriko was one thing, but if Heron and the others grew that much stronger because of training with her and he didn’t follow suit…

After all, Yuriko was monstrous. Knight at fifteen. He hadn’t even reached Journeyman by then. Anyway, joining the class had been quite fruitful. For some strange reason, he no longer felt attracted to her. At least, not beyond the normal hormones of someone his age. Alright, he still was attracted, just not to the exclusion of everything else. Besides, Maryn fulfilled that itch and it looked like Heron and the twins hadn’t come close at all, hehehe.

Anyway, that training, as well as attending classes held by Swordmaster Kinohara from the 29th Pia’Vasi’s entourage, let him improve greatly. And it also made him think of different paths.

Heritages focused on weapon use weren’t all that successful as far as he knew. Those that dwelt on manipulating different facets of reality were by far the Heritages that boasted the greatest success. Evidenced by his own family. No one other than the honoured Ancestors reached Knighthood.

It was probably because the Imperial Path focused heavily on Animus manipulation and internal control. It was conjecture on his part, but by having the need to have an external object…

No, that wasn’t it. The Davars, not Yuriko, relied on Plasma Casters. Hmmm, but maybe they wouldn’t be useless if they had to use different weapons? They were experts at ranged weaponry, so he supposed using a bow or crossbow would suffice.

What about the Strider Heritage? Glaives. Without access to one, indeed, without using his trusted partner, his effectiveness was a quarter of what it normally would be. Maybe they would be more effective if he included his weapon in the inlays…or rather, if he inlaid his weapon, too.

But putting his Animus into his Decapitator sounded much like what the Federation used to strengthen themselves. It was Spirit Binding, wasn’t it? He’d fought enough of them to grow familiar with their methods. But one thing he couldn’t deny was that their Binders were better weapon masters.

Of those he knew in the Empire, Armsmaster Byrne for one, whose Facets clearly revolved around melee combat, they were outnumbered by those who manipulated Animus in a more direct way. Then again, even the armsmaster didn’t devote himself to a specific weapon style…

Anyway, would he have to meld Spirit Binding with the Imperial Path? A hybrid style might only lead him to a dead end. Still, if it weren’t for something else that occurred during training, he’d be a bit more reluctant to try.

He was abruptly jolted out of his musing when Danika Lorn stopped in front of him. They were marching single file and he almost ran into her. He would have bounced off the stocky woman, and he wanted to chuckle at the fact that she was much tougher than he was. Noise discipline stopped him, though.

He looked ahead and saw Krystal Zorin with her fist in the air. She signaled for the others to gather, and the frenetic energy in her movements showed her urgency. He was at the rear, so once he came close, she spoke.

“We will be encircled if we continue to avoid a fight,” Krystal said grimly. “Of what I saw, we’ll have to try to punch through. Heading east is our best hope.”

“The Caradec?” their team leader, Kale Kinnock, asked. “We’ll be cornered.”

“Swim across. But only if there’s no choice.”

“Can’t you see the future?” Kale complained bitterly.

“No, I can’t,” Krystal snapped, “That’s not how it works.”

“We get whatever support we can,” Rorke said as he laid a hand on Kale’s shoulder. The stressed team leader bit his lip and nodded.

“Then we fight,” Kale growled.

“We have to go now,” Krystal hissed. “That way. Hurry.”

Zeyn carefully removed the sheath off his glaive and hooked it on his belt. They formed a wedge, with Kale in the lead, Rorke and Danika next to him, and Mikel in the middle. Zeyn took position at the left flank, and they wheeled to the east.

The southern terrain was hilly and filled with orchards. The town of Cierra used to exist just a couple of dozen longstrides south of Faron’s Crossing, but since it defected, the Implacable Jade burned it down to rubble. That meant that the surrounding farmlands had been neglected. They were now overgrown with weeds and had unsteady footing.

As soon as they broke cover they saw a patrol group of nameless Chaos Lords. Zeyn’s heart pounded as he took in their numbers. Twenty.

Each one of them was as strong as a Third Order Journeyman, but that comparison was only made between Animus density and potency! Physique and agility, skill and techniques, were not normally accounted for when making comparisons. Just because a Third Order Journeyman’s Animus density was close to liquid, didn’t mean that a lower order one was hopelessly outmatched.

Zeyn growled and his voice melded with the battlecries of his fellows.

Yellow Animus snaked up his arms and into the glaive, coating the shaft and blade with Empowered Strike. Everyday Zeyn polished and cleaned his weapon, keeping it as sharp as possible, but the sharper the blade, the more fragile it usually was. Unless supported by Animus anyway. Empowered Strike made it so that his attacks could punch through a Wyldling’s Protective Field, but a nameless had one that was tougher than a Hunter’s. If he wasn’t careful, his Decapitator could break.

They charged right towards the nameless band who jerked in surprise but otherwise reacted with ferocity. Krystal guided their steps, and was the one who told them when to strike. When Zeyn saw the creatures first, it was when they weren’t looking in the team’s direction, giving them that slight edge of surprise.

She said she couldn’t see the future, but she knew what was going to happen before it did.

Kale fell upon the nameless, his greatsword held above his head, and came crashing down with deadly force. The Animus coating his weapon hacked through the Protective Field and cleaved the creature from shoulder to waist. The greatsword didn’t make it all the way through and the man kicked the thing’s middle and wrenched his weapon off, splattering bluish blood in the air.

Zeyn went for one of the outliers, his weapon slashed through the neck. His Empowered Strike slowed against the Protective Field as the creature reflexively defended itself. It raised its weapon, a chopping blade, and swung it at him, but he pivoted and drove his body weight to finish the execution.

Snikt!

The head bounced away while the body twitched nervelessly. Zeyn was already twirling his weapon towards another foe, going for the quickest path to strike.

Before, he adhered to the glaive forms of his Heritage. It was an intricate dance that flowed from attack to defense. But it was also needlessly ornate. Over the years of fighting, in the tunnels underneath Rumiga City, and in the open fields of Western Rumiga, dance-like forms held no place.

Sure he saw Yuriko and the Swordmaster move and fight as though it were a choreographed pattern, and what was odd was the fact that their enemies seemed to dance the same dance, but in his experience, dropping the flourish meant that he killed faster.

If his opponent was dead then he wouldn’t be hurt. Offence and defense were one and the same, and the purpose of every movement of the glaive was one singular thing. Cut.

Decapitator carved through the nameless’ Protective Field, and then its weapon as though it were a hot knife through butter. He struck just below the arm and he sheared through the creature’s upper torso. He felt the muscle and bones resist the blade, but ultimately, it was futile.

Zeyn’s mind was empty now of everything except for the next slice, the next chop, the next slash. Cut.

He killed another nameless, almost as easily as the second. For some reason, the creature’s mace seemed as flimsy as a twig and Decapitator sliced through it with ease. Followed by the nameless’ head. Heh.

Three for Zeyn!

He blinked in surprise as he came to himself. The nameless squad was dead, and over half of them were smoldering corpses.

“Come on!” Krystal hissed and they continued towards the river Caradec, three hundred or so paces ahead. But halfway there, Krystal skidded to a halt. Her head turned to the left and her carefully controlled expression turned to surprise, then fear.

They had been hidden behind a short rise and it was only when they were headed to the bank did they get revealed. It was a creature, a Chaos Lord with the rest of the nameless. Marching towards them.