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.

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.

A smile came to her lips, something she’d not appreciated before. As she was not the Principal, it would not be her fault if they failed here. She was weary of being his dog. When she was Principal, she had her own dogs that guided the wool-gathering idiots and shielded her from drudgery. She wished she could compliment Paladin Agwald; her right hand had always made it seem so easy. The Harkleys always did have a talent for such things. It was a shame he was one of the few on their side, given the privilege of being in the realm. Perhaps she’d see him again if he escaped.

She looked back down at the fussing Priest. A cold certainty that this would be her last command stilled her frustration.

“Of course, Priest, I should not expect you to have the wit to puzzle out my thoughts. Send my Paladin an order to come to aid me, but pass on a message to his Paladins. Let them know I suspect this attack is no natural occurrence. I sense the foul workings of heretics or the demonic fae. They should also send a warning to the South camp. They must have everyone on watch.” She enjoyed the look of constipated worry that descended on the Priest at that announcement. Her order had done three things. She’d given her Paladin a chance to escape, made it clear the Cardinal was needed, and finally pressed the fear into them.

“Your will be done, Saint.” Paladin Astra began to give out orders. His voice was drowned out by a cacophony of roars. The beasts had caught their scent.

The wave of monsters was closing in. Ginevra readied herself, preparing for the fight as well as checking she hadn’t left anything at camp. She would act to protect the camp but knew she was unlikely to return. Best put on a bit of a show. She unleashed her Blessing of the Blade. The divine power made the edges of her spear blur.

She launched herself at the lead beast; this was another Ice-horned elk. Her blade carved through it as easily as if it were a pile of snow. An entire menagerie followed it, a stampede of beasts that should’ve been fighting each other, were now spaced out across the narrow pass that led towards the camps. The death of the elk only seemed to drive them on.

Saint Ginevra smiled. She began to pick her targets, letting them take her steadily away from camp. She coiled up the blessing of metal and slammed herself into a trio of ice snakes. Just her aura was enough to shatter the lesser elementals. Maybe her earlier thoughts were wrong, and the monsters could be handled. She didn’t want to see her flock slaughtered, it was unprofessional. Still, something deep in her gut, or perhaps a shred of divine inspiration, told her that their bleating calls would be silenced today.

So faint as to be a whisper carried by the wind, she heard the sound of the North camp’s alarm bell. It was a frantic noise, not the steady ringing of a watchman calling men to arms, but the frenzied beating of someone begging for help.

Ginevra slashed out at another squad of beasts, buying the South Camp a bit of breathing room. Then she dipped into her true power—the Divine Mandate that marked her rise to Sainthood.

To become a Paladin, one must make a Covenant with the Guiding Star. The heathens called such a thing their ‘intent’, a phrase that embodied the core of their being and defined their power. Ginevra’s was simple and powerful: ‘I am the tip of the spear’. Her power was one of focus. She brought great power to a single point, a point that moved quickly, darting back and forth, ever able to keep the foe at bay.

One-on-one, she could regularly beat others a step above her. Her power could punch through defences and knock away attacks. She would never be one to send out waves of attacks to strike down a horde, though.

Her Mandate took it a step further. This marked her ascension into Steel rank. To rise, one must steel their own name against dark influences or risk losing their identity and mind. To do so required one to have a deeper understanding of a fragment of creation. The Guiding Star gifted her with Divine Mandate over the concept of the fragment ‘Spear’.

She threw her spear into the air and focused. The concept of the ‘Spear’ was not just of the weapon, but the act of spearing something and the power within. That point of power punched through all that stood before it. It wasn’t limited to weapons; she’d felt a certain kinship with the Ice Horn Elk. Those spiked horns had connected with her Mandate. And with her Mandate, she could stretch her power beyond the limited realms of those who played around with blessings and ‘gifts’.

She was her spear at that moment. Her eyes floated with it as it spiralled above the camps. She felt the tip carving apart the air, leaving a screaming rent that would be filled with a thunderclap. She didn’t bother to seal it up this time; perhaps the booming shout would rouse the Cardinal. He’d complained often enough about it.

The spear cleared the South camp in a split second. It rose over the trap and the bear. She could feel the monster tracking her spear despite its terrifying speed. It hadn’t forgotten that she’d kept it busy while the trap was sprung. The fight had been the most lethal of her life, and that was with the support of the inquisitors and the sacrifice of several noble Paladins.

Fighting it again would lead to her death.

As she began to pass over the South camp, she did not know whether to groan or sigh with relief. The South camp was already being overrun by beasts. A horde of small beasts was spilling the blood of her flock, leaving nothing but mutton in their wake.

That was it. They’d lost. She quickly looked back to the Cardinal and laughed. He was already packing up. He knew it too. She could imagine him now demanding her aid. Would he have demanded she protect him, or would he have told her to sacrifice herself here in some futile effort? She’d never know; she wasn’t about to go back.

She blinked, and the blade was back in her hand. Time to leave.

She spread out her senses. The monsters were everywhere, and that was perfect. Her orders had been to protect the camp from such threats. It wouldn’t be her fault that the endless wave of monsters took her away from camp. She just needed to go before—

There was a pulse of divine power. She could feel the runes burning in her divine senses. The bear was about to break out. She darted away, carving through monster after monster. When the Inquisition questioned her, she’d speak nothing but the truth—she was hunting monsters to the last minute.

Another burst of power and the runes cracked. The release of power was the screech of failing metal. It scraped from her skull down her spine, setting her nerves alight. There was a pathetic bark of power—the Cardinal, no doubt—before a roar drowned it out. She began to sprint away.

She cast her mind back to a spear she’d left in her camp, using it to magnify her senses. She was just in time to hear the Cardinal’s screams.

“No foul demon, don’t! The Guiding Star…” Then there was a crunch. The bear was, after all, not much one for scripture. She could hear chaos and the sound of the monsters making mince of her flock. Just as she began to pull her attention away, she could hear the haunting sound of pipes calling out. It was a merry tune, making a farce out of the tragedy that played out.

She heard a final burst of worried bleating—the screams of sheep abandoned by their shepherd. She shut that out and focused on running.

A good shepherd is said to worry about each member of their flock, braving storms and wolves to protect them. Ginevra felt that the best kind of shepherd would know they could just get more sheep.