After the al, Liam Crestfall, Zhen Hollow, and Suyin Bloomveil found their energy brimming.
They imdiately rushed to the courtyard and began practicing their martial forms, sword forms, fist forms, and such, letting the surge of vitality guide their flow.
Even several Ashvale guards and stewards who had been stuck in the Bone Strengthening Realm managed to break through, stepping through one realm or two.
Depending on their physical strength and ntal capacity, everyone’s rewards differ.
Nysalea felt it too. Her energy was churning gently.
The faint signs of breakthrough stirred beneath her skin.
Her body, light and strong, seed to hum in tune with the heavens.
She couldn’t help but sigh quietly.
Without this encounter, without this place, and without him, she might have needed two, maybe even three more years to reach this stage.
This was the reality of the martial world.
Nysalea stirred the broth in her bowl for a mont, then looked up, her voice quiet.
"The old saying was cruel, but true: ’Poor scholars, rich warriors.’"
Riven, who was near, paused mid-bite, a skewer of grilled serpent halfway to his mouth.
He looked at her, one brow slightly raised.
"I disagree."
She blinked. "You do?"
He set the skewer down beside his plate and leaned back slightly.
"That phrase was always a pretty lie. A phrase that overinflates a warrior’s worth and understates a scholar’s potential.
A warrior might have strength, but it’s the scholar who decides where that strength is pointed.
Who gets labeled a criminal, and who a hero?
Who eats at and drinks wine, and who dies in a trench."
Nysalea frowned slightly, curious. "But aren’t warriors respected, feared even? They have a foothold anywhere they go."
Riven chuckled, his suddenly dry amusent.
"Feared... Yes. Like beasts.
Respected... Yeah, only when they bleed for soone else’s ambitions. Shouting the slogan of another man."
He picked up his wine glass, swirled and sipped slowly before continuing.
"Think about it, Nysalea.
Scholars write the laws, draft the war treaties, and seal the imperial appointnts.
They never step onto the battlefield, but they decide who marches, how many, and where."
Nysalea interjected.
"But without warriors," she said, "they couldn’t hold anything. One could say it’s scholars who need warriors."
"No," Riven said flatly. "They hold pens. Not swords.
But it’s the pen that nas the general, and it’s the pen that decides whether a war hero returns as a noble or as a traitor.
And this imbalance of power alone is enough for warriors themselves to turn on each other... It’s simply human nature.
Scholars don’t need warriors.
Warriors need each other... but that simply will never happen. Every warrior is, to an extent, ego-driven.
In an ideal world or a small community, warriors may rule over each other. But that’s not reality."
He looked at her directly now, the heat of his words muted but steady.
"You think warriors are rich? Not all. Only the ones who kneel or the exceptionally strong and exceptionally intelligent ones..
The rest rot in unmarked graves. How many ’rising stars’ in the martial world flickered out quicker than mushrooms after rain?"
A silence stretched between them.
Nysalea swallowed. "Then... why do you fight if being a scholar ans more power?"
"Because of choice," Riven said simply.
In all his life, he wanted more.
Whether it was more freedom, wealth, power... he always wanted more.
One could argue that this is a result of his greed.
Maybe. Maybe it is his greed. But so what?
"I don’t look for wealth or court praise through fighting.
I fight for a piece of history. To carve my fucking na on the bones of civilization.
Holding a pen will not get closer to this dream. I need both the pen and the sword."
Selene, next to him, looked at him in adoration. Stars practically shining in her eyes.
Not many might understand his words, but how couldn’t she? She was the window to his soul.
’A piece of history... what an ambition my love’, she was too shy to speak those words, but Riven didn’t need her to speak them out loud.
He looked at her with a small smirk. Looking back at Nysalea, he spoke,
"Soone spoke these words...
Power doesn’t rest in the hand that wields the sword.
Power rests with the image, which others believe it to be resting within.
I wish to be one of them. The image that holds the power, I an."
Poor scholars, rich warriors - this line has been ingrained in the people of this world.
A limiting belief was taught to them since childhood.
’If you had no backing, you could train until your bones broke and still remain stuck,’ so they think.
That’s why many wandering martial artists were willing to join great houses or beco retainers to nobles.
If one had no inheritance, the only other path was to sell one’s skill to the imperial courts.
I would be a hypocrite if I said this saying does no good. After all, I need warriors who kneel to , Riven thought.
This mont passed quickly.
At the end of the feast, Selene went to Nysalea before going upstairs.
Selene smiled and whispered into her ear. "Co explore with us tonight, Sister."
"Explore?" Nysalea repeated in a daze. Her thoughts were in a whirlwind, her heart pounding. In her fluster, she nodded without even realizing it.
But... what exactly did Selene an by ’explore’?
Explore where?
Explore... who? (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄
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