Paragon of Destruction

"You're sending Snowcloud away?" Arran looked at Brightblade in astonishment.

"Just for a year," Brightblade replied, her voice calm. "And while she gathers herbs in the borderlands, you can finally learn some magic."

Arran sighed. He had merely closed his eyes and a year had passed unnoticed. Now, he was beginning to understand just how much had happened in that time.

While he felt like he had only just arrived in the small valley, Snowcloud had already reclaimed her position as a novice, and would soon depart for the borderlands.

And that was just the start of it. He had made some connections during his first month in the House of Swords, but he had disappeared before any of those had the chance to grow. When he returned, he expected that he would have to start all over again.

Still, his biggest concern was Snowcloud. Even if she had made great progress, the thought of her facing the borderlands alone made him uncomfortable.

"Can't you send me with her?" he asked. "I'm strong enough to face Masters now, aren't I?"

Brightblade shook her head. "Your strength isn't the issue. You need training in magic — proper training. Until you get that, you're not leaving the Ninth Valley."

"But Snowcloud—" Arran began.

"Snowcloud can take care of herself. She's grown strong this past year. Strong enough to face Masters with confidence. But you…" Brightblade looked at Arran, then shook her head. "You need training," she said again.

It was something Arran already knew. Despite his strength, despite his swordsmanship, despite his newfound insight, the thing he still lacked was real training in magic. And that was something no unexpected good fortune could give him.

"I do need training, don't I?" He said the words reluctantly, but there was no way around it — his skill magic was sorely lacking.

"You do." A small smile formed on her lips. "And once you're recovered, I'll make sure you get it. But for now, let's spar some more. Exercise will do you good."

They spent the next hour sparring on the grass in the small valley, the sun shining down on them as Arran honed his new techniques against Brightblade's skill.

The exertion allowed him to clear his mind, and if it didn't exactly erase his worries, at least it offered a distraction from the shock of so easily having missed the passing of a year.

Yet when Snowcloud finally emerged from the mansion, a look of disapproval appeared on her face the moment she saw Arran and Brightblade sparring.

"He shouldn't be fighting," she said sharply as she approached them. "His body needs rest."

Brightblade shrugged. "I thought some exercise would help him. He's had plenty of rest already."

Snowcloud merely gave Brightblade an annoyed glare, then turned to Arran.

"I've made several potions," she said, producing three small vials from her void ring. She handed one of them to Arran. "Drink this one first. It will aid your bloodflow."

Arran glanced warily at the vial, but Snowcloud expression made it clear that this was not a request. Bracing himself for the worst, he downed the vial's contents in a single gulp.

At once, his face twisted in disgust. The liquid tasted even worse than he had anticipated. Bitter and pungent, it vaguely tasted of rotten onions, only far more intense.

He repressed the urge to gag, then gave Snowcloud a horrified look. "What did you just have me drink?!"

"It's a mixture of herbs and some animal parts," she replied. "Now stop whining. You'll feel the effects soon enough."

At first, the only effect Arran felt was a strong urge to vomit, but after some moments a warm glow spread through his body, soothing his muscles as if he'd just taken a long, hot bath.

"I think it's working," he said with a hint of surprise.

"Of course it is," Snowcloud replied. She handed him another vial. "This one will help strengthen your muscles."

Arran sighed, then downed the second vial. The liquid within was at least as disgusting as the previous one, though in an entirely new way. It was thick and sour, with a trace of something he didn't recognize. Whatever it was, he guessed he was better off not knowing about it.

He cast a miserable look at Snowcloud. "And the last one?"

"Just take it," she said, handing the final vial to him. "You'll see the effect."

Holding his breath, Arran forced himself to bring the vial to his mouth. Then, feeling more than a little dread, he gulped down the liquid.

To his surprise, this time the taste was pleasant — delicious even. And as it filled his mouth, it washed away the foul taste the previous two potions had left.

This was not something he had expected, and he gave Snowcloud a confused look. "This is…?"

"A herbal tonic," she said. "It stimulates the appetite, and also removes the aftertaste of the other potions."

Brightblade made an ugly face. "Why didn't you ever make that for me?"

"You didn't need it," Snowcloud responded. "But Ghostblade needs to recover his strength, and he can't eat if he's nauseous." She turned to Arran, then continued, "It's best to eat right after you take the potions, so I suggest you have a meal right now."

The tone of her voice suggested it was an order instead of a suggestion, but Arran did not object. Sparring with Brightblade had left him hungry, and he had already gone over two hours without a meal.

Snowcloud and Brightblade joined him in eating, and as they sat in the valley's green grass, Snowcloud filled him in on everything that had happened over the past year.

She spoke eagerly about her training in the House of Swords, explaining how she had begun studying the Thousand Cuts style with Doran and Master Kallias. Over the months, they had been joined by several other adepts and even another Master, forming a small group that relentlessly pursued mastery of the Thousand Cuts style.

Arran smiled wryly when he heard this.

Had he not lost a year in gaining an insight, doubtless he would have been part of that group as well. Perhaps by now, he would already be on his way to understanding the Thousand Cuts style.

But while Snowcloud was enthusiastic in talking about the House of Swords, she only truly grew excited when she discussed what she had learned in the House of Creation.

She spoke at length about its vast libraries and its endless stockpiles of herbs and ingredients, detailing the many recipes she had learned and how they had helped her grow stronger.

While Arran understood little of what she told him — his knowledge of alchemy only barely ranged beyond the fact that it existed — her excitement brought a smile to his face.

She was a skilled mage and competent fighter, but there could be little doubt that her true passion was the art of alchemy. And from what he heard, she had the talent to match that passion.

When the conversation eventually moved to Arran's experiences while he unsealed his Destruction Realm, he found that there was little he could say about it.

Gaining the insight had been a mind-boggling experience, but it didn't exactly make for a good story. All he had done was observe a small sliver of reality, and although the knowledge he had gained was staggering, there simply wasn't any way to truly explain it.

It was an experience that surpassed words, and his clumsy attempts to retell it only caused a puzzled expression to appear on Snowcloud's face.

"True insights aren't so easily shared," Brightblade finally cut in. "They can only be experienced, not explained. Nor should you try to do so. In fact, you should refrain from mentioning the matter to anyone in the Ninth Valley."

"He can't talk about it to others?" Snowcloud looked at Brightblade in confusion. "But it's just an insight, isn't it?"

"It's a true insight," Brightblade corrected her. "Few Grandmasters ever experience them, and even Archmages treasure those few they have. For an initiate to gain one is unheard of." She turned to Arran, then continued, "Tell no one of this, and do not use your insight in sparring or combat unless you have no other choice."

"So I can't use the style I've created?" Arran asked, suddenly worried.

"You can use the style," Brightblade replied. "The style itself only contains a hint of insight — nothing you couldn't have gained from normal training. But outside this valley, do not imbue your attacks with insight — not unless your very life is at stake."

Arran sighed in relief. The style he created had become the new foundation for his swordsmanship, and hiding it would mean crippling himself. But it seemed that, at least, could be avoided.

They spent more hours eating and talking after that, continuing well into the evening. Yet pleasant though the evening was, the knowledge that Snowcloud would soon depart cast a shadow over it for Arran.

The next few days, they spent training, eating, and talking. Snowcloud showed off some of her new skills — Arran was especially impressed that she had learned the Shadowcloak spell — and at Brightblade's urging, she and Arran spent some time sparring against each other.

When they sparred, Arran discovered that Snowcloud's progress was remarkable. In just a year, her strength had improved with leaps and bounds, putting her ahead of Arran in his current state. And along with her strength, her swordsmanship had seen astounding improvements as well.

And yet, for all her progress, the gap between her and Arran had only grown. Now that his foundation had been purged of flawed influences, his swordsmanship had advanced to an entirely new level.

Moreover, even in its current unfinished state, his new style was staggeringly potent, and as its creator, he had an innate mastery of it. Combining techniques he had refined himself was a matter of instinct rather than training, and the result was powerful beyond expectation.

"It's almost scary," Snowcloud said after a bout of sparring. "That insight of yours is really this effective?"

"I'm not using my insight," Arran replied truthfully. "This is just the style I've based on it."

"Then… when you use your insight…" She didn't finish the sentence, but her eyes held awe and astonishment in equal parts as she stared at him.

"Even then, I'm still far from a match for Brightblade," he said.

"That's terrifying." Snowcloud cast a look at the copse of trees where Brightblade was taking an afternoon nap. "Just how strong is she?"

Arran furrowed his brow as he considered the question, then shrugged. "I don't know if I want to find out."

Half a week passed quickly, and by the end of it, Brightblade and Snowcloud departed.

Snowcloud loudly protested this, wanting to remain in the small valley, but it was no use. Brightblade insisted that she had to continue her training until she left, spending half of each week in the House of Swords and the other half at the valley estate.

Before they left, Snowcloud handed Arran two dozen small vials.

"Take two a day of each," she said. "I'll bring more when we return half a week from now. And don't overexert yourself — your body is still recovering. Also…"

She went on for some time, giving him a list of advice and warnings so long it would have been excessive even for a year-long journey.

Arran merely smiled in response. "I'll see you again in four days."

After Brightblade and Snowcloud left, Arran quickly set to training. His sword style was still far from finished, and he intended to complete it before he returned to the House of Swords.