The early morning sun blazed over the training field in Crestmoore, a gritty trade hub in the Kingdom of Solaria's Valthorne region. I stood there, sweat slicking down my olive skin, my gold-tipped braid swaying as I swung my two Mithril swords with a grunt. Damn curse dragged at my limbs, slowing every move, but I powered through, slicing the air with precision.
Around me, cultivators—those Qi-sucking freaks—watched with wide eyes and slack jaws. How's a mortal this strong? their stares screamed. I smirked. Let them gawk; the Supreme Elf thrives on their confusion.
Meanwhile, Bera and Tira were off at the Cultivation Tower, a fancy stack of stones where formations hoard spiritual energy like a miser with gold. They'd rented rooms there—3 Level 1 Spirit Stones a day each, 6 total for the pair—to meditate and soak up that sweet, concentrated energy faster than they could outside. Thanks to my first auction, where I'd pawned off a Crystal Wyrm's Middle-grade Beast Core and some shiny scraps for 10 Level 4 Spirit Stones, 250 Level 1 Spirit Stones, and 500 gold coins, we had stones to burn. I'd already spent 80 Level 1s—20 on that glowing egg's spiritual energy and 60 for the girls' 10-day tower stint—but we were still flush. I pictured them now: Bera, all rosy curves, and Tira, her phoenix tattoo glinting, sitting cross-legged with extra Spirit Stones glowing in front of them, sucking in power like it was ale. Grow strong, my fiery goddesses, you'll need it to keep up with me.
Back on the field, a cocky cultivator swaggered up, his aura buzzing with some rare element I couldn't sense—damn qi-blindness. He hefted a greatsword, grinning. "Hey, mortal, spar with me. Let's see what you've got." I sheathed my Zenoite blades, cracking my knuckles.
"Bring it, big shot, but don't whine when I snap that toy in half."
We clashed, the crowd circling like vultures. His swings were heavy, mine sharp, the curse slowing my dodges but not my grit. After a few sweaty minutes, I saw my chance. With a roar, I unleashed Heaven Splitter, the curse's 30 kg weight slamming through my arms into the strike. My swords ripped his greatsword in two, the halves clattering as a jagged fissure split the ground. The onlookers gasped, and the cultivator blinked at his ruined weapon, then at me, respect flickering in his eyes.He bowed slightly.
"Not bad, mortal. You'd fit with the Crestmoore Mercenaries." I facepalmed—hard. Oh, right, I promised Lord Crestmoore I'd join those grunts.
"Thanks for the nudge, uh…" "Tongo," he said, grinning. "Come on, I'll take you to the sect."
As we walked, I glanced back at the fissure, a filthy thought bubbling up. If Tira saw this crack, she'd blush at the resemblance to her own… assets. Somewhere in the tower, Tira sneezed mid-cultivation, muttering, "Someone's yapping about me—probably that perverted elf." I chuckled. Caught me, Fire Girl.
At the mercenary sect, Tongo dragged me to Elder Sani, a grizzled bastard with a sneer that could curdle Gromble fat. He sized me up, scoffing. "A mortal? Tongo, you hauled me out here to fence with wooden sticks against this?" Tongo jumped in, recounting our spar and my sword-breaking trick. Sani's eyebrow twitched, and he jerked his head toward the training field.
"Fine, let's test this runt. Admissions are monthly, but I'll bend the rules. Don't waste my time, mortal."
We squared off with wooden swords, the curse making my steps sluggish but my swings fierce. I landed a nick on Sani's cheek—his shocked glare was worth it—but he was too damn strong. With a flick, he wrapped his blade in Lightning, zapped me silly, and sent me crashing into the wall. Bones crunched, pain flared, but the field's formation kicked in, healing me up fast. Sani strolled over, smirking.
"Not bad for a mortal." I struck a ridiculous pose, grinning through the ache.
"Not bad? I'm above all mortals, old man." He waved me off.
"Tongo, finish his paperwork."Before he bailed, I piped up,
"Hey, can my two friends join my team?" Sani shrugged. "No issue."
I registered us—me, Bera, and Tira—naming our squad Fiery Fissure. Oh, the girls'll squirm when they hear that, I thought, snickering. I grabbed three badges we'd have to wear. Uniforms weren't mandatory, but teams needed a color. Red, I decided instantly—fire's hue, perfect for hugging their curves, especially if I could snag something tight.
Next stop: the mission board. My grin faded. Our group started at 1 star, and those missions? Laughable—fetching herbs or chasing rats. Too easy for us, I grumbled. I'd swing back once the girls wrapped up their tower time. For now, my spatial ring—Goran's Opeka gift—felt heavy with 10 Level 4 Stones, 170 Level 1s, and 500 gold coins. Time to see what my Wyver haul's worth. I headed for the Starveil Auction House, Crestmoore's dusty bustle swallowing my steps.