The main manor of a lesser lord was modest when compared to the opulence in which the high lords and kings lived. The royal manors and those of the high nobility were true districts, gathering the family, administrative, political, and military core within the same space.
Lord Malcon lived in a simple manor without much luxury. Being practical was one of his fundamental traits, an aspect of his personality that helped him earn the trust of the people he governed.
Viewing the well-being of his subjects as his solemn duty gave Malcon a deep sense of purpose. His simplicity and empathy made him the most popular lesser lord in Ígnis, not to mention his strategic intellect, which made him the primary advisor and reference point for the realm-city's urgent matters.
It was no surprise that he was assigned to handle the sensitive and vital mission of gathering intelligence on the actions of the kings; planning had always been his strong suit, though the scale of what he had to accomplish now was monumental.
The office, carved entirely from dark mahogany, exuded an austere nobility and an enviable refined taste; being the trusted man of the High Lord brought, after all, its privileges. Leaning back in a wine-red velvet armchair—whose crimson hue seemed to emerge from the wood itself—Lord Malcon observed the object on the desk in absolute silence.
There were many doubts and expectations in the air. Having witnessed the levitating debris earlier, his memory flashed back to the times he had dealt with delegations of cultivators who came seeking resources for their mansions. No matter how much they paid, the realm-city always suffered a loss, as the cultivators determined the prices and payment terms. Underpriced goods, absurd installment plans, and extended payment deadlines were the norm.
He remembered, as if it had happened today, what took place when the Lesser Lord of the North dared to complain and was sent flying with the flick of a finger. The wind conjured in that attack lifted a 180 kg man as if he were a ragdoll.
In summary, all humans cultivated, since everyone was born exposed to fons. However, due to natural limitations in synthesizing fons, the majority could not harness the abundant ambient energy to strengthen themselves or command the elements with which they held affinity.
Even under these conditions, humanity developed methods to grow stronger, crafting artifacts and discovering ways to enhance their physical bodies and elemental mastery.
The class that succeeded in this feat concentrated the techniques for power manifestation and enhancement within their ranks. Over time, they came to be known as cultivators: immortals whose vitality and lifespan were extended by their cultivation and supernatural abilities.
And even though every human was technically a cultivator, the maximum lifespan in the realm-cities was eighty years, assuming one was born in the right fiefdom. Being born in a mining or livestock fief was practically a sentence to a short life.
Whether in power, lifespan, or wealth, cultivators were envied. Even their mansions were situated in the finest region of Eretz, within the mysterious central continent.
Yet, the defining trait of cultivators lay in their elemental manipulation. For this reason, Malcon's heart was in turmoil as he stared at the rectangular object on the desk. Abner had manipulated the rubble with mastery and ease using that device—with far more subtlety than he had ever seen cultivators display with their scrolls and legendary items.
"Alright, I know my invention is incredible, but staring like that is making me self-conscious, you know..." The comment, followed by the Rabi's sly smile, made Lord Malcon shift in his chair and finally avert his eyes from the object.
"Yes, it seems you outdid yourself this time—by a long shot. An item capable of manipulating elemental fons with such subtlety and force simultaneously... is unheard of!"
"Hahaha! I admit I outdid myself this time. Not even my work for Aquilon reaches this level. And mind you, the ether cubes are a technological landmark in their own right."
"But the question remaining unanswered is... what is this thing you created, Abner?"
"I thought you'd never ask." The grin on Abner's face betrayed his pride. Without a shadow of a doubt, he was sincere when he called that object his greatest creation. "You see, I dealt with many Master-level cultivators during my research into creating water reserves capable of supplying the mansions more efficiently. The result, as you know, was the ether cubes, an advancement so significant that it made Aquilon as indispensable as Veridia."
Malcon was already familiar with that story; it was an open secret among the noble council. To resolve water scarcity caused by population growth, the mansions had funded research across several realm-cities, Aquilon being one of them. From that research, the ether cube technology was born, and ever since, Aquilon's immense water reserves supplied not only the funding mansions but all realm-cities. Aquilon attained a new status, consolidating itself alongside Veridia and accumulating terrifying wealth in little over twenty years.
Rabi Abner was the lead director of that project and the primary mind that guaranteed its overwhelming success. However, as with any deal involving cultivators, Aquilon was not granted a fair agreement. The realm-city was coerced into an arrangement to supply the resource to the water element mansions, which in turn sold it to the cultivation world at their own price. Abner viewed it as unrivaled exploitation—Aquilon remaining perpetually indebted to the mansions that funded the project, while those same mansions absorbed the research results to empower themselves.
High Lord Elara Hakimi, Abner's older brother, saw no major issue with this; after all, when dealing with immortals, receiving crumbs was reason enough to be grateful.
This disagreement led Abner to break with his brother's vision and isolate himself in a pilgrimage across several realm-cities, eventually arriving in Ígnis to serve Lord Malcon in the mining fief.
"Because of how Aquilon was treated—unable to speak out, forced to accept it with fake gratitude—my view of reality expanded. Far from being heroes who protect us from external races, from the cruel Kaymans or the scheming Alikas... cultivators are our jailers and executioners." Abner's hands trembled as he clenched his fist tightly, a detail that did not escape Malcon.
"And what grants them that right is power—derived from their advanced legendary artifacts, supernatural techniques, and our stolen, coerced resources. They built a throne out of what they strip from us and sat comfortably upon it! They need to pay! For all the blood spilled in the mines, they will pay! For every drop of sweat extracted from us to maintain their opulence... they will pay!"
"This, my dear lord, is how I will make them pay." The gleam in Abner's eyes was almost manic, obsessed and resolute. "Master-level cultivators use simplified versions of this object. It is called a personal rune, and it grants them a massive surge in power, as well as the ability to execute techniques via legendary scrolls. However, they are limited to using it perhaps four times, depending on the rune."
"What?! Four times? That..." For the first time in the conversation, Lord Malcon began to grasp the true weight of what such an object represented.
"Yes... They can strike and unleash attacks capable of reshaping their surroundings four times with those artifacts. That alone makes them more formidable than any legendary artifact or scroll below Master level. And there are even Master-level personal runes with greater durability and fons capacity."
Lord Malcon fell silent. His mind raced at a thousand miles an hour, formulating a wild idea—a plan that could redefine everything.
"How many attacks can your personal rune project? Does it compare to at least two? If it possesses that level of power projection... then it is worth attempting to change everything!"
"At least two? No... This prototype is infinitely superior: it can project six attacks."
The statement took Lord Malcon completely off guard. Yet, sharp as he was, he noted that Abner continually referred to the artifact as a prototype... Could it be?!
"You haven't completed your research yet? This is still just an unfinished product?"
"Exactly. Though it already surpasses standard personal runes and approaches Master-level runes, it is still only a prototype. What I aim to create is an artifact that will vastly surpass all legendary artifacts, rendering them entirely obsolete."
Lord Malcon could hardly believe his ears. Abner Hakimi did not merely seek to match or surpass the cultivators in runic creation; he wanted to render their entire technological system obsolete!
Who could make such a claim? Anyone listening would dismiss it as the ramblings of a madman or the empty boast of an arrogant fool. But this was the chief researcher and creator of the ether cubes. His ambition carried weight, and if the wrong ears heard it, Abner would be hunted down and executed.
Lord Malcon stood up from his chair, walking slowly toward the nearest window. The view of his fortress was something to be proud of; he had labored tirelessly for his subjects.
Much had changed since he assumed command of the fiefdom; yet, he could not alter the reality that many of the people he admired for their relentless efforts would still be crushed by the status quo, powerless to stop it.
"If you want to walk on the razor's edge, I can follow you. But our goal cannot simply be revolution and shifting the status quo only for a new boot to crush the majority. Power must reach the hands of more people." His resolute voice caught Abner by surprise. He had expected Lord Malcon to support him, having seen how deeply the man cared for those around him. He just hadn't expected him to take such an active role; after all, there was everything to lose.
"I didn't choose poorly, did I? Haha! Follow me? No... Lord Malcon, you will clear the path, and I will follow you. My job is to create the ideal conditions so that no one can stop you from burning this rotten system to the ground."
The lord still gazed out the window, his shoulders slumping briefly under the weight of what they were about to undertake. But that posture lasted only a moment before he straightened up. His back hardened, and with a decisive movement, he sat down once more.
"Then so be it! Let us burn them all."
"Yes! We will ignite and drown this unjust world, and many will rise! We will be many."
The resolution forged by the two men in that office would alter everything forever. If the powerful knew... if the kings knew... if the immortals knew... They would have marshaled all their power to slay them. But by the time they find out, it will be far too late.