DensityGodbyToraAKR
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MM - Chapter 268 - HOMECOMING
🕑 Added 2025-12-19 16:06:05 +0000 UTCRaine’s hand came down on Elana’s shoulder, the firm grip offering little comfort. “I know it’s a lot. I’ll help as much as I can. Other than a short break to bring the regulars to Silverlight, I’ll take over training new hires. After that, I have my own preparations to make, so most of this will fall on your people. I trust you can pull it off.” His nod relayed the supreme confidence he had in her abilities, as if that would somehow help.
Elana’s frown deepened, her arms crossing over her charcoal-dusted apron. His cheery demeanor only stoked her frustration. Raine couldn’t help it. He was finally building a proper arsenal of useful items—a cornerstone of any successful raid. Sure, the items they were currently capable of making were low-level, but even a weak Spark Bomb could briefly blind a 3rd-tier beast if it was sensitive to light.
She drew in a deep breath, lips set to snarl, then exhaled with a silent, defeated puff. In the end, Astra Infernum paid far too well for her to argue. “Fine! Fine!” Elana threw her hands in the air, her back already turned as she stomped toward the workshop’s exit. “We’ll get it done, same as we always do! Who needs sleep when we’re all already asleep anyways?!”
“Thanks, Elana. You’re the best!” Raine’s voice followed her out, but he did not watch her go.
He had the next nine hours to himself, a block of time dedicated to the methodical, dangerous creation of Gromglenn Boomsticks. The hours blurred together in a focused rhythm that became familiar without ever drifting into monotony. When working with such volatile components, a single slip of concentration would lead to missing limbs. Even if it wasn’t permanent, the experience was never enjoyable.
With fifteen minutes to spare, Raine put the finishing touches on the final set of five canisters. Not only had he completed the fifty required for his quest, but he had also assembled an extra fifty for himself. He would have made more if not for the constant interruptions to assist the other crafters with their individual projects. He handled each question with a patient smile, happy to help. They were quickly becoming the self-sufficient backbone of his guild, the engine of industry he originally envisioned they would be.
Raine returned to the staging area in West Base Town as the first of the regulars began to log in. Several of the freshly-reshuffled cohorts were already there, using the wide field to practice the basics of Resplendence. Rather than remain aloof, he mingled, moving through their lines to offer critiques on proper form and quiet pointers for those struggling.
Before long, all twenty-eight victorious cohorts were gathered—375 daring young men and women each, each brimming with potential that had yet to be truly stoked. Those who had failed, having lost too many levels to kill the Rabinoids, had already returned to Hammer Smith Town to grind their way through the Recluse Mountains a second time. On their journey, they would clear out the last of the caves Mel had scouted, securing valuable resources while regaining their lost Superiority.
Raine rose into the air, not needing to ignite his soul flame to command their attention. He spoke plainly through the raid chat, his words eliciting instant silence. “Excellent work making it this far. Those of you who reached level fifteen will be coming with me to Silverlight City to unlock your classes. The rest will come in the second group tomorrow. If you cannot reach fifteen by then, return to Hammer Smith Town and meet up with the others.”
The dismissal was brutal, and a necessary reminder that Astra Infernum did not abide slackers. Even at level 15, they were still far behind the competition. CronGate’s experts, the riff-raff of ZionLine, were leagues more skilled than the hopeful faces looking up at him. They had won the last war through overwhelming advantages that Raine stacked in their favor, not through superior ability. With the vods of how they pulled off a victory floating across the forums, it was unlikely Astra’s next war would proceed as smoothly.
Raine alone understood how little time he had to forge these people into true elites, and he knew that most would not make the cut. Luckily for them, their guild leader knew every trick in the book to give them the best possible chance.
He led the level 15 regulars through the tunnel and up a hundred flights of worn stone steps to the top of The Wall. Below them, Vaateaire stretched out in a smooth canvas of blooming pre-dawn light. The scenery was breathtaking, a world of impossible beauty and endless promise, unmarred by the traces of pollution and corporate greed that defined Earth. Yet at their backs, the dark scar of The Divide revealed the brutal truth of this reality.
Only strength prevailed here.
“Let’s go!” Raine’s voice cut through their quiet awe and, together, they took the next step. They leaped from the wall’s precipice and deployed their skydrifters, a flock of budding warriors soaring toward whatever destiny had in store for them next.
ManaJerr
- Low skies of the Silvergate Kingdom, ZionLine -
Jerr basked in the freedom of the open sky. The wind rushed past his ears, a clean and exhilarating roar that drowned out everything but the beat of his own heart. The feeling was glorious, like nothing he’d ever experienced on Earth. All too often, this world was so chalked with danger that taking a moment to enjoy the scenery was to invite an excruciating death.
On the formation’s flanks, the Vaaterran elites commanded by Varak flew with casual ease. Without a care, they intercepted the screeching, winged beasts that rose from the forest below to challenge their passage. Since the flight began, the elites had operated as both defense and scouts, wiping out any and all threats to the point Jerr wondered why Alaric bothered to personally lead them.
He was only a few dozen meters ahead, his back so close, yet reaching the man seemed impossible. Jerr had done everything in his power to lead his cohort to this forward position, a badge of honor for achieving the greatest success in The Divide. If not for being called to learn Resplendence, they would have reached level 16 the previous night. They were only two kills short. From 8 to 16 in less than a day, results that could only be considered a monumental success.
Even after, when the time came for a break, the regulars of his cohort proved why they had done so well. Instead of logging for several hours, they only broke long enough to see to their body’s needs, then were right back inside ZionLine. They spent almost the full nine hours relentlessly drilling Resplendence, only pausing when their Discipline pools ran dry. If not for Alaric calling on them, they would still be at it.
How could they stop?
Resplendence was everything he hoped it would be and more. Those pathways Dex had talked about were real, and with every new one that opened, truths about his own body and potential were revealed. For the first time in his life, Jerr was progressing down a martial path. Only now did he realize Alaric had been guiding them to this point all along.
It all began when they learned to find a place of calm within themselves—a centered stillness that allowed for the manipulation of Discipline. They pushed it into the road to triple their running speed. After that, when they passed through the mountains, Crimson Nebula drilled them on sensing the flow of Discipline through skill activations.
Those lessons culminated in the lectures that accompanied Resplendence’s movements, making each so much more impactful. Jerr could still hear Alaric’s voice in his head. “Discipline is a fuel source. It is liquid movement, distilled purpose, untapped power. Do not merely feel it flowing through your muscles; command it! Force it to expend itself. Maintain your center and push with your thoughts alone. Good, that’s it; one leg moves with muscle, the other with sheer intent.”
It was only thanks to keeping at it all night that Jerr found success. In those last few minutes, when Alaric appeared from nowhere to whisper in his ear, Jerr did it. He moved a leg entirely with the use of Discipline. Now, he would be able to advance to the next layer of Resplendence, where the force of the body was countered by the force of Discipline. He couldn’t wait.
Yes, as enjoyable as flying was, as important as it was to follow Alaric’s orders, Jerr would much rather be training.
Despite his jubilation, a cold knot of concern tightened in his gut. Friday. The day that had marked the birth of his freedom was behind them. Next week felt too near already. If his progress stalled, he would lose the position he fought so hard to earn. The rest of his cohort felt the same relentless pressure. By standing out, they put a target on their backs. Everyone was drooling at the chance to take their places.
But they wouldn’t give up. They fought together in The Divide, created seamless teamwork side-by-side under the thunder of bone-rattling explosions, then practiced until they couldn’t see straight. Their futures would not be stolen. Jerr would maintain this spot, in the lead, right behind Alaric.
Once more looking at his guild leader, he felt the familiar puzzlement. How could someone who looked even younger than himself be so adept at so many things? The rumor that Alaric had been a beta tester for ZionLine was half of every conversation in Belehorn. It was one of the few explanations that made any sense; the others were too outlandish to consider.
If I had been training under the time dilation for two or three years, would I be like him, too?
Jerr shook his head, doubting the thought. There was much more to his guild leader than a few years of training.
Just then, Silverlight City appeared on the horizon, and Jerr’s breath caught in his throat. The majesty of it all was overwhelming. At its heart, a turquoise river split the landscape. From an island in the center of that river rose a castle so immense it seemed less a building and more a mountain carved by gods. Grand, arched bridges connected the fortress-island to the sprawling city on either bank. On the many roads that acted as the veins of this thudding heart, was the microscopic motion of countless people and their wagons laden with spoils.
This was the hub of an entire kingdom, a nexus of wealth and power, and its sheer scale made Jerr feel profoundly small. Alaric had them land well outside the tall, white walls, and they jogged the rest of the way in neat rows, keeping to one side of the broad, paved road. The closer they came, the harder his pulse pounded in his ears. Judging by the excited grins of his subordinates, he wasn’t the only one feeling it.
Alaric called a stop at the imposing gates, its ramparts lined with grisly rangers and casters. Melee guards in gleaming plate armor paused their inspections to observe the new arrivals brave enough to skip the existing line. All of their equipment was a thousand times cooler than Jerr’s. They looked so official and intimidating that the regulars stood straighter on instinct, and beads of sweat could be seen on more than one forehead. A pair of guards sporting additional stripes on their polished badges approached and offered crisp salutes to Alaric, expressions freely bearing a sense of reverence, which made no sense.
The older of the two spoke, his booming voice not lacking in the slightest. “Favored One, it is our honor to greet you! Welcome back to Silverlight.”
Favored One?
The shouted moniker was new to more than just Jerr; a ripple of confused murmurs swept backward through the ranks. Alaric spoke to the man in quiet tones, words unheard. A small sack was passed between them, then they were waved through without having to submit their inventories to a search, as they'd done at the previous towns.
They left the furious glares of the other Travelers behind as they entered the city and were immediately swallowed by a sea of humanity. Alaric led them through the bustling streets, his pace unwavering. While not always easy to tell apart, the Vaaterrans made themselves known with the gazes of open hostility they wore. Still, they kept to themselves, unlike the local Travelers, who weren't shy with their snide comments.
“Am I hallucinating? That’s the Astra Infernum—a bunch of level 15 scrubs who don’t even have classes yet?”
“But how? Weren’t they supposed to have beaten CronGate and DyingNight at the same time?”
“I heard the Phoenix Clan was involved. Bet you Astra just licked the table clean and claimed the victory as their own.”
“Disgusting bottom-feeders. These guys are so weak I could beat them with both hands tied to my dick.”
“Looks like they won’t be holding onto that fancy guild hall of theirs for long.”
“The Bloodforged Warband is coming for them next. Bet my ass on it.”
Not one of the speakers was a nobody like Jerr had been until only yesterday. They were daunting martials, superior in gear, levels, and martial prowess. They spoke loudly, with confidence, not bothering to hold back their contempt. Their words, even the ones he did not fully understand, infuriated Jerr. But Alaric continued the march as if he heard nothing, his expression unreadable. If their leader chose not to respond, then there was no way he would, and neither would anyone else in his cohort.
The question remained: why did these people seem so ignorant of the battle against CronGate and DyingNight? Anyone with half a brain could have skimmed the forums for the vods.
Jerr’s anger was cooled by the harsh, sobering reality that he was still too weak; they were all too weak. The lowest-level Traveler he Identified was level 22. They had classes, much higher attributes, and they made it this far in ZionLine's hellish combat without Alaric's help. They were galaxies ahead. And in the all-too-near future, these were the very people he would be competing against for authority within the guild. If Jerr and the others did not get their shit together, and fast, they would rapidly find their necks back under the boots of the world's martials.
That could not be allowed to happen.
They made it through the commoners’ district and arrived at their destination. The guildhall was a work of majestic perfection, a structure of polished white stone that looked too expensive for the likes of them. A similar building on Earth would be surrounded by security twenty-four-seven—the kind who didn't bother asking questions before beating the snot out of you.
Fancy guildhall indeed. Jerr craned his neck while recalling the comments of the peanut gallery, and made a mental note to research this Bloodforged Warband. If they tried to take this place for themselves, he would find a way to make them regret it.
Alaric paused in the expansive yard, allowing everyone time to form ranks. “Welcome to your new home,” his voice was quiet, confident, and perfectly matched his pleased smile.
At a nod, Varak's conrois entered a side building that looked even more ornate than the main hall. They were led inside to discover the interior was even more breathtaking than the facade. He introduced them to its features in a business-like tone. There was a vault where they could purchase equipment from the guild, and it was already stocked with thousands of weapons and armor pieces, all the way up to level 30. As insane as that was, it was the quest wall that truly captured everyone’s attention. Vaaterrans from across the city had come to post notices, offering them work.
When Jerr saw the gold rewards for completing each quest, his jaw dropped. He had already been paid his battlemaster salary of ten gold for the month. Using the exchange store, he turned that gold into enough credits to live comfortably for five years. It barely made sense how that was possible, but it was. These quests were something else entirely. Many of them paid upwards of fifteen gold each, and he doubted they would take more than a few hours to complete.
Pure avarice flashed through their eyes and hearts. They were about to become wealthier than they could possibly imagine. Coming to Astra was the best choice he had ever made. Everyone around him felt the same. The number of members resigning from the guild had already dried up like a drought in a desert. After seeing this, they would never, ever leave. When the other regulars found out, the ones sent back to the mountains, they would be crying themselves to sleep.
Then, Jerr’s eyes landed on two postings from the Commerce Guild, each sporting a bounty of one thousand gold. His vision swam, darkness creeping in from the edges. The world tilted on its axis. This wasn’t just a guildhall; it was a treasure vault.
Yet, it was also a curse. Realization struck. As of yet, nobody knew how much gold a guildhall could make. If they did, it would have been on every lip as they worked through the city. If, no, when they found out, it would no longer be a possibility that others would come to snatch away Astra’s mecca, it would be a certainty.
Jerr forced himself back to full consciousness with a soul-deep growl. His fists clenched so hard he felt the dampness of blood on his palms. Be they martials, elites, or even gods, he didn't give a fuck. They would only be allowed to take this place over his cold, dead body.
Comments
JTP
Hell yah he does! 💪
ImmerFertig
Jerry, the template for a fanatical guild elite. "Martials, elites or gods..." Raine should like that determination.
Syll
Yay Jerr! (New fav character)
