Part of the Ebon Blade expected another massive pillar of fire to appear the moment they approached the first standing stone, but that didn’t happen. There were no guards of any kind, either, which was equally surprising. Instead, after walking for days, they found nothing but an obelisk surrounded by standing stones in the middle of a neglected field.

“That’s it?” Lucian asked when they first saw it. “All that way for that?”

The blade said nothing. Visually, it was unimpressive. Etherically, though, it was more interesting. Several tons of carefully placed granite was a little dull, but the three streams of translucent cyan power that it directed were far more interesting. Two came from the west and northwest, and they left as one larger stream almost due east.

Though its eventual goal wasn’t visible, the blade knew that its eventual destination was the Redstone tower. It had no intention of attacking that outpost of the Aetherarchy yet. In time, it would, but for now, it just wanted them to think that it would. How else could they possibly interpret the weakening of their defenses?

Still, it did not demand they strike immediately; the only reason to hurry was its wielder’s hunger, but he could not die from that. Not while he held the blade. While the boy had made some advancements in his swordsmanship, his wilderness skills were still utterly abysmal. He could only make fire with magic, and tracking and hunting were entirely beyond him.

What wasn’t beyond him, though, were the runes on the obelisks, and as he walked around them, he slowly translated them where they were legible. “In the name of the powers above and the powers below, I command you, oh tides of magic,” he read, droning on for a time about the name of the mages that carved the marks and the divinities they were ascribed to.

The blade could have read them, but it didn’t need to. It simply saw what they did, and that was enough. When we strike down the stones, the mana will shift its flows, like a river, back to its natural banks, the blade said in agreement. That should be largely to the south.

“So that’s what you want then?” the boy asked. “To destroy them? All of them?”

Why else would we have come all this way if not to do just that? The blade asked.

“Well, we could trash them, or we could change a couple pieces and send the leyline in a new direction,” its wielder volunteered.

And why would we want to do that? The weapon countered. I wish to deny my enemies the power they crave and make them worry.

“And that’s easy enough,” Lucian agreed. “It would be a lot faster, for sure, but if you wanted to point the leyline somewhere else, then maybe we could confuse the Athearchy even more.”

The blade was uncertain whether or not that was desirable, but decided to humor the boy anyway. He’d been in poor spirits for days, and letting him show off his magical knowledge would improve that. Explain, the weapon said, inviting him to continue.

Its wielder went on at length about how the redirected ley lines might convince the mages that there were internal struggles taking place, managing to sound almost as well-informed as some of the mage souls it had ripped to pieces on similar topics in the process. While that didn’t quite convince the weapon, his second argument did. “The whole web of magic is laid out in a very precise way,” he explained. “If we could deprive one or two towers of power by overpowering a different one, we would effectively disable all three. Having too much magic is nearly as bad as having too little.”

I’m not sure too much of anything is a bad thing, the blade countered, even as memories of poor Evelyn being burned to ashes by the cosmic power of the throne came to mind.

“Well, that’s because you’re indestructible, more or less,” the boy countered. “But everything else in those towers isn’t built that way. If you double the power, you’ll blow out every light crystal in the place. If you triple it, random runes will start to catch on fire, and the defenses will malfunction. They might even explode if they try to turn them on if they see us approaching.”

That convinced the blade, and instead of cleaving the stones in two with its Vorpal strike, it let its wielder study the runes and scratch numbers in the dirt for a couple hours as he did the math on exactly what needed to be changed. Then, by destroying one of the monuments and striking out two runes on another, they redirected the flow slightly to the southeast, where it would impact a place called the Concordant Halls; it in of itself was of no consequence to the blade, but the location was idle because they focused on crafting of a magical nature.

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The blade had never been, but several of the mages it had interrogated had, and it wished it could be there to see the place burn when some critical threshold was reached. That wouldn’t happen today, probably. It would take another two or three standing stones to be adjusted and damaged before it happened. Still, it was something to look forward to.

-40 Life Force.

By the time they were on their way that afternoon, no one was the wiser that anything had happened except for the Ebon Blade. It watched the rivers of magic adjust and turn, redirected in their course like invisible floodwaters. The flow took hours to resolve, and they were practically out of sight of the stones themselves before the ley lines had reoriented completely.

I’ve plucked the web, it said to itself. Now, we shall see if the spider notices and study its response.

There was no response immediately, though, and the only thing of interest that happened that night was that Lucian killed a few bandits. That wasn’t because they threatened him, either, or because they were bad men, but because their camp had a warm campfire, and they were roasting pheasant over it that he could smell from the road.

+229 Life Force.

+4 Human Souls.

Lucian was still a bit hesitant to kill and so far had refused to do so where innocent women and children might be hurt. However, given the meagerness of their trip so far, every time he’d found a way to get dinner out of it, he’d been able to justify murder to himself.

They’d only kill other people if I hadn’t killed them, he thought to himself as he ate the roasted flesh fresh from the spit. In a way, I’m saving lives.

The Ebon Blade saw no need to correct him or even judge him. It judged his need to justify it far more seriously than the bloodshed, though it did critique how poorly the boy had inflicted it as he ate.

It takes only a scratch from my edge to kill men such as these, the blade said while Lucian ate amidst the bloodless corpses of his enemies. How did you manage to let the last one live for almost two minutes?

“I killed the first two quickly enough,” the boy answered, waving away the weapons critique. “I’m definitely getting better. I just didn’t want them to stab me.”

Better, but far from good, the blade disagreed as it tried not to get too exasperated. It doesn’t matter if they stab you. They can’t kill you.

Even if its wielder’s reluctance was fading, it could only take some credit for it. The weapon had been whispering messages on the importance of killing and bravery in the boy's sleep, just as it had with its other wielders, though, thanks to Evelyn’s increasingly unstable behavior toward the end, it was proceeding more slowly so that it could better understand the results. One of Lucian’s major advantages over its other wielders to date was his sharp mind and his grasp of magic, and the weapon did not wish to dull that by breaking something important in Lucian’s personality.

The boy ate in silence for some time before the blade said. You will improve with practice. Tonight, we shall focus on your parries so you are less concerned with their attacks.

“Can’t we do that tomorrow?” Lucian protested. “I think that this fight should count as practice.”

It did, but not enough. If the boy had been less defiant recently, then it might have acquiesced. As it was, the blade was tired of his defiance in these matters.

You will practice, or I will hold your hand in that fire until the skin begins to burn the blade whispered. It was no idle threat. It had done so once before, and though it hadn’t actually like the skin blacken, it had held it there long enough for the boy to scream in pain and agree to practice. At less than fifty Life Force, it had been cheap, too.

“Fine…” Lucian sighed. “But only after I finish eating. It’s been days since I’ve had warm food.”

The weapon didn’t argue with that; training required strength, and its wielder’s strength came from sustenance just as much as its strength came from devouring the lives and souls of men. The blade was very nearly full on Life Force again and was going to have to have to make some upgrades soon, but that could wait until tonight after the boy was asleep.

For now, it focused entirely on its wielder, and when Lucian finally finished gorging himself on his meal, he got up and got to work, going through the forms he’d been taught. These were done without any real love for the movements, though. Ivarr had embraced them immediately, and Evelyn had approached them like a dance, whereas Lucian treated them as a chore, and his movements were stiff because of it.

The blade corrected him several times, then fell silent. If it critiqued its wielder too much, it only made things worse as the young man grew sullen. He’ll learn, the blade reminded itself silently. Despite all of his faults, it still had confidence that Lucian could become a good wielder.

An unlikely one, sure, but Var’gar had never been particularly talented with a blade, either. He’d just replaced talent with ferocity, and in that respect, Lucian had much to offer. He might never be as ferocious as an orc, but once he overcame his fear of pain, some of his magical tricks, like his mage hand spell, could do amazing things. It was convinced of that.

The rest of the night passed in silence, and once its wielder was done practicing and dragged the corpses of the dead men away from the bedroll he was going to sleep in, the blade turned its mind to focus on other things.