CHAPTER 1222: POWER OF WILL

The design was simple, so simple he could put hammer to anvil and make one such blade in moments. He could almost do it in his sleep.

Like the popping of a bubble, Leon’s lips parted and released a long, frustrated sigh.

He couldn’t just call upon his magic and turn forged metal into the blade he envisioned—or rather, he could, but such was not his current goal. Instead, he was trying to do so using origin power alone.

He sat on a quiet mountaintop deep in his soul realm, only the Thunderbird for company, though she’d been quiet for many long minutes while he’d concentrated. He almost wanted to call it quits there, but a quick thought of the upcoming Belicenian Games, now only six months away, had him focusing again on his task.

His soul realm was the storage center for all of his power, both magic and origin. Above his soul realm burned his origin spark, from which origin power bled into him, ready for him to use. It was easy enough for him to call some of that origin power to him, and the air above his outstretched hand seemed to glow with golden light as the power was concentrated.

The thought of the simple arming sword filled his mind, expelling any other thoughts. His entire world vanished until only the weapon remained. He felt his origin power flutter in response—a good sign, but the reaction wasn’t strong enough. Some comfort could be had in how much stronger it was now than it had been weeks ago, but when he opened his eyes, he wasn’t surprised to find the air above his hand was empty, devoid of the blade he’d attempted to forge.

Another long sigh broke free of the confines of his body and dissipated into the air around him.

‘A few minutes won’t hurt…’ he thought as he lay back on the stone platform and stared up into the Mists of Chaos thousands of miles above him.

“Giving up?” the Thunderbird asked challengingly.

“Hells no,” Leon replied. “Just… need a breather.”

“Of course, because sitting there is so physically strenuous…”

With a roll of his eyes, Leon shot back, “That’s bait, and I don’t feel like taking it.”

“If you’re not going to rise to the challenge, then how can you call yourself a King?”

“It’s quite easy, as it so happens. ‘I’m a King.’ See? Simple. Easy. Without effort.”

“If you’re energetic enough to be glib, then you can continue training.”

Leon took a long, steadying breath, his frustration threatening to boil forth in the face of the Thunderbird’s biting comment. But he retained his self-control and replied, “Just going to demand I keep going when my approach is failing? Expecting me to just figure it out on my own?”

The Thunderbird smirkingly responded, “I’m just providing you some motivation, my boy. Or don’t you want to get stronger?”

“As you’ve always said, I’m working on getting stronger before anything else. Have I been slacking over this past month?”

“Not this month…”

Scowling, Leon stated, “Then you think I’ve been slacking recently more broadly?”

“Being King is a hard job that doesn’t often leave much time for other pursuits,” his Ancestor said diplomatically.

Huffing slightly, Leon said, “In that case, let’s go over it again because I’m clearly missing something.”

“I’d say control,” the Thunderbird said, “but sure.”

She moved to stand by the sheer cliff that the platform opened up to, and Leon sat up again, giving her his full attention.

“The thirteenth-tier… I’ve told you its old name. Repeat it for me.”

“The Creator Stage.”

“Correct. And why is that?”

Fighting to keep the boredom out of his voice—he hadn’t meant starting at such a fundamental—Leon quickly stated, “Because a mage that has reached the thirteenth-tier has acquired the power to use origin power to create matter at will.”

“Missing quite a few caveats, but you’re correct in essence. Why don’t you give me a few of those caveats?”

Holding up a hand and unfurling a finger with each example, Leon listed, “Adamant, Titanstone, Aurichalcum, Lumenite… none impossible, but certainly so in large quantities. The more magically powerful a substance is, the harder it is to make with origin power.”

“And why is that?”

“Because magic is origin power, just heavily diluted. ‘Runoff’ is how you’ve described it. And the more magically powerful an object is, the more origin power is required to make it because that substance needs that power to exist.”

“You… that explanation is basic and butchered.”

“Feel free to correct me. Anytime. Like maybe now.”

The Thunderbird haughtily snorted and turned to face him. Before she could say anything, however, a darkness fell upon them as something enormous appeared as if from nowhere, the shadow beneath its dark wings enveloping them completely. Neither Leon nor the Thunderbird reacted negatively, however, even as this dark thing descended upon them.

As it neared, it started to shrink, and the black scales covering its body were replaced with dark skin. In moments, the Great Black Dragon stood before them in his human form, his red-orange eyes glaring down at Leon like an Emperor glares at a presumptuous peon.

“It is customary to rise when in the presence of divinity,” he growled to Leon, who remained seated right where he was.

“Oh? I’ll keep that in mind if any divinity arrives.”

A searing glare and the faintest sound of an ear-piercing, high-pitched whine was the Great Black Dragon’s direct answer. His red-orange eyes turned to the Thunderbird, and he asked, “Do you intend to continue teaching this manner?”

“Yes. My Clanmate requires wisdom. I provide what I can.”

“So none,” the dragon acidically intoned.

“You dismiss someone you’ve never beaten in battle so easily, dragon. Perhaps you should mind your tongue in my presence before I show you what a ‘Reacher’ can do…”

In response, the Great Black Dragon showed the Thunderbird the greatest disrespect imaginable: he ignored her, choosing instead to turn to Leon and stated, “Your training is woeful.”

A squawk of irritation from the Thunderbird didn’t stop Leon from responding. “I hope you have more to share than that. How can I improve if I don’t know what I’m doing wrong?”

The Great Black Dragon smirked and answered, “I’ve been watching you, child. You expect the origin power to do all the work. You want it to form into something on its own, with too little direction on your part. You have the blood of a dragon; you should not be waiting for your origin power to take its form, but demanding it take form. Willing it to happen. This is what it means to be a god.”

“‘Just do it’ isn’t the advice I was looking for, to be honest…”

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“Then it’s a good thing that’s not what I said, child. If you believe that origin power is no more than dense magic power, then you will never ascend past your current point. You will stagnate, no matter how much progress you think you make.”

“I’m already feeling—”

“Have you succeeded yet?”

Leon glowered at his other Ancestor as the Thunderbird walked over to join him on the floor of the platform in a blatant display of disrespect for the Great Black Dragon’s presence.

“I will,” he responded as silver-blue lightning flashed in the distance, underscoring his words.

“You won’t. Not until you treat your origin power as it is: something beyond magic, more thought and intent than measurable magic and energy.” The dragon crossed his enormous arms over his broad chest and assumed a didactic tone that even the Thunderbird listened to, though she seemed keen on pretending that she wasn’t.

“Origin power, child, underpins all the universe. Origin power is the center of the universe, THE Origin Spark! And what it creates as its shell is blasted out into the universe every one hundred thousand years, along with all of the origin power built up within the Nexus over those one hundred millennia. In the cold Void, this origin power will dissipate and decay into regular magic power, and some wayward mage might absorb it or use it as fuel for some machine they make, but it doesn’t change the fact that origin power is the fundamental keystone of the entire universe. It is from origin power that all is brought into being. Respect that power. Emulate that power.”

“Do you think I haven’t been trying?”

“Your attempts have been pathetic and half-baked. Do it again.” The Great Black Dragon’s tone was commanding, and though Leon wanted to argue and refuse out of principle, he still slowly acquiesced.

He crossed his legs and sat up straighter. He let his willpower reach outward and feel all of the power surrounding him, filling the entirety of his soul realm. He called upon that power to gather before him in the shape of the simple sword, to give it form and mass. He felt that power comply, at least at first, but in attempting to make it solid, to make it real, his power resisted.

“You treat it gently. Do you fear it breaking?”

“Going slowly is easier,” the Thunderbird fired back in Leon’s defense—and the defense of her teachings. “Moving too quickly might create bad habits and misunderstandings.”

“What is ‘easier’?” the Great Black Dragon sneered. “This is your power, child. Command it to take shape, and if it does not, make it. The universe itself may tell you that it’s impossible, but it is your will that tells it otherwise. Will your power into its new form.”

Leon did as best as he could, his internal thoughts ramping up until he was silently shouting at his gathered power to form the sword. Still, it resisted.

He was pulled from his attempt when a knock came at the door of his training chamber, the sound hammering his ears and echoing down into his soul realm. His people knew not to disturb him when training unless it was for something important, so he reluctantly released his hold on his power.

“You disregard your own training?” the Great Black Dragon asked incredulously.

Leon just glared at him silently as he took to the sky and shot back toward his throne, leaving his two Ancestors alone together. He could hear them start to bicker even before he’d gone a dozen feet, but he tuned them out as he returned to his Mind Palace and sat upon his throne.

A single breath later, he opened his physical eyes and found Valeria sitting there with him, watching him intently with her chin in her hands.

“My love,” she softly said as sapphire eyes met gleaming gold.

“Val,” Leon replied just as lovingly. He shot to his feet and took her into his arms, wondering not for the first time just how such a woman had fallen for him, despite everything.

For the briefest of moments, they reveled in each other’s touch. Leon would’ve stretched that moment into an eternity if he could, but all too soon, his silver-haired wife had pulled away, a more business-like demeanor breaking through.

She cut right to the chase. “Archelaus is here.”

---

Leon expected that such an august guest as the one he now laid eyes upon would’ve been in one of his palace’s more opulent waiting rooms.

Instead, he found the man lying down in the dirt, a beatific smile on his face as he stared up at the Origin Spark.

“He just… laid down,” Cassandra explained to him and Valeria once they arrived, no small amount of confusion and affront coming through in her tone.

“He’s… well… just let me handle him,” Leon responded as he walked into one of the terrace gardens on the southern side of Westmount. His wives followed him, though their Tempest Knights remained behind after a hastily muttered order from Leon.

The Despot who ruled the lands east of the Bolt Mountains, making him Leon’s most important Storm Lord neighbor, didn’t so much as twitch on their approach.

“Apologies for my unannounced arrival,” he said without moving an inch. “I simply heard something today that I had to confirm!”

“What did you hear?” Leon asked as he sat in the dirt next to the man without hesitation.

Archelaus shot him a playful smile and said, “I heard that a certain Princess has been bragging about her guest for the upcoming Belicenian Games. Certain circles are all abuzz with talk about who she’s bringing. There are… expectations.”

Leon had a good idea what he was talking about, and he asked, “What sort of ‘expectations’?”

“This Princess hasn’t directly said who her guest is, but from the way she’s been bragging about him, many believe she’s planning on revealing her husband-to-be.”

Leon scowled and clicked his tongue in displeasure, but Archelaus pressed on without stopping.

“Given who she is and the words she’s said about some others in the same social circle, I would imagine that her ‘guest’ will be facing some challenges of his own on Belicenion.”

“That bitch…” Cassandra murmured.

“Oh? Have you identified the Princess of whom I speak?” Archelaus asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra hissed.

“Princess Miuna,” Valeria stated almost completely emotionlessly.

Archelaus chuckled. “The very same. Then you shouldn’t be too surprised when I figured out who she was talking about based on the context clues I heard about.”

“How… how did you hear of this, Archelaus?” Leon asked. “And why are you coming here to talk about it?”

“A mere courtesy, Leon, for the friendship we have and the peace we share. Think of it as a favor. To be more specific, I met with Basileus Ramin some weeks ago out east. He intends to join the Belicenian Games, and it was from him that I heard of Princess Miuna’s boasts. As I said, among certain circles, it is important news that has spread quickly. And I’ll admit, I’m curious as to how you’ll react to it.”

Through a faint scowl, Leon simply said, “I don’t much like it.”

“… Oh? Why not? To have the love of a beautiful woman is a precious thing, isn’t it?”

“My husband is taken!” Cassandra declared as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. A moment later, Valeria did the same, both of them glaring at Archelaus as if to challenge him to pry them away from him. Leon himself merely shrugged, though he didn’t disagree.

“So be it, so be it,” Archelaus said, chuckling lightly at the declaration. “I… I am curious, Leon, as to your plans for the Games.”

Leon relaxed further on the ground, Cassandra and Valeria disentangling themselves as he did. “Must I have plans? Can’t I simply go to enjoy watching the largest sporting event in the universe?”

“No event of this size is ‘merely’ anything,” Archelaus responded. “Elemental Kings and Anakes will be there. Feuding Despots and warring Basileis will be there. Lords of every station and mages of every level of power will be present, all seeking glory and victory on Belicenion.” Archelaus glanced at Leon from the corner of his eye, and a wry smile flashed across his face. “Enemies of yours will be there, too, no doubt.”

Leon’s returned smile was thinner and more dangerous. Archelaus was no superior of his, and he wasn’t going to be deferential in the face of any kind of threat. “Enemies? Me? Surely you jest; how could I have enemies?”

“Simply by being,” Archelaus smoothly replied. When he spoke next, his tone had turned more serious and contemplative, and his eyes unfocused as if he were losing himself in memory. “I remember your Ancestors, young Leon. I remember the fiery speeches of Jason Keraunos as he marshaled his fleets for his personal ambitions. I remember the reign of King Philip Antitheus, who killed the Mountain King Jaspar Lycandros and the Shadow King Nu’ha the Fleet during a single war. I remember when millions of men, women, and beasts marching on entire planar clusters would be considered a small campaign for the Storm Lords.

“All of this, Leon Raime, is to say that you have enemies. Many of them, even as removed as we are from those days.”

Leon grew tenser the more Archelaus spoke, and when the Despot paused, Leon said, “Your point?”

“My point, Leon Raime, is to emphasize that I am not your enemy. I would like to speak with you over the coming weeks, to get to know the man who bears the power of the Thunderbirds who once ruled over the Storm Lords, and who yet aspires to restore his family to glory…”

“Is this… an offer of alliance?” Valeria quietly asked.

“Of sorts,” Archelaus confirmed. “I am not so blind as to miss your recent expansion. What I mean to emphasize is that while many remember the wars and subjugations of your ancient Clan, others remember the glories and civilization that came in their wake. Some see the state of the Storm Lands now and wish for days when we were united in purpose beneath a strong King.

“I am one of those people. And if given the opportunity, I would be most pleased to see that state of being once more.”

“You… are acknowledging my claim?” Leon asked.

“There is hardly a claim to acknowledge,” Archelaus replied. “No, after this long, the only way to unify the Storm Lords would be by force. Kamran could defeat Halbast tomorrow, and he would still have to fight to subjugate many of the outer Empires and Despotates. In this respect, one of the proper lineage could prove to be a much-needed unifier…”

“I’m sure that Halbast and Kamran would love to step aside for me,” Leon sarcastically quipped.

“Today? Of course not. But… in ten thousand years? Who knows where you’ll be then? Perhaps by then, you’ll be marching to war with allies you first made during the Belicenian Games in half a year…”

Leon regarded Archelaus curiously. It seemed to him like Archelaus was trying to say, without directly saying it, that he wanted to swear himself to Leon and introduce him to other potential allies, but Leon wasn’t sure how much he could trust his interpretation there. Regardless, Archelaus was being friendly enough, so he said, “This is a serious conversation to have, Archelaus. Shall we continue it among respected company on Belicenion?”

“Yes,” Archelaus said with a smile laden with meaning. “That would be for the best…”