336 - Once More, Into the Mouth of Hell [Sturmblitz] (Patreon)

"You have been visibly improving week over week, so you cannot be called a failure in general terms. If you feel you are stuck in your specific cultivation method, given how unorthodox it is, we would first need to determine if it is a problem with you or the method," Makhus proposed.

"He's soft," Lydia piped up.

"Hm? What do you mean?" Makhus asked.

"The boy is practicing a cultivation method invented by and for hardened killers. Soldiers. What have you killed? Some infant dragons. Have you ever killed a man?"

"I've fought bandits a fair few times."

"Not my question. Have you killed a man?"

"Well, it felt a touch too far for retaliation against some roadside muggers, so I suppose not."

"I met a few bayonet-eaters while I was at Fort 57. Iron-hard men to a soul. Each of them had an aura sharp as a knife, hard as steel. However, instead of being refined and fragile like the aura of some 'grandmaster' that has never been in a life-or-death fight, they had the resilience, the killing intent, of someone who had survived on a battlefield for a long while. Like our own Elder Zefaris, but knives instead of guns."

"Perhaps I should have gone to Eberheim with the others, then..." Lucian mused.

"The dragon will suffice," Makhus interjected. "A mature Wildfire Kite is roughly as intelligent as a human. Therefore, fighting the beast will not be too different to fighting a strong mutagen cultivator. Myself and Lydia will suffice to slay the beast if it comes to that, but you should attempt to join in the battle as much as possible if you wish to advance your cultivation. Speaking of..."

Makhus retrieved something from his backpack; a dark, metal tablet. From the storage inside, he took two pairs of rubber earplugs, held together by string. He tossed one pair each to Lydia and Lucian respectively.

"The Kite will try to use its voice as a weapon before it ever pulls out the flame breath. The Kitelings are already bad enough, the mother will be worse. Just put them around your neck for now. Moreover, while its eyesight is not likely to be great, its hearing will still be nearly as good as that of its young. It will likely not be vulnerable to high-pitched sounds, but..."

He pulled six stick grenades out of his tablet next.

"...Low-frequency shockwaves should still work. These are modified concussion grenades, they should be strong enough to damage the Kite's hearing for some time."

Around twenty minutes later, the trio continued on their hunt. Makhus continued without his suit, finding the forest to be too dense and the branches too low in this area. In such circumstances, 70cm of height made all the difference.

They found one of the marked Kitelings far off from the goal, chasing a rabbit. Adjusting their course they continued onward, and eventually arrived at a peculiar section of the mountain slope, a cauldron-like shape. A smaller crater formed by a smaller impact that came after that which formed the Cauldron of Willows, but nonetheless unimaginably far in the ancient, perhaps even antediluvian past. It was around two kilometers across, and the air within it reached truly desert-like temperatures.

There, in the deepest section of the second crater, they came upon the Wildfire Kite’s nesting area. It was a roughly circular area of burned ground, separated clearly from the rest of the forest. The trees were charred, but most of them still stood, seemingly alive. In the very middle, there was a clearing, and in the middle of that clearing was a nest of charred logs. As the trio approached, readying themselves, a swarm of Kitelings scuttled out, followed by the raising of a wedge-shaped head at the end of a long neck. It was armored in overlaying, somewhat pinecone-like scales the colour of fallen leaves. Four backswept horns curved out of the sides of its head where the eyes ought to be. From the Kite’s forehead, a vertical eye stared at them. It was an unsettling, sky-like azure colour, with the emblematic cornerless triangle pattern in black, and in the middle was a small, round pupil with ragged edges that granted the beast a furious stare.

It was an image straight out of a legend about brave knights, but some of its luster was dulled by the knowledge that this was the lowest order of dragon descendants. Sure, Wildfire Kites were among the stronger of the One-eyed Dragons, but they were nowhere near the strongest. Compared to the weakest Three-eyed Dragon, this creature was little more than an animal. That was also the reason they were after it; it presented itself as a convenient alternative to trying to dilute Eisengeist’s draconic essence for the Dragonheart Bolus.

Makhus rested his left hand on his belt. All the main controls were nicely accessible like this, contained to a modified blitzgandr handle. A throttle, brake lever, a button on the handle's end, and one additional button carried over from the original belt chassis.

He revved the belt, pushing his intent into it as he did, and the eldritch crystal in its core responded. As he pressed down the lever a vortex of Fog surrounded him, and in an instant he ceased to be just Makhus Newman; he was Acala Nova, the Evil Cleaving Sword.

Acala Nova, not quite yet a full embodiment of his vision, but close. So damnably close. With the addition of Eisengeist tissue to shore up the spots where mechanical components couldn’t cut it, it was no longer the suit that fell short - it was Makhus himself. Still, what he could do would suffice. It had to suffice.

Makhus saw the possible paths his allies could take, subtle variations, but he foresaw no impending attack - not in the next five seconds, which was more than enough.

He revved his belt and pressed the lever again, and in another eruption of Fog, his blade appeared in his hand. Countless pieces of black cold-iron joined by glistening-gold lines of auric amalgam. The so-called "Ebony-Gold Fragment Sabre".