Defiance of the Fall Chapter 1412: Feisty Feast

The earth shook violently as it was consumed to carve out a route. Only months earlier, such a commotion would have set Ibtep’s antennae alert to impending peril. Now, it was overshadowed by the massive movements of the terrain. As for the Beast Emperors compelling constant vigilance? Most had already migrated to more promising territories. The danger of sudden energy bursts had become somewhat easier to handle, but Ibtep knew better than to rejoice over it.

Sausage finally arrived at rich soil and halted there. Ibtep perched on their twelve-meter companion for fifteen minutes, meticulously probing the conditions overhead. Silence prevailed. Content with the assessment, Ibtep instructed Sausage to remain underground before excavating a narrow tunnel to the top. With antennae flickering, Ibtep scanned both directions prior to ascending.

Parting from one's mount as a knight equated to losing one's limbs, yet Ibtep wasn't venturing onto the surface defenseless. The diverse array of peculiar larvae and stunning creatures inhabiting the Left Imperial Expanse had granted Ibtep a thorough enhancement, with the bulk of focus on endurance.

Their gear, crafted from the skin of a notably slippery larva, concealed its user's aura almost flawlessly. Additionally, the scent sack, blended from beetle waste and desiccated plants sourced from a recollection lamp, repelled most flying hunters. Still, caution was paramount in this enigmatic realm. More than a year of scouting had proven that beyond doubt.

What use were all these excellent bloodlines if they ended up slain far from their origins? Who would carry their findings back to the nests?

Ibtep scanned the rusty heavens for dangers. The avians nesting in the adjacent peaks were mercifully absent. A yearning squeak in their thoughts drew Ibtep's gaze forward, to the Farsee Court adorned with its five radiant rings. It appeared no nearer today than upon their initial entry into the Left Imperial Expanse. Both had preferred that distance—at first, anyway.

Sausage yearned to advance her own growth further. Ibtep remained skeptical. The terrain's initial teaching was clear: the deeper they ventured, the fiercer the threats became. Sausage had advocated prudence by persistently tunneling below. Ibtep had no qualms heeding a larva's wise counsel.

Thus, they lingered in the untamed areas, evading fierce beasts and fellow Sealbearers while bolstering their resources. Ibtep eyed the completed emblem on their left palm. The count of lamps they'd explored had surely surpassed a hundred. Many proved useless until they mastered detecting those with promising prospects, and progress surged once they deciphered the subterranean currents.

Regrettably, those currents all conveyed the identical message: venture onward. The surrounding energy, abundant relative to their homeland, was steadily drawn toward the nine spires bordering the continent. This achievement had influenced Sausage, making her more receptive to the earth's summons.

She bore no blame, nor could she grasp why Ibtep restrained her. Sausage had evaded the harsh sting of loss, of witnessing allies return from battle in fragments. She hadn't traversed nests resounding with emptiness after their fighters sacrificed themselves. Sausage couldn't fathom the dread of fate's unpredictability, where remote occurrences could devastate all she held dear without reason.

Ibtep exhaled and dismissed the reflections. “Saucy, focus on the goal. Do you detect anything?”

A squeak affirmed the soil stayed calm. Ibtep retrieved Precious from their garment to verify. The larva measured merely three inches, boasting six plush antennae nearly matching its full length. They undulated in the breeze for ten seconds before the creature curled and dozed off once more. Ibtep nodded approvingly.

Precious—a altered larva finely tuned to the emanations from the Outer Courts' pillars—had shielded them from encountering Sealbearers repeatedly. Ibtep trusted in its prowess to some extent, but to what end? Ample territory existed for all, rendering clashes with other explorers unnecessary.

Regretfully, the absence of trails and Sealbearers merely verified another foraging zone had depleted. The lamps that formerly blanketed the frosty valley had merged with the earth, and the heavens ceased restoring the vanished ones. This pattern held true across the board. From examining a dozen lamps hourly, Ibtep now considered themselves fortunate to find a dozen daily. Even worse, half floated so high in the air that Ibtep avoided nearing them. Their second hard lesson: the skies outmatched the ground in peril. Thereafter, they'd journeyed solely beneath the surface.

It required three entire days to arrive here, so Ibtep refused to depart right away. They combed the valley until unearthing something noteworthy. Silver foliage releasing a invigorating aroma of renewal blanketed an entire incline. Jointly, they elevated the local energy slightly, verifying their potent ethereal essence.

A immensely potent entity had formerly resided in an venerable tree crowning the rise, but it departed amid the exodus. The grand tree had its vitality drained, leaving it an empty shell. Fortunately for Ibtep, the Peak Beast King overlooked transporting the foliage. It might have relied on the might of countless soil-burrowing worms beneath.

Poor choice.

The worms assaulted Sausage regardless of her superior rank and lineage, believing numbers could surpass superiority. They might have succeeded, but why face her solo? The worms' bravado vanished as over a hundred elite warrior larvae spilled from a pouch on Sausage’s harness. By that point, escape was impossible.

“Batch Seven?” Ibtep murmured while gathering the incline, sparing minimal attention to the skirmish underneath.

The explosive incantations from the worms felled several dozen. Such casualties merely purged frailty from the nest, insufficient to shift the outcome. To minimize harm, Ibtep invoked [Feisty Feast] for a brief boost to the emerging forces. The fight concluded before Ibtep completed collecting the foliage.

Further searching the next day produced nothing remarkable. The encountered lamps were of inferior quality. Such recollections might conceal unexpected boons, but the risk wasn't justified. Not every one allowed free exit, and Ibtep had endured week-long entrapments before.

“Time to return; the young ones must be famished,” Ibtep sighed, stroking Sausage’s rounded neck.

The trip back nearly doubled in duration as they paused to gather provisions en route. Though energy density waned, certain spots brimmed with beasts. Mountain overlords had isolated or fled to better domains, letting youthful and driven ones dominate. The beast surges from the disturbances barely reduced their ranks, and plentiful remains simplified Ibtep’s efforts.

One day, Sausage breached a dense layer of solidified slime and plunged into a supply passage. She eagerly squirmed toward the persistent squeaks afar, her six tucked wings quivering in eagerness. Ibtep shared her sentiments. Almost two months had passed since visiting Incubator Four, established directly over a Fire-aligned vein.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Such a risk carried potential for catastrophe as energy streams altered, costing them batches previously. Yet survivors emerged transformed. The Left Imperial Expanse's bloodlines were remarkable, requiring merely the proper catalyst to advance.

The scorching heat from the hatching pit nearly overwhelmed, compelling Ibtep to employ a protective artifact. Sausage, insulated by her layers, remained unbothered. Her vast dark eyes fixed on the furious crimson larvae spewing lava at rivals for prime cultivation positions. Some spotted the observers, but ingrained familiar odors identified them as allies.

“They’re quite robust,” Ibtep concurred with Sausage’s squeak. Their following statement prompted her to lash her tail against the barrier in irritation.

“But insufficient,” Ibtep stated. “We possess time yet. We’ve secured eighteen thriving colonies already. Aim for twenty-five prior to advancing. By then, you’ll have assimilated that ancient cranium from the Memory City. It could propel you straight to the subsequent level.”

Sausage grudgingly consented and calmed fully once Ibtep personally fed her several favored wolf bodies. They observed the offspring longer, sporadically tossing in a Beast King remains. Each toss ignited the cavern in fire and thrilled clamor.

This existence suited them. Let others chase doom by charging toward those ominous spires. Such fates held no appeal for a mere cultivator. Any capable grower knew gradual progress trumped haste.

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“Feeling improved, Sonny?”

The surroundings rotated briefly before stabilizing on the inverted sight of a gap-toothed, quadruple-eyed satyr sporting sparse violet locks. The soothing, ethereal waves from the elder’s gaze roused Galau, prompting him to expel the violet fluid flooding his chest.

“Definitely better,” Galau coughed. “Could you lower me now, Grandma Pimsi?”

“Certain? There’s ample of the beneficial brew left. Don’t want lingering issues, eh, Sonny?”

Galau peered below at the cistern right under him and the foul sludge his head had soaked in for eleven days past.

“Positive. I’m completely recovered,” Galau declared firmly.

Even if false, Galau refused another round of that revolting ordeal. The ordeal heightened his admiration for Zachary Atwood. Emily had shared tales of Emperor Atwood’s trials to attain his stature, and Galau recalled vividly the horrors witnessed in the Tower of Eternity.

Should Emperor Atwood appear here, he’d likely guzzle the entire cistern silently. Observers admired the splendor, ignoring the grotesque efforts fueling his power.

“As you wish,” the satyr replied with a shoulder lift and cranked the pulley she gripped.

Galau swung clear of the cistern and touched down on the violet turf nearby. He loosened the bindings on his ankles, easing the rigidity as he rose.

“And how long until my face loses the purple hue?” Galau inquired cautiously.

“That hinges on your soul’s potency and the care you devote to its growth. Gifted youths absorb the leftover essence in weeks,” Grandma Pimsi explained with a broad smile. “Worried the ladies will shun you like that?”

“More concerned my partner at home might bar entry,” Galau quipped, drawing a hearty guffaw.

“Minor staining’s a trivial cost for the byproduct,” she beamed. “She could view it as alluring.”

“Perhaps. She’s rather unique,” Galau grinned. “You truly decline payment?”

“What use has an aged goat for extra coin? The Empire guarantees a cozy retirement. I lack for nothing, and you repaired these aged formations,” the satyr dismissed with a head shake. “Never mind that. Care for a meal?”

Galau eyed the violet expanses warily, their yields all corrupted by the discharge from the shuttered Dasar Potioneering Factory. Its proprietors vowed economic revival via exploiting the zone’s distinct spirituality for soul-fortifying elixirs—items in perpetual demand among regional Mentalist Clans.

Rather than boosting prosperity, they unleashed environmental havoc by discarding elixir residues and Earthly Taint into the water-aligned Dragon Vein sustaining the area. When officials detected the issue, the vein had twisted irrevocably. The culprits had vanished, slain or fled.

No fixes followed. Compensating residents proved cheaper for the Empire than mending the altered vein. The vast elixir residues yielded a bonus some experts deemed research-worthy. Certain groundwater zones gained soul-restoring properties. Mastering such changes could yield infinite restorative brews.

Grandma Pimsi and select locals capitalized, converting disaster to gain. Through experimentation, she excavated eight soul-repairing shafts. Numerous cultivators endured the drawbacks for the affordable price and solid gains. Someday, the factory’s new scholarly occupants might eliminate the undesirable traits.

Alas, the ethereal perks skipped the regional produce. They solely adopted the acrid flavor and noxious odor from the discharge. Galau firmly declined supper. He’d consumed foul fare in the Muscle Brigade days, but hadn’t descended that low. Instead, he concluded the formations around the final shafts next day before bidding the loquacious satyr farewell.

Galau lingered in the memory realm, opting for the adjacent village. Coincidentally, his inn room offered an ideal vantage of the Anima Court’s soaring spire. Grandma Pimsi had queried his plans, but he lacked a clear reply.

He harbored no remorse for forsaking the Daedalian Court, Threadwinder Seal notwithstanding. Without his array expertise from the Limitless Empire, he’d remain a battle-thrall to those fanatic neo-imperialists. He still trembled recalling his flight night. Perhaps Emperor Atwood’s fortune influenced him. How otherwise to account for that opportune meteor storm distracting guards and obscuring his path?

Debating the eastern Farsee Court against the western Anima Court, Galau chose the latter. As a budding Array Master, he recognized his soul’s relative frailty. He’d toiled to remedy it post-Centurion Lighthouse escape, but soul cultivation dragged tediously with scant rewards. Galau believed if any site offered expedients, it was the Anima Court.

To imagine failing even preliminaries, denying challenge to a Soultaker of Ultom and entry to the Anima Court. The trial had scarred his soul. Fortunately, he’d traversed the region en route and learned of Grandma Pimsi’s setup. Else, his plight worsened.

Still, soul recovery returned him to basics. The Anima Court’s spire visible through his pane seemed remote now. Was he deluding himself? He’d abandoned the Daedalian Court pre-inner zone. Now, he floundered in alien territory.

Beyond the escalated trials of the outermost memory zones, Galau had employed bypasses to outpace his abilities, yet veered substantially. Dozens of sealbearers had arrived already. The boldest breached the dread soul containing the Anima Court, but many foreigners still hunted prospects here.

Should he retreat to safer grounds?

Galau struck his face and whispered encouragement. “Steady on. She’s out activating rings while you sulk idly.”

Yes, weakness and peril encircled him, but so be it? His lighthouse origins were far grimmer. Could he abandon this bounty-laden realm over opportunistic intruders? His strengths endured, and the Inner Region dazzled increasingly.

Ruins, artifacts, and lanterns aplenty awaited deep explorers. The Left Imperial Expanse seemed unveiling its authentic form to the cosmos. Opportunities fitting him must exist. Galau had witnessed a trialtaker infiltrate the Anima Court impersonating a Soultaker of Ultom. Why not him?

Multiple lanterns bore full seals, and no alias proved vital. Lighthouse lessons stressed balanced patience and daring. If one month in the Inner Region failed to ready him for the Anima Court’s Soulgate, he’d prepare two. What mattered years to a Hegemon?

Composure faltered not now. Time to chart ahead. Initially, those factory researchers likely needed aid. Why else manifest a memory domain in this remote nook?