Blake reached into the pocket that he put the ring into. Put it on? Use it? Was it going to make him turn invisible, like in that movie Mom showed him before the Integration? A magic ring?

  Not like that, the voice said. I cannot grant you powers. Only knowledge. But it takes immense effort to transmit my voice to you without you putting the ring on, so do it! I cannot save you if you do not save yourself.

  Putting the ring on wasn't going to keep Blake alive. Svarikson could crush his skull with a single punch, and chances were, he wasn't going to try a Harvest again.

  But Blake had no other choice. He reached into his pocket and pulled the ring out.

  “He has it, Land-Master!” one of the cultivators shouted. “He has the ring!”

  “What’s that?” Blake asked. “You didn’t know I had the ring? You guys couldn’t sense it?” There was a little gloating there, but really, he’d expected them to sense its presence just the same as he had. They hadn’t?

  “Beardless bastard!” Svarikson spat. “Those techniques are mine—whatever it has stored in it. If you put it on, I’ll make your life a thousand hells before I cut it off your finger!”

  “Why’s that?” Blake narrowed his eyes. “It doesn’t happen to get stuck to your finger if you put it on, does it?”

  It doesn’t get stuck, the ring’s voice provided. But they don’t know that. The power of suggestion is strong, especially when spoken with confidence. And you did just that.

  This was a terrible idea, but chances were, he was already dead. May as well make it fun. He wanted to see the look on Svarikson’s face.

  And this was his only potential way out.

  Forcing the biggest grin he could, Blake slipped the ring onto his finger. He braced himself, expecting something to happen. Maybe a burst of pain, or even just a twinge in his mind. It didn’t do anything.

  Then the voice came back, almost twice as strong. This time, it felt like it radiated through his entire skeleton, starting at his ring finger.

  The good news is that you have no mana, said the ring. What would’ve taken seconds to say was transmitted to Blake’s brain in an instant. Which means you can feel something stronger. Mana and qi are not the only energies you can cultivate.

  Blake wanted to ask who the voice was, but he couldn't find the voice for it, and there was no time. He was angry. That much, he could guarantee. Svarikson had started this all, breaking their agreement and demanding an unreasonable payment. It wasn't Blake's fault, and he felt nothing but powerless.

  He has no honour, the ring said. But you do, if you wanted it.

  Honour wasn’t going to get Blake anywhere.

  Not their version, no. They’re naught but simple raiders. But the true Hero’s Code goes beyond saving face and kowtowing to old monsters. Bravery, worth, and loyalty mean much more. They are a knight's Honour—capital H—and Honour itself can be cultivated.

  “I just need to get out of here,” Blake whispered. The cultivators lunged, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him back up against the wall.

  “Hold him!” Svarikson bellowed. “I would say we’ll teach you a lesson, but you won’t be around long enough to learn.”

  Indeed, you need to run, the ring said. You need a technique to break free.

  But Blake was only at the second stage of Mana Condensation. He couldn’t use any techniques.

  Unlike mana, Honour doesn’t care what stage you are at to use its techniques. You have demonstrated bravery, which is a part of the Honour Trigram. In short, it is a source of Honour, and Honour can fuel techniques. I’d say…you need an Augmentation technique to get out of this. Fortunately for you, Augmentation techniques are simple. Do you know how to use one?

  Blake had been taught in the Nords’ reeducation schools, even if he hadn’t been at the right stage to deploy one yet. (The Fate Monks had likely tried to overload them with information with hopes of getting them to quit, but he had no proof of that.)

  He still remembered the general movements of mana you were supposed to use to activate a basic Augmentation technique. No matter how much he’d hated school—Earth school and the cultivators’ reeducation schools—he’d studied hard and drilled it into his mind. No half-measures.

  But he had no mana…or Honour, whatever he was supposed to be cultivating. He didn’t really understand.

  Honour comes from within, not like mana, which comes from the outside. Feel it swirling around inside you—we won’t worry about concentrating it in your siphon yet—and conduct it through your meridians, just like you would with mana.

  Blake clenched his eyes shut as Svarikson approached. He could still hear the man’s knuckles crack as he prepared a punch. The man’s hot breath washed across his face, and Blake didn’t dare to inhale, lest he smell Svarikson’s breath.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Search for the indignance—in a pinch, it is an excellent focus for your Honour. Not the best, mind you, but you need just enough to spook them.

  Blake cast his attention down through his body, like he was searching for the pool of oily black mana he’d gotten so used to seeing. Where his mana usually lingered, he detected none. His mind’s eye couldn’t see anything, but he felt…it felt like a fire in the mana’s place. There was no heat, but that didn’t matter. He was angry.

  Svarikson should’ve been more honest. More fair. More loyal to those he lorded over.

  Good, now you’re understanding. A huscarl and knight’s duties are to his lord, such that his lord offers something in return.

  Augmentation techniques enhanced the body. They used mana to increase your strength, beyond even what the Body Tempering stages naturally gave you. Blake recalled the meridian charts that the Fate Monks had shown to the class. He couldn’t envision all his meridians yet, and he was pretty sure most of them were still shut. But he could envision his Muscle Meridians and Skin Meridians, and that was what he needed. They were the only ones he’d already opened.

  He hadn’t tried this before.

  But whatever this invisible flame was, it felt more natural than mana. He directed it up with a flex of will, and a wisp of it obeyed. Not much, but enough. He flooded the right meridians, targeted the right channels, and pushed. It flowed.

  His muscles burned. The Augmentation would only last seconds. It was an incredibly basic technique.

  He needed his next distraction. Svarikson was winding up to throw a punch, but Blake shrugged his shoulder with enhanced force, focussing on pushing Honour through his channels. He threw off one of the cultivator’s hands. It only worked because the man wasn’t expecting it.

  Blake leaned to the side, and Svarikson’s fist smashed into the wall behind him.

  Blake’s eyes snapped open. Orange light washed across Svarikson’s face, illuminating the man’s shock. Blake was pretty sure the light was coming from his own eyes.

  It wasn’t going to be enough. He had one arm free, but the other was still stuck, and as soon as they realized that Blake had only mustered one Augmented movement, he was done.

  He reached up and pulled the ring off his finger, then feigned a throw into the nearby alley. The power of suggestion was strong, the ring had said, and Svarikson couldn’t be thinking straight. Plus, the cultivators couldn’t sense the ring.

  “No!” Svarikson yelled. He and the cultivator who Blake had shrugged off both turned in the direction Blake had pretended to throw it. The other cultivator, who still held him, flinched. Blake kicked her in the shin. It barely did anything, but with her grip loose, it was enough to break free.

  It pushed him away from her more than it pushed her away, but that didn’t matter. He kicked off the wall, then sprinted to the nearest building that wasn’t the auction hall. His staff of rebar was gone, but he could still climb, and the two nearby longhouses were close enough to kick off their walls. He scaled the buildings, then swung up the gutter.

  The cultivators wouldn’t let him get away so easily, though, and his best bet was to hide like he had before.

  As soon as he reached the rooftops, he sprinted until he was out of sight—or, until the eaves hid the cultivators from his sight.

  Then he climbed into the only nearby hiding spot. A chimney. He vaulted over the edge, then dropped down a few feet, bracing himself against the cobblestone inner channel. Below, at the very bottom of the chimney, a fire simmered, but there wasn’t enough smoke to choke him. Only black soot to make the chimney walls slippery. His hands slid, and he forced them to exert more pressure, holding the walls tighter. A bead of sweat dribbled down his forehead.

  And the toll of the fight made everything worse. His back hurt, his gut hurt, everything stung.

  He should’ve put chalk on his hands. That was the only thing he should be thinking about.

  He definitely didn’t think about Svarikson’s thugs’ feet thumping on the thatched longhouse roof, or the people milling about below, asking about the disturbance. He didn’t think about how he was slowly slipping.

  After a few minutes, the thumping stopped. He waited a few minutes more. His arms were shaking, and his muscles were protesting, and he just wanted to let go and give up. He didn’t.

  When he was certain he was about to slip, he hauled himself out of the chimney and dropped down on the roof, falling on his back. There was no one around. Svarikson and his thugs had moved off.

  A glorious escape, the ring said. Now put me back on, so I stop wasting my own energy talking to you.

  “Right, yeah,” Blake said, glancing at the ring. He didn’t put it on.

  Or put me down. You’re still effectively…normal. You could leave this city, find another, and live a normal life, do everything in your power to forget what I just taught you. If your hunt for power doesn’t kill you, it will change you—the cultivators should be an example of that.

  Silence. Nothing but silence.

  But you think you could be the one. To survive to the end with your soul intact? Or to simply survive?

  Blake had wanted to keep it, but…after hearing its voice, after seeing what had almost happened to him because of it, he wasn’t so certain anymore. If electricity was heretical, then this? It would put a massive target on his back. That was the last thing he needed.

  But what about not overthinking things? What about advancing or dying in a blaze of glory?

  He remembered the way he’d shrugged off the cultivator’s hand. Power was freedom. He’d spent years of his life climbing on the mist rigs, risking everything for nothing. Now, it was time to take risks for himself.

  It was time to fight these guys for real. That was what he’d promised.

  He slipped the ring onto his finger. “Alright. But now, I need to get out of here. I really do, now. If they catch me, they’re not just going to beat me.”

  It sounded to me like Svarikson planned to torture you to death.

  “Yeah, thank you, I think I got it. I mean, uh, this one thanks you. Apologies.”

  There is no need for such formalities in my company. Your worth is not determined by your words.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do…” Blake whispered. He glanced at the ring. “But save it for when we get out of here. What should I call you?”

  You may call me Grandpa Ethbin.

  As soon as the ring said that, a faint pressure settled down on Blake’s shoulders. It wasn’t stress, though—more like a warm blanket. A reassurance.

  You are correct about one thing, though, the ring continued. We need to leave. Introductions can come later.