CHAPTER 63 - DRAWINGS AND CARVINS (Patreon)

Zamian walked behind the group as they entered the Oasis through a crumbling archway. The walls pulsed with faint light drawn from veins of molten lava through multicolored crystal, casting a subtle glow that painted everything in shifting shades of orange, green, violet, and an array of other colors.

Figures draped in layered cloth moved between markets and stone huts, their hands and feet exposed while the rest of their bodies remained wrapped in fabric that shimmered with sand and age. Reading the text above their heads, as well as observing the waves leaving their bodies, Zamian noticed how most of them were Level 1 or Level 2 from the attached Pathway, while others had a flickering text above their heads, changing colors from brown to gray and orange.

The text was a bit familiar to him.

[LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - ?? PATHWAY(IMPURE)]

[LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - ?? PATHWAY(IMPURE)]

‘What’s going on?’

He frowned, walking beside his friends as he observed these people.

Some wore thin metal bands on their arms and necks, others carried baskets, tools, or long rods tipped with crystals that hummed with essence. The city seemed built more by habit than plan, its streets winding and uneven, stalls stitched between stairways and bridges, rooftops used as paths, and doors leading into places that should not exist.

The Oasis was made of earth, rock, metal, and leather, not wood. 

Zamian’s senses mapped it all. The voices were countless, some low and murmuring, others rising and falling like waves, chanting, while footsteps sounded nonstop over stone and metal. Dust clung to every corner, and animals roamed freely. At first, Zamian didn’t understand what he was looking at, but then he remembered their shapes from books he had read.

‘They look smaller than they should be and… Unhealthy.’

They were cows or maybe goats, he wasn’t sure.  One had a horn that curled into its own eye, with small, twisted, thin legs. Another limped with six toes, shivering even in this warm place. He watched as a child tossed a stone toward one, and the creature dodged with a snort while being pulled by a chain.

Most importantly, all these creatures had multicolored, flickering lines above their heads.

[LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - ?? PATHWAY(IMPURE)]

[LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - ?? PATHWAY(IMPURE)]

[LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - ?? PATHWAY(IMPURE)]

‘Blighting White Dot, please don’t tell me these creatures are cultivators.’

Observing in silence, his eyes were widened, just like the others, who followed along, nervous about being in a strange place, but at the same time mesmerized by the different culture.

Of course, for Marlos, Kurt, Velma, and the other outsiders, it was a common scene, and they simply shoved people away. Not that a lot dared to come close to them after seeing Marlos' armor and Velma’s weapon, but the street was so crowded that some unlucky fools ended up in their path.

Along some walls, high above street level, faded carvings marked the older buildings with symbols, figures, and strange letters Zamian didn’t recognize. Some resembled wings, others eyes or maybe stars, though erosion had worn most of them into smudged lines. 

They passed merchants selling food made of moss, meat, and powder. At every corner, brown waves of Earth’s Pathway drifted through the air, mixing with the unnatural warmth and the scent of rock, sweat, and old ash.

He picked out how little attention they received, even if most avoided them after taking a look at the Warlord and Chosen beside them, or better yet, at their weapons. 

Squinting his eyes, he noticed how no one was using any kind of weapon, and only a few had metallic jewelry with them. 

As they moved closer to the city’s center, the buildings grew larger, thicker. Each looked as if it had been carved, stone shaped by the hands of cultivators through Earth’s essence. Some had domes; others, openings that led underground. 

Then the street opened, and before them stood the Pyramid.

Its walls sloped high into the darkness above, carved from yellow stone that caught the glow of the molten veins. Red light bathed its top, where a beam of glowing magma cut down from the ceiling, caught by its flat peak. 

Adding to the beautiful image, Zamian could also see the enormous amount of gray essence rolling from it. 

Fortunately, a few days ago, he had interrogated Mistress Clarice and knew that the Sultan cultivated a different Pathway, one that colored its attacks in gray.

Unfortunately, that meant the Sultan was one of the most powerful Warlords he had ever seen.

‘Or maybe he is not even a mortal anymore,’ Zamian thought, his eyes cold.

At the Pyramid’s entrance stood four men.

Joshua, Peter, and Paul looked at each other, disbelief all over their faces. Velma, whose body had been tense until now, sighed in relief when seeing the four men, her eyes closing for a moment.

Marlos laughed, while Bohlo and Tulip glanced at Zamian. Kurt, on the other hand, stood with his head low.

Zamian, meanwhile, observed not only the text above them but also the brown waves of essence marking what they were.

‘Warlords.’

Tall and broad, they wore gold-lined bracers and heavy necklaces that resembled old ceremonial armor, each carrying a silver spear, glaring at their group.

A moment after they paused in front of the Warlords, Paul screamed.

“They are from the Sanctuary! The pale one—”

A flash of brown light answered him as Earth’s essence surged. And then his head vanished in a burst of pressure.

The body collapsed slowly, first dropping to one knee, then folding forward, blood spreading beneath it.

Bohlo and Tulip flinched, their breath caught, while Kurt didn’t lift his head, the corner of his mouth twitching between a grimace and a smile.

Peter and Joshua froze, trembling, their lips parted like they wanted to scream.

Zamian and Marlos exchanged a glance. Neither moved, as they had seen the attack before it came but had no reason to stop it.

Velma, her hammer now streaked with blood, gave it a light shake before meeting the Warlords’ eyes.

“We’re here to see the Sultan.”

The Warlords stepped aside.

Velma moved in first, followed by Marlos, Zamian, and the others, even Peter and Joshua.

Entering the Pyramid, to Zamian, it looked like the air inside was warmer than outside, thick with dust and the scent of iron. Crystals embedded into the walls carried the lava’s glow through narrow slits, painting everything in shifting colors.

They soon reached a corridor that twisted upward, this one looking new compared to the rest of the building.

With his enhanced eyes, Zamian could also see clearly the walls, but as he tried to see or hear the Sultan, who he knew was the source of the grey essence, he failed. It was like he was the whole Pyramid.

Then, the drawings on the walls caught his attention.

Mostly, they were carvings, and they seemed to tell a story

First, he saw people suffering. Thin, broken figures reached toward the sky, while others knelt, hands over their heads. Behind them, a huge tree rose into the clouds, its roots breaking similar buildings to the ones he saw underground and its branches piercing the sky.

Then came another carving, of a man standing before the tree. The carvings shimmered faintly under the crystal glow, and Zamian saw a line stretching between the man and the tree as if they were connected. Or maybe he was part of it. It wasn’t clear. 

And after he disappeared, the ground burned.

Everything else beyond the tree became dust.

‘Or maybe sand.’

In the last rows of carvings, survivors dug tunnels with their bare hands, running away from the tree. They left the surface behind, carrying animals, tools, and books. And in the darkness below, they began to build something new. Zamian could also see that not every person went in the same direction, spreading throughout the desert.

After that, the drawings and carvings repeated, as if someone was trying to teach a lesson to whoever walked through those corridors.

No one spoke as they climbed, and only the sound of footsteps echoed against the walls, carrying the weight of a memory no one fully understood.

A few minutes later, when there was no carving, Velma stopped, prompting the others to do the same.

In front of them stood golden double doors, towering three times Velma’s height and sealing off the entire corridor.

On either side of the door, two Warlords stood guard, each holding a pair of crossed swords before their chest.

What drew everyone’s attention wasn’t their posture but their bodies, which were completely covered in fused metal. Gold, silver, bronze, and other gleaming alloys coated their skin and muscle, leaving nothing exposed. Not even a fingertip.

‘Can they move any part of their bodies besides their eyes?’

Zamian squinted. He could barely hear the bloodflow in their veins or even the faint beat of their hearts. 

Then, his eyes went to the door.

Like the rest of the Pyramid, gray waves of essence rolled from it. Not only that, but he heard nothing in there, even with his enhanced hearing.

Suddenly, the double doors cracked open, and a dry, sickly voice scraped through the air like rust on bone.

“Old brother, young monster, come in.”