It is folly to presume there to be wisdom in denying your own rage. To pretend that you are not outraged by the atrocities inflicted upon you.

To deceive yourself and claim to be calm when your heart is wounded, when your spirit is mauled, is not the act of an enlightened Pathbearer, but merely of one who deludes themselves, a coward of war and soul.

To let your wounds go unaddressed is to invite infection and to instill your body with vile impurity. You become a breeding ground of weakness, and the inflammation inside undoes everything you have built.

You cannot deny the hurt you feel, and you feel because your heart wishes to warn you. Your heart wishes for you to understand: You are not weak for feeling. You are weak for not being able to master your feelings and comprehend what it’s trying to offer.

We are beings of body and spirit. To deny that we are creatures of flesh who suffer physical wounds and physical torments is to pluck your left eye and place it over your right. You remain half blind instead of seeing twice as true.

And so, you should let your rage flow, let it explode. Let it kiss the oxygen in the air and spread. You should let it run free. Let it rise. And you should give it unto your enemies. Christen them and baptize them with what you have been forged from. Do not deny your rage, do not deny your hate, do not deny your anguish. Accept it, take it on to yourself, be clear of mind and sorrowful of heart at once. Be deep of anger and high of rationality. These things can exist together; they must, for that is the only way you will become a true warrior. It is your duty to become the vessel that can contain the fuel of your fury.

It is your birthright to rise above the mantle of your emotions.

It is your sovereign domain as a Pathbearer to decide your own fate.

Stop reacting. Decide. Reach deep and step, feel, but do not be deceived. Do not stray. Step, strike, and let it be known to yourself that the blow you delivered was cast by your hand, channeled through your body, and chosen by you alone.

-Munkh Warbane, Grandmaster of the Shattered Staircase (Hidden Brawler Path Sect in Kuul-Mongolian)

234 (I)
Coping

The kitchen was wreathed by a storm of blazing anger, but there, at its eye, Shiv stood, unburdened, unbothered, and the source of this conflagration. The emotions of the Faebread were laid to ruin. Their hearts were filled to bursting by deluges of unstoppable rage. Soon, it became too much for them. Some fell upon each other, Gingerbread-Knights ripping into their baguette steeds. The steeds themselves tossed and turned, knocking over entire formations as they rained down from above. Crashing against the stations, they descended into a frenzy of uncontrollable violence.

And the weaker among them simply collapsed, begging to be spared of this frustration, this rage, begging for an end.

“It’s too much! It’s too much!” one of the bread screamed.

“I need to break! I need to kill! For the Court! For the Court!” another howled. Wild shouts of primal fury mingled with desperate whimpers of breaking minds. While that went on, the Deathless who compelled them to forced brutality stood over the Anointed Knight that governed the fae pawns, preparing to indulge in his own acts of violence.

Shiv ignored the warring bread, ignored how the molding yeast was beginning to peel from the walls, ripping itself asunder as it too needed to express its absolute anguish. Instead, his attention was pointed toward another thing. The lid coating his Last Morsel had faded, and within, the meal he prepared for the Anointed One was ready. Nearby, two of his corpses lay butchered and still, barely more than pasted smears of viscera, carved clean of meat along the limbs.

Within the base of the pan rested the flesh, and it was charred to a fine and crispy texture, wrapped in layers of mana, with Vitaemancy being the strongest of all. A myriad of colors radiated out from each strip and cast a most enchanting glow upon the room, shifting in hue with every passing second. Though Vitaemancy dominated, there was also Biomancy, Hydromancy, Portomancy, the translucence of Psychomancy, and more than a bit of Pyromancy.

And so, Shiv plucked the first piece of his own flesh out. The smell was unique. He wouldn’t call it good at all—he wouldn’t even want to eat it himself, even if it wasn’t self-cannibalism. But for a fairy, this was certain to be a novel experience, and Shiv looked forward to discovering how the Anointed One liked it.

“You will not make me eat,” the Anointed One called out, but his voice was feeble and wretched, and his heart was badly mauled by the rage. As it poured into him, streams of blackened fire continued flowing free from the Deathless’s eyes. It filled the Anointed One with every passing second, and that in turn instilled the Faebread with Dread-Taint. From there, Shape of Monstrosity, skewed within Shiv, grew as well, the fear chain connecting the two of them turning ever harder.

“You have to,” Shiv said. “You promised. You accepted this challenge. And I finished my meal. I didn’t expect this Skill Evolution. I didn’t remember the Curse. And I have to live with that. And so do you, now that I’m here.”

The Anointed One reached up, bowed his hand, and grasped open air. His head was swinging back and forth, swaying as he struggled to control the overflowing emotions inside him. He wanted to cast Shiv away, to break free, but the Deathless was too strong, too overwhelming, both emotionally and physically.

Holding him in place with surging tides, he pinned the fae knight to the ground and then, with a casual flick of his hand, ripped away the helmet that shrouded the Anointed One’s face. The fae’s toast armor burst apart into a spray of dust, and the air grew obfuscated. When the drifting debris cleared moments later, Shiv beheld the appearance of his enemy for the first time.

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Though the Anointed One sported four arms, carried a helberd twice the size of an average man, had a good few people trapped within his torso, and presented himself as an intimidating figure, the face that greeted Shiv was anything but. His skin was not rugged and hard like his armor, but the green of verdant plantlife, and his features were not the brutal edges of a seasoned warrior. If anything, the Anointed One resembled a young man just on the cusp of adulthood—his nose was thin, and his eyes, though burning bright with a deep-orange glow, were soft, while his expression was one of barely controlled fear. His lip tried to curl in anger, but the dread he felt toward Shiv, the dread he was boiling within—suffering through—as he experienced Daughter’s suffering as if it were his own, overcame him.

He flinched under Shiv’s gaze, and he seemed ever more the child because of it.

Sage of the Enkindled Heart: He wishes to resist you, but the pain is too much. It is alien to him. We feel that he is pathetic right now for being unable to sustain all that anger, but that is our urge to feel superior to him. Pleasurable reveling in our own superiority might be, there is something more worthwhile in understanding that the Anointed One simply might have never been exposed to feelings like this. A good thing to remember for the future. Everything has a breaking point. Especially the heart and mind.

Shiv dropped a piece of fried flesh on the Anointed One’s mouth, but the Fae-Knight turned his face away. The Laughing Radiance that hovered just over his head began to dim, and Shiv heard a distant cry of pain emanate from within its glorious resplendence. “I refuse,” the Anointed One snarled out once more, his voice higher now, lacking its imposing rumble. “I reject this challenge! I—”

The moment he said those words, his body began to fracture and break. His curled, shoulder-length hair lost its luster, and its earthy color grew pale. More crumbs burst out of him, and a howl of genuine pain erupted from his throat. He couldn’t refuse. He’d accepted the challenge, and now it seemed that the narrative of the System itself—or perhaps the Fair Lore that Cullyweir had described—was punishing him for going against his word. Shiv could feel the weight of existence itself bearing down on the Anointed Knight.

“It doesn’t seem like you can,” Shiv said, looking at the expanding fissures that ravaged the fae’s body. “I think that you better open your mouth and try it. There’s no way back. Not for either of us. All we got is the road ahead. So, stop wasting my time, and I’ll stop pouring more of my anger into you.”

“I am an Anointed Knight of the Summer Court!” the Faebread cried aloud. Shiv’s annoyance climbed, but rather than that provoking him to make a snide remark or hurl an insult, his mind remained cool on one end and blisteringly hot on the other.

“And does that protect you right now?” Shiv asked genuinely. “Doesn’t look like it, buddy. Looks like things are just getting worse. Now you’re delaying the inevitable. Open your mouth and bite down so we can both move on. If this doesn’t work, we’ll proceed to the next step. You might enjoy that more. Next step’s violence. You get your chance to take a swing at me with that big halberd of yours. I won’t lie, I kind of want to get bloody right now too. Just because it’s something I can do. Something I got good at. But I’m not going to do that before you taste my fucking food.”

Shiv paused and deliberated over whether he wanted to be honest with the Anointed One.

Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Do it. This will be a display of power, rather than an admission of weakness. The bread is different from you in many ways, but he knows emotions, he knows power, and, beneath you, he suffers. He is at your mercy, and he hates it. It infuriates him. Do it, so that he will fold and bend. His will is on the edge—push him over.

So Shiv continued. “But another part of me also doesn’t want to do violence. I want to hold back. I want to be pacifistic, if only to spite the System. It keeps trying to make me into something. Something monstrous. Something brutal. It keeps trying to kill me. I don’t think it understands me, and I sure as shit don’t understand it. But we can understand each other at least better than either of us understands the System.”

He let out a low breath, and the Anointed One’s hateful glare met his eyes. “Right now, all I want is for you to taste that piece of fried meat on your face, to bite down and tell me if it’s good or not. I don’t even give a shit about anything else anymore. I just want to know. I just want to know that after everything I went through. That I still have a means to cook. That I’m not just the Deathless that breaks things—that I can still create.”

There came an uncomfortable gasp from behind. “Shiv, you don’t need to do this…” Adam trailed off, trying to find the right words. “You have him. This is basically over. Just breathe…”

Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Tell him that you understand what he’s trying to do. Be honest with him, be clear. It will be good for your relationship.

Shiv looked over his shoulder and gave Adam a nod. “Yeah, I know, Adam. I’m just having an ugly moment right now. I’m processing things.” He got even angrier with every second that passed, but his mind had never been clearer. “I need to do this. I need to see, I need to feel either some measure of elation or disappointment. I need this. Please just give me a second.”

The Gate Lord bit his lip but nodded. He stepped back and nocked an arrow, just in case. The other Faebread were fighting. Their battles cascaded into chaotic brawls all across the room, but few of them noticed Adam. Instead, they were attacking the closest thing they could see, anything to vent the burning anger that seemed to constantly spread and never dim.

Shiv’s new Skill Fusion was dangerous. This was a skill that provoked someone else to strike and succumb to rage. If someone didn’t have good control over their emotions, then this very well might turn an army in on itself.

Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Be wary when you use me. Do not unleash me blindly. I am an infection, an infection of your rage, but what you feel even when not magnified by the presence of the fae is overwhelming. It is something bestial. It is not meant for the heart or mind of an individual.

Finally, the Anointed One turned his head and, with an expression like he was fighting against himself, opened his mouth. He bit down on the piece of burnt flesh offered, and his teeth sank into the layers of mana charred into the texture first. The brilliant layer of mingled magic crusted over the meat flashed once as the Anointed One bit through it. As he chewed and swallowed, his eyes widened, and the look on his face went from one of struggle to something closer to utter confusion.

The Anointed One blinked.

Shiv couldn’t breathe. He waited for the moment of judgment to come. He knew the fae couldn’t lie to him. And despite everything he’d suffered, despite being stripped of his cooking, despite how much he wanted to skip to violence, he genuinely wanted to know if his meal made during that desperate, feverish haze was any good.

The Anointed one swallowed. Shiv leaned in closer. The fae stared at him. And then he spoke: “This… might be the worst meal I’ve ever eaten.”

And Shiv’s heart fell. And kept on falling.

It crossed into a pit of despair and plunged even further still. His rage grew to new heights. The darkness flowing free from his eyes came ablaze with a roaring crackle, and everything around him was drowned out by a new flood of fury.

But as the Faebread around Shiv were utterly subsumed by shrieks of rage-induced madness, he became more self-aware than ever. Outside, Shiv remained unfazed. Inside, his heart hammered and roared like a mana bomb on the verge of going off.

Sage of the Enkindled Heart: SHIT! FUCK! Fucking Maiden! We need to express this in some way, otherwise we won’t be able to focus. Beat on something that you cannot kill—something you can exhaust yourself hurting to take your mind off things.

“Yep. I got just the thing right here,” Shiv agreed with unnatural calmness.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep