Paragon of Destruction

Arran spent an entire month doing little but training, his days and nights passing in a blur as he attacked his studies with an eagerness that bordered on fanaticism.

He slept twice that month, but other than that, he only paused when he needed to eat. The rest of his time all went into study and practice.

At some point, he noticed that the Kaleesh and Sassun had begun drilling the other mercenaries in spear techniques, but he paid them little attention.

While their focus was on preparing what remained of the Wolfsblood Company for the Desolation, Arran had a different task — to increase his own power.

Although the captain hadn’t said it outright, Arran had spent enough time studying the man’s manuscripts to know what strategy he planned to use in the Desolation.

The mercenaries were strong, but not so strong that they could defeat truly dangerous enemies. What they could do, however, was to provide distractions — to create openings for Arran and Kaleesh to exploit.

For that task, any strength Arran gained now would be invaluable. Not just to himself, but to every single person in their group.

And so, he’d found a quiet spot among the hills that surrounded the camp, surrounded by trees and far enough from the camp that he could train without disturbance.

It was there that he trained and ate, separated from the others to avoid even the smallest distraction. And with the importance of his task imprinted in his thoughts, he wasted no time on anything but training.

Yet for all his efforts, the results proved disappointing.

The only real thing the first month of training yielded was an increase in his skill at using the giant sword. His study of Kaleesh’s techniques increased his speed, but so little that it would hardly make a difference in battle.

Even worse were his results with the Forms and Muna’s techniques. With those, his endless hours of effort yielded no results whatsoever.

He had long believed that progress with the Forms was a simple matter of time. But now, finally, he began to have second thoughts about that.

With all the time and effort he’d put into the Forms, there should be at least some result by now — a hint of progress, if nothing else. Yet instead, he’d found nothing.

As the days passed, he became more and more convinced that he was missing something. There had to be a technique or method he lacked, something that would turn the useless secrets into something worthwhile.

Yet if there was such a technique, he had no idea what it might be. And despite his struggles to find an explanation, the answer remained as elusive as ever.

Even so, Arran did not let the lack of results discourage him.

Instead, he redoubled his efforts in training, repeating all the different techniques over and over in hopes of finding something — anything — that could help him.

Another month of training passed quickly, and by the end of it, Arran felt as if his mind was on the verge of breaking.

He hadn’t slept in weeks, and engrossed in training as he was, he’d skipped more than a few meals, his every waking moment spent endlessly repeating the same techniques.

But his manic efforts had yielded no results. If anything, it was as if he’d regressed rather than progressed.

With his mind weary and exhausted from countless hours of training, the techniques had started to blur together, the memory of each tainting all the others.

Under normal circumstances, he’d taken it as a sign that he desperately needed rest — which he did.

But now, he saw something else. Something that made his eyes widen with excitement.

As the different techniques blurred together, he suddenly recognized the similarity between them. Though they were all different, in a way they were all the same, as well.

Each contained a sliver of knowledge about the world. Yet where he had previously treated them as separate skills, he now understood the one thing he’d missed — that all these slivers were merely different aspects of a single, indivisible reality.

That was something he’d long known to be true, of course, but only at an abstract level. Yet now, finally, he thought he saw a glimpse of the truth behind it — a glimpse of the world he’d seen when he gained his insight into severing.

He spent several hours engraving the comprehension in his memory, fearful of losing what had taken him so long to gain.

Then, when he was confident that he had memorized it as well as he could, he lay down on the grass and slept.

When he awoke, he did not know how much time had passed. Hours at least, though more likely a day or two. Either way, it didn’t matter — now that he had recognized a path to improvement, there was little that could keep him from exploring it.

He set to work at once, again studying the techniques he’d already spent so much time trying to learn.

Yet this time, barely an hour had passed when a wide grin appeared on his face.

Finally, he’d found what he had earlier failed to recognize.

Each of the techniques in both the Forms and in Muna’s series of movements held the hint of a different insight, and each was created specifically to learn that insight. But now, he saw that each offered instruction on all the others as well.

The knowledge was hidden deep within the techniques, but it was undeniably there. For both sets of techniques, their individual elements offered instruction on all the others — instruction that was to be studied as a whole rather than a set of parts.

And now that Arran properly understood this, his progress came like an unstoppable torrent.

It took less than a week before he saw his first results. He’d already spent countless hours studying the techniques, and now, the insights hidden within them came to him easily.

The insights he gained were shallow, barely even worth the title, but the sheer number of insights contained within the Forms and Muna’s techniques was staggering.

Best of all, even if these insights were still undeveloped, Arran knew he now had a path toward deepening them. It would take time and effort, but with the broad foundation he’d gained so suddenly, he would be able to develop these inchoate insights into proper ones.

Just the thought of that was enough to make him tremble with anticipation. If he could turn these shallow insights into proper ones, he knew he’d have the strength to face Knights.

Because he now truly understood the Knights’ power — they had a wide sea of insights like the ones Arran had gained, albeit far deeper.

Yet with the foundation in place, it was only a matter of time before Arran’s insights grew as strong as theirs. When that happened, his true insight alone would be enough to grant him an insurmountable advantage.

Driven with anticipation, Arran spent the weeks that followed studying the techniques ceaselessly. And although his initial rate of progress soon slowed down, he was amazed at the results.

It was as if every aspect of his swordplay improved all at once. His speed, the power of his strikes, his agility — all of these saw small but noticeable improvements.

And the same held true for his magic. Although he did not dare to use anything but Shadow Essence in the Imperium, he could tell that every single part of his magic had improved.

It was almost like he’d become more talented overnight — at everything.

In a way, he thought, that was exactly what had happened. What the shallow insights gave him was an instinctive understanding of the world, and that understanding applied to nearly everything he did.

Excited as he was at the long-awaited breakthrough, he’d almost forgotten about the purpose of his training and the journey that lay ahead. And so, he found himself surprised when Kaleesh visited his small camp.

"If I hadn’t known any better," the captain said as he approached, "I would’ve thought you’d died."

"I was training," Arran replied. "Though I think I may have gotten a little carried away."

"Indeed," Kaleesh said. "You could do with a shave." He made an ugly face, then added, "And a bath, for that matter."

"Is that why you came?" Arran asked. "To remind me to bathe?"

"It certainly seems necessary," the captain said. "But no. I came here because today, our weapons should arrive. Which means that tomorrow, we will depart."

"It’s been three months already?" Arran said, frowning. "I thought we had more time."

"Three months, to the day." Kaleesh glanced at the small clearing, where Arran’s endless practice had left the grass withered. "I hope you’ve made good use of your time?"

"I have," Arran replied, unable to stifle a smile. "My progress has been better than I expected."

The captain nodded in approval. "Good. The stronger you are, the better it will be for all of us."

Arran glanced at him, then asked in a careful voice, "What about you? Any progress with your study of severing?"

At this, Kaleesh let out a small laugh. "It’s only been three months. Gaining my insight into speed took me half a century, and I expect that severing will be no easier." He shrugged. "Power requires patience. But let’s head back to the camp. The blacksmiths should be here within the hour."

Arran gave him a nod in response. "Think they’ll have everything you need?"

"I assume they will, with so great a reward at stake." He looked at Arran, and added, "They should have something for you, as well. Something that will be most useful."

"Oh?" Arran gave him a curious glance. "What is it?"

"You’ll find out soon enough," the captain replied. "But do take a bath before they arrive. The Darians already think us outsiders barbarians as it is. Let’s not fuel their preconceptions any further."

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