The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

"Lord Draven!" The young boy spoke fervently.

'Draven….' In honor of Oscar's master, who gave his life to protect him, Demon chose to take up his name, Draven. He wondered if the name might rouse Oscar from the abyss his mind was currently in, a dark place he tried to unravel by connecting to Oscar's thoughts. However, even Demon, cold and unfeeling, was disturbed by the endless pit of darkness, his mind almost lost and swallowed by it. After several attempts, he stopped trying to link into Oscar's mind and focused on revenge.

Demon tossed the sack back into the large pile, the clinking of coins cascading from top to bottom, an immense wealth known from the continuous sounds alone. As Demon turned, everyone in the dirty, small room bowed their heads together and greeted him as lord, not minding the dirt from the ground touching their foreheads. At least they showed their loyalty well. From a casual wave of his hand, his followers sat comfortably but all focused on him, waiting for him to speak.

"I said to make your report, Auren. Or have you gone deaf?" Demon asked, knocking his fist on the shabby floor, the wood creaking from the simple taps.

The young boy fumbled on his words, unable to form a coherent sentence, and Marcus responded in his place, "I'm sure the others have given you good news, my Lord. I have collected the tribute from the last ten factions." Marcus flashed his blue eyes at Auren, a wordless order, and the boy produced ten sacks of gold coins from his space pocket. Receiving the ten sacks, Demon threw them aside and nodded to Santen, who unfolded a large map, his arms long enough to flatten it out without him moving from his seat.

The map showed a continent shaped like a crescent moon, divided into northern and southern parts by a tall mountain in the center, a vast land called the Lunate Continent. In the large gulf was an island known as Oldeye, the location of this old house, where miscreants and the unfavorable of society lived, the perfect place for him to hide. Demon controlled a brush with his Ein and crossed out ten more small regions, the entire continent now riddled by these marks.

"In the end, all forty regions have submitted to us, my Lord." Eve, a woman covered in bandages and garbed in a simple blue robe, spoke in a raspy voice, her words coming out in low whispers. Her blue eyes glinted in delight. "Forty regions. Five hundred thousand gold coins every month from each. Every year will net us a total of 240,000,000 gold coins."

"Good." Demon noticed a snail crawling in the corner and let it be.

"I don't understand it, Lordy~!" Kragg, a rough-spoken man with burly muscles and strange patterned tattoos covering every part of his skin, bellowed out. Yawning loudly, he leaned on the wall, crossing his hands behind his head like a makeshift pillow. His rough, reddish hair overflowed to cover his back, like the spiky fur of a wolf on the prowl, his menacing look matching the wildness he exuded. In a grating tone, he complained, "Why do we have to stay here to look over these weaklings? I want to tear apart as many New Dawns as possible."

"Don't behave so rudely before our Lord, Kragg. Watch your manners." Marcus chastised him like a belligerent child. Kragg stood up, his laughter a mix of chuckles and growls, and cracked his fingers as they clenched into fists. Marcus tidied his white suit and stared down the wild Kragg, a fighting spirit rising from their figures and clashing in their gazes. They were about to punch each other when a loud clap thundered from Santen.

As smoke hissed from his clasped hands, Santen said lazily, his words droning on like a fading dream, "Yes. Yes. Yes. One should mind their manners, including fighting in front of our Lord, when we should be quiet and listening. Isn't that right, the First?" His wide fish-like stare fixated on Marcus, who pulled away and sat down. The eyes then shifted to Kragg. "The Fourth, sit down, and maybe our Lord will explain." Kragg gave a wide grin in response and plopped on his rear, shaking the foundations of the broken home.

"A bunch of rowdy children you are…." Demon said, glancing at each person, and each one stiffened as if frozen by his glare. "I freed you all from the New Dawn while seeking vengeance against them. I offered you a choice to return to your normal life or come with me. Since you've all steeled yourself to follow me, shut up and do what I say. Understand?"

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He leaked out a part of his Ein, filled with his anger, the first and only emotion that erupted from his cold existence. Everyone shuddered and knocked their heads on the floor again, including the belligerent Kragg, a mix of fear and awe plastered on their faces. They stayed down for a long moment, looking at each other over the dusty floor. Demon realized enough time had passed and waved his hand, signaling them to rise and sit.

"What does an organization need?" Demon asked, picking up a book from the side and dusting it off. Oddly, some thought in him needed to keep the books clean. Perhaps a part of Oscar still lingered somewhere in that bottomless swamp of brokenness, which gave him hope for Oscar's recovery in the future. Hearing no response, Demon answered for himself, "A faction or organization can have men, weapons, a base, and connections. But what fuels that?"

He reached into a sack and tossed a gold coin, letting it clatter on the map. "It's money. With money, we can get men we can throw away. With money, we can purchase weapons and other necessities. With money, we can set the foundation for our revenge."

"Eh? Excuse me, my Lord. But can't we do mercenary work and sell the treasures we find? Sorry…." A soft voice quivered, clearly frightened yet bravely offering an alternative. Restel nervously tapped her fingers on the floor, hanging her head low, curly black hair covering her face. She always apologized at the end of her words, a trait Demon found quite bothersome. She seemed to realize his thoughts and stammered out, "S-sorry!"

"Stop apologizing every damn time." Demon said coldly.

"Sorr-" Restel clamped her mouth shut before she could finish speaking another apology, realizing her mistake.

"Regarding your question, we can do mercenary work, but stable income is important. Accumulating safe wealth month by month is how all major factions operate. Empires and kingdoms impose taxes. Sects and other factions earn tribute. By having a foundation, they can set out to sell their services without an issue." Demon explained. "240,000,000 gold per year is a great start. Well done to you all."

"Thank you, my Lord!" Everyone said in unison.

Auren raised his hand and asked, "My Lord, who is that woman in the corner?" His hand pointed to the sleeping woman in the corner, her white hair sprawled over the floor while her body was wrapped in thick blankets.

"She's the Seventh. Her condition is similar to yours, Eve. Since she's decided to join us, teach her our rules, Marcus." Without waiting for Marcus to reply, Demon stepped out of the room and into the junkyard of ships and wrecked homes, spotting a few curious gazes wandering toward him, which quickly pulled out, the sounds of scampering feet cluttering on the rusted metal and rotten wood. The useless wastes of Oldeye wouldn't dare to confront him.

He floated toward the shoreline, entering one of the fallen airships, the inside exposed for the lunar beams to trickle past the beams and fill the interior. On the side of the hull was a curiously large hole that revealed the horizon where the ocean met the stars. Oscar would have admired this scenery and remarked it as beautiful, but he was not here to do so. Clicking his tongue, Demon waited as the soft waves brushed on the sand, the picture of serenity.

A great bellow called out from under the intensified waves that lost their former peaceful swaying and became unruly. A great tsunami collapsed on the beach, the water entering the ship and rising to Demon's ankles. In his Meld form, Erden surfaced from the starry ocean, his metal antler wings stretched below the waters. Grunting, Erden lifted a great beast, fishing it out with his wings. It was an ocean Exalt beast, a powerful Lower Marshal Exalt.

Demon unsheathed his white sword and slashed into the beast, digging out its core. Starting a fire, he roasted the beast. He didn't feel hungry but understood his body's needs and demands. Removing his helmet, he sliced off a cooked portion of the beast and munched on the tasteless morsel. Erden leaped down and tore off a chunk with his teeth, chewing eagerly. He couldn't taste or feel the uplift from eating, so he just moved his teeth up and down.

"Ignyres." He finished his meal and called out to the Ancient of Fire. "I felt you stir slightly earlier. What did you sense?"

"Ah, it's nothing certain. My mind might be tricking me. But we'll see if it's real or not." Ignyres answered vaguely, cackling to himself. "It's nothing that will harm you."

"So he says…." Erden scoffed.

"As a firstborn, you should trust me!" Ignyres shouted, his shoulders erupting black ash.

"I'm also unique thanks to my Blood Transmutation. I don't follow anyone's words without a great deal of doubt." Erden devoured the rest of the meat, licking his lips in satisfaction. "Are we leaving to attack another New Dawn base?"

"No. We have work to do here. Tomorrow, we set out to Aeon Peak. There's business to handle in the city." Demon stored the bones and other harvested materials like organs and blood in his space pocket. Seeing Erden's disappointment, he stated, "We must establish ourselves. Revenge can take however long we need. Marshal Exalts live for 250 years longer. That's enough time. No matter how long it takes, we will avenge Oscar. For that, we need a foundation."

"Just follow me. There's much work to be done."

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