Chapter 14
Getting settled
The vehicle glided silently across the dry sand, its sleek frame seemingly floating over the terrain like a shadow. No roaring engine. No sputtering exhaust. Just an eerie hush—an electric motor humming beneath them, smooth and soundless.
IAM stared blankly ahead, his expression frozen.
Well, there goes the oil joke... completely ruined.
He slumped a little deeper into his seat, defeated by the quiet hum of clean energy.
Through the tinted windows of the vehicle, a looming structure came into view—an outpost built for vigilance, not comfort. Towering 15 meters above the flat wasteland, a narrow steel column jutted into the sky like a finger pointing accusingly at the heavens.... But the heavens could not be seen through the grey clouds . Atop it stood two figures, motionless but alert, like gargoyles watching over their castle .
The tower itself was crafted from the same obsidian-black steel as the colossal dome that loomed further inside the territory. The seamless metal shimmered, like it had never known rust or failure.
The two men atop the tower wore matching the same black hoodies, their hoods drawn up to obscure their features, casting them as shadows than soldiers....faceless, quiet, and replaceable. This seemed to be the uniform here in grey abyss. But even in their anonymity, there were signs of hierarchy. Pinned to their chests were red badges, each etched with the black 'H'—a symbol of Hope . Yet unlike Regina's insignia, these lacked the glint of stars. Just a letter marking them as part of the machine, yet insignificant within it.
IAM was not aware yet, but there were twenty different mini towers surrounding the entirety of the Hold. Each one rose like a steel thorn from the earth, standing sentinel against whatever might dare approach. They formed a full perimeter—an iron halo wrapped around the base—unseen from a distance unless you knew where to look.
Ten of these towers were larger than the rest, not just in height but in bulk. Their reinforced frames bristled with additional armor plating. These bulkier structures weren't randomly placed either—they were concentrated in one direction, all angled toward the invisible line:the Deadline.
It was clear these towers were the frontline watchers. Guardians not just of sight, but of survival. Positioned like teeth along a jaw, they faced the threat of Deadline creatures with a quiet, unwavering intensity.This place would not fall.
The smaller towers, in contrast, were positioned near the rear of the Hold. Less imposing, but no less purposeful. These weren't meant for monsters—they were for people. For the lost. The unlucky few who strayed too close to the Deadline, either by ignorance or accident. These towers weren't manned to kill, but to watch. To assess whether a traveler was merely a wanderer… or something worse.
IAM didn't know all of this yet. But soon, he would.
If the Deadline creatures were to have reached the smaller mini towers, then it was safe to assume that The Hold was already damned.
Because of the bigger towers being placed at the front—to better face off against the Deadline creatures—it was only natural that three stars or more would be the guards stationed within them. These were not outposts for rookies or green-eyed hopefuls. These towers were bastions of resistance, where real strength was both demanded and tested.
Three Masters were assigned per tower. These weren't just high-ranking—they were veterans. Survivors. Individuals who had stared into the chaos beyond the Deadline and lived to carry the memory forward.
The system was strict and unforgiving, but it ran like clockwork. Every day, there would be a rotation—a shift—where a fresh trio of three-star warriors would rise to take command, allowing their counterparts to rest, recover, and prepare for their next watch. It was a cycle forged from necessity. Fatigue wasn't just dangerous here—it was fatal.
Speaking of stars, it was important to understand the system that governed them. The maximum number of stars a person could earn was five—a mark of excellence, command, and relentless dedication. While the level of the Ascender played a significant role in determining how many stars one might hold on their badge, it wasn't the deciding factor. No, the real weight behind those stars came from something far more personal and measured over time: individual contribution to the war efforts, whether in the span of years… or even in a single, defining moment.
This meant that stars weren't just handed out for strength or skill alone. A five-star wasn't necessarily the strongest fighter, but they were always among the most significant—the most trusted, the most proven.
As a result, strange hierarchies occasionally formed. For instance, there might be a case where someone at the level of Master found themselves under the command of someone who was only at the level of Experienced. Why? Because the Master was only a two-star, while the Experienced ascender bore the mark of three stars. Rank followed stars, not just raw power.
That kind of arrangement, though, was relatively rare. Not because an Experienced-level ascender earning three stars was uncommon—far from it. What was rare was for a Master-level ascender to still be stuck at two stars. That typically meant one thing: low contribution. Whether due to personal choices or lack of missions.
One of the reasons for this could be them being a captured Ascender—a part of the compensation that the winners of war were privileged to receive. It was a bitter prize, a living trophy meant to bolster the victor's ranks, even if the captive was unwilling.
But what if the captured Ascender harbored thoughts of betrayal?
The system was well aware of such dangers. We have already seen an example of how this possibility was prevented. One of the most effective ways to restrict a Master was through the use of RULE Paths Ascenders. These specialized Ascenders wielding the mysterious RULE Path to enforce obedience and suppress rebellion.Only an Ascender at the Master level could properly exert control over another Master at the same rank.
To maximize control and minimize risk, it was common for half a dozen RULE Paths Ascenders—depending on the particular Master in question—to collectively apply their methods on the same target. This relentless, layered restriction ensured that even the most rebellious Masters were properly restrained, their movements, decisions, and even thoughts monitored and regulated.
In this way, betrayal was not merely discouraged—it was made all but impossible.
The methods they use are usually one of the strongest, if the strongest, method that all ascender uses when they are on their last straw with no other solution..... A death method.
A Death Method was a technique unlike any other. It wasn't fueled by mana alone, but by something far more precious: the entire life force of the Ascender wielding it. By pouring every ounce of their vitality into the attack, the user unleashed a terrifying power—one so overwhelming that it could transcend across levels, shattering barriers and overwhelming enemies with devastating force.
The results were catastrophic and awe-inspiring. Yet the cost was unimaginably high. To use a Death Method meant sacrificing all of one's lifeforce. The price was final and irreversible: death.
It was the ultimate trump card, a last desperate gamble when survival was no longer an option. Powerful enough to change the course of a battle, but always at the cost of the Ascender's own existence.
There was no known way to prevent the consequences of using a Death Method. Once an Ascender committed to it, the price was inevitable. Because of this, there was a massive reluctance—an almost universal hesitation—to ever use such techniques. It was a well-known fact that an Ascender was at their most dangerous when they were near death.
But this also meant that using a Death Method carried no real merit in many cases. Death itself was a merciless predator, waiting patiently for the moment to claim the life foolishly offered. To risk your lifeforce so recklessly was to hand victory to the Grim Reaper without a fight.
So why use it at all?
The answer lay in spite—or necessity. Sometimes, an Ascender would wield this devastating power not just to destroy, but to restrict or seal an enemy. To trap them in a cage forged from overwhelming force, even at the cost of their own life. It was a last-resort measure, a final act of defiance or sacrifice.
In the end, the Death Method was less about survival and more about sending a message: if I fall, I will take you down with me.
The RULE path death method was more unique than most, because when used it to restrict the target it meant they used their own lifeforce to enforce their rules but while the rules are unbroken they were allowed by the grace of death to live as long as those rules are left unbroken.
So what if the captured Master were to force their way through and break the rules set upon them—and in the process, land a devastating blow, killing six Ascenders simultaneously?
Well, first of all, they would have to be an exceptional Master, one whose understanding of the Path was on the highest level—even among Masters—to break through six RULE Path methods. That alone was a feat nearly unheard of.
Second of all, even if they somehow managed it, there was a grace period—a critical window of time during which the RULE Path Ascenders would be alerted that their methods were about to be broken. The rebellious Master would then have to face an onslaught from multiple Masters and escape long enough for Death itself to punish those who failed to enforce their rules on the subject.
It was a near-impossible challenge. Only an extremely strong Master could ever hope to pull off such a feat—and even then, the cost would be devastating.
As a result, captured Masters were monitored extremely closely to ensure such an event would never happen.
But what, then, were the benefits of taking such a risk?
One of the primary benefits lay in the sheer rarity and power of Masters. Compared to lower levels, Masters were few and far between, their strength amplified by the ever-widening gap between ranks. This made them a precious resource for any army—a living weapon forged through years of struggle and experience.
Another advantage was the psychological impact. Capturing an enemy Master dealt a massive blow to morale as the battle dragged on—especially when the captives were forced to fight one another. It was like the twisting of the knife.
Because of this value, it was rare for a Master to fall in battle; most armies preferred to capture rather than waste such a resource that had taken so long to cultivate. So, as a Master, your life was mostly guaranteed—provided you didn't fall prey to the Deadline creatures.
The method that Regina had used was not a death method.
The truck screeches into a stop, dust and sand is sprayed around and quickly settles.
Regina grunts for the 2 men to get out.
IAM and Ryan stood at the edge of the camps, their eyes sweeping over the sea of war tents that sprawled in chaotic order around the colossal dome. The structure loomed like a monolith, forged from thick slabs of black reinforced steel, its surface cold and unforgiving beneath the pale shroud of fog. At its peak, the tall iron pole jutted defiantly into the grey sky, bearing a red flag that flapped in the wind—the satin black H at its center. The air buzzed with the tense silence of anticipation, broken only by the distant clang of metal and the rustle of canvas.
Regina clicked her tongue in irritation, then jerked her head toward a heavily clustered area where brown and green tents stood stubbornly against the creeping fog. The mist writhed through the air like something alive, slithering and pressing against the canvas, as if searching for even the smallest crack to slip through.
"Get yourselves settled in there and rest for about three hours," she muttered, already half-turning away. "I'll get your papers sorted in the meantime… and you two can get some shut-eye."
She snorted, voice thick with cold amusement. "I guess being early has its merits. All those tents are empty. Take your pick."
"Empty?" Ryan asked, one brow raised.
"Yeah," Regina said flatly. "It's where all the cannon fodder is supposed to go."
"Ouch," IAM winced, clutching his chest in mock pain.
"But true," she added without a shred of sympathy, strutting off and vanishing into the shifting fog.
Left on their own, the two men made their way through the rows of vacant tents until they came upon a green one near the back—out of sight, quiet, and untouched.
The interior was as bare as expected. A standard military tent meant to house four, it came with two bunk beds, their sturdy metal frames doubling as structural supports for the tent itself. Beside each bed was a medium-sized drawer, hanging from the side of the frame like an afterthought. That was it—no frills, no comfort. Just the essentials for the disposable.
IAM and Ryan both climbed onto the top bunks across from each other, their gear creaking slightly against the metal. Ryan took a glance at IAM, stretched once, groaned, and then announced, "Gonna find a place to pee."
IAM didn't respond. He was already sinking into the stiff, unforgiving mattress, eyes drooping. The stone silently throbbing and growing.
He was exhausted.
And sleep came fast.