Chapter 225: Access To The Soul Wells
Dark chains erupted from Dravak’s shadow.
They wrapped around his ankles, his wrists, his torso — coiling tight like living serpents, locking him in place. Dravak’s eyes went wide as he tried to move and found himself completely immobilized.
"What the—"
Kael raised his bone blade in the air from a distance. He adjusted his grip, shifting his stance slightly. In his mind, he replayed the image of Damian Astraeon — the way the white-haired prince had held his black sword, the angle of the swing, the proportion of dark energy to physical force.
From what I saw from Damian, this should be just about the right proportion. Right amount of mana. Right stance.
Kael’s eyes darkened.
"Okay. Now."
He swung the blade horizontally.
"Dark Slash."
A wave of concentrated darkness screamed across the arena. A crescent of black light that cut through the air with a sound like tearing silk.
Dravak panicked.
He pulled against the chains with every ounce of his strength and stomped the ground with both feet. Three earth walls erupted in front of him — thick, dense, reinforced with mana.
The dark slash hit the first wall and passed through it like paper.
SWISH.
The second wall. SWISH.
The third wall. SWISH.
All three dissolved into nothing. The dark slash hadn’t slowed. It hadn’t weakened. It carved through each barrier as if they didn’t exist, still carrying enough force to kill.
Dravak’s eyes bulged. His body strained against the chains, but they held firm. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t dodge.
The shaman moved.
She appeared between Dravak and the incoming slash, her hands forming a sign. A barrier of soul power — translucent and shimmering — materialized in front of her. The dark slash struck it and the barrier cracked, fissures spreading across its surface like ice on frozen water — but it held.
"Finesh wins," the shaman announced, her voice steady despite the sweat on her brow.
The barrier dissolved. The dark slash faded. The chains around Dravak’s body dissolved into shadow.
Dravak fell to the ground.
He lay there on his back, chest heaving, staring up at the canopy above. A dark stain spread across the front of his trousers. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the tears he didn’t realize were forming.
What the fuck? he thought, his whole body trembling. That attack could have killed me. Where the hell did Finesh learn that kind of attack?
On the bone spike throne, Seraya leaned forward slightly. Her golden eyes tracked Kael’s movement across the arena with a new intensity.
A soft smile curved her lips.
"Well, that was interesting."
Kael walked toward the edge of the arena, rolling his shoulder with a wry smile. I seem to have overdone it a little. The shaman had to intervene. If I’d held back more, I could have ended it without making a scene.
He scratched the back of his head.
Ah well. Soul wells, here I come.
Suddenly, a figure dropped into the arena from the spectator section, landing lightly on the packed earth. He was lean and sharp-featured, with pale green scales that had a faint golden sheen — a mark of Zorath blood. His hair was black, pulled into a topknot, and his eyes were a cold amber. A whip coiled at his hip, its length inscribed with faint glowing glyphs.
"I challenge you for the soul well right this week, Finesh."
Kael recognized him immediately. Thessik Zorath. Mana Heart Rank 5.
Thessik was not one of the Patriarch’s children — that much Kael knew. A cousin, perhaps, or a nephew. But the Zorath name carried weight regardless, and his cultivation was three realm below Kael’s displayed level.
Kael glanced toward the bone spike throne.
He must want to impress the lady, I see.
There were three soul wells in the tribe. One belonged exclusively to the Patriarch’s main family. The second was controlled by the Mora Clan — the shamans and healers of the Gra-Khazul. The third was shared among all other clans, available to any individual who wished to embark on the soul path. Access to that third well was contested through Blood Pit duels.
Winning tonight meant guaranteed access to the soul well for an entire week.
Kael drew his bone blade and dagger. "Let’s go."
Thessik uncoiled his whip with a sharp snap.
CRACK.
The lash came faster than expected — a blur of glowing glyphs that targeted Kael’s face. Kael raised his bone blade and blocked. The impact sent a numbing vibration up his arm. The glyphs on the whip pulsed, trying to inject something into his body.
Seal glyphs. If that had hit my skin directly, it would have disrupted my mana flow.
Thessik yanked the whip back and struck again. Kael deflected with the bone blade and countered with his dagger — a straight thrust toward Thessik’s ribs. Thessik twisted away, the dagger missing by inches, and cracked the whip toward Kael’s legs.
Kael jumped. The whip struck the ground where he’d been standing, leaving a scorch mark.
They exchanged several more strikes — whip against blades, each faster than the last. Thessik was skilled. His footwork was precise, his whip control excellent, and he kept Kael at a range where the blade’s reach advantage was neutralized.
Then Thessik looked directly into Kael’s eyes.
"Soul Spike."
Kael’s head erupted with pain.
It was sharp and sudden — a needle of pure soul force driving directly into his consciousness. Something that bypassed every external defense and struck at the core of his awareness. Most cultivators at the Soul Awakening stage would have crumpled. The pain alone was enough to break concentration, disrupt focus, leave them vulnerable for the follow-up strike.
Kael’s vision flickered. His head throbbed.
But he didn’t fall.
His soul integrity — that broken and rebuilt structure, that ninety percent framework that had endured worse than any soul attack could deliver — absorbed the spike like a sponge absorbing water. The pain was real but manageable.
He recovered in less than a second.
Thessik’s dagger was already racing toward his chest — the follow-up strike he’d planned. Kael’s bone blade swept across and deflected it. The dagger went wide.
Thessik’s amber eyes widened. "How did you recover so quickly? That was a direct soul—"
Kael smirked.
Dark spikes erupted from the ground beneath Thessik’s feet — jagged formations of condensed shadow that shot upward like black teeth. Thessik launched himself backward, barely avoiding impalement, his boots scraping against the spikes as he landed.
That was a soul attack, Kael thought, pressing his advantage. This guy is probably at the Late Stage of the Soul Awakening realm.
Kael moved.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, abandoning the blade fight entirely. Thessik was good at soul-based attacks, but his body was another story.
Kael’s fist crashed into Thessik’s guard.
PAM.
Thessik’s arms buckled. Kael hit him again — a left hook to the ribs, a right cross to the jaw. Thessik stumbled backward, trying to create space for his whip.
Kael didn’t give him space.
PAM. PAM. PAM.
A relentless flurry of punches. Thessik blocked two, dodged one, took the fourth directly to his solar plexus. The air left his lungs in a violent whoosh. He doubled over.
Kael’s leg swept upward in a rising kick that caught Thessik under the chin.
CRACK.
Thessik’s head snapped back. He flew off his feet and crashed to the ground, his whip tumbling from his grip. He lay there, dazed, blood streaming from his split lip.
"I yield!" he shouted, raising both hands. "I yield!"
Kael stopped, his fist still raised. He lowered it slowly and looked around the arena.
"Anyone else want to fight?" His voice was calm. Almost bored.
Silence.
On the bone spike throne, Seraya’s golden eyes glowed with an inner light. She leaned forward, her lips parted slightly, her expression no longer bored.
I thought he didn’t cultivate the soul path, she thought, her mind racing. And his soul power is so dense. No wonder he recovered from Thessik’s Soul Spike so quickly. A normal Early Stage soul cultivator would have been incapacitated for at least ten seconds. He recovered in less than one.
Her gaze followed Kael as he walked toward the soul well access point.
Finesh of the Nesh Clan. Where did you come from?
A shadow fell over her.
"It seems my little sister has finally decided to pick someone."
Seraya didn’t turn. She recognized the voice .
Varek Zorath stood behind her throne. The Patriarch’s eldest son. Spirit Soul Rank 1. Soul Core Early Stage. He was tall — taller than most Gra-Khazul — with pale green scales that had a metallic sheen, black hair worn long and loose, and eyes that were a cold, flat amber. His build was powerful but lean, like a sword sheathed in silk.
He was arrogant. Cruel. Dismissive of lower clans — he treated Nesh and Mora clan members like servants, ignoring their names, issuing orders without please or thank you. He led the Zorath Clan’s enforcement arm and had personally broken up three inter-clan disputes through violence, each time leaving the offending parties with permanent injuries as a message.
And he harbored ambition that extended beyond his father’s shadow.
Seraya pouted, settling back against her throne. "If not for the pressure from you and Father for me to marry, I wouldn’t even be here."
Varek chuckled. "You do have to bind someone eventually. Produce your own children. Continue the bloodline."
"Just leave me alone."
Varek’s smile didn’t waver. He turned his gaze toward the arena, toward the distant figure of Finesh walking away from his victories.
"Interesting, that must be the son of the Nesh clan head, right?" he murmured. Then he walked away, his footsteps silent on the bone platform.