Cosmic Crucible

Chapter 14: Astrilith

Disgust twisted the woman’s features, sharpened by contempt. The Celestial Decade Academy was no place for outsiders to meddle—Voidwalkers meant little here. The cosmos teemed with warriors of their caliber.

"Hold it," she snapped, her gaze boring into Lucien Vance. "How do I know you're not some primitive?"

Lucien raised his right hand. His palm vibrated violently, seizing the air like crumpled canvas before slamming into the earth. A crater exploded beneath the impact.

"Oscillation Palm?" The woman stared, startled.

Lucien smirked. "Proof enough?"

Her eyes narrowed. Oscillation Palm was no common combat art. Though widely taught, it demanded extreme physical prowess—something she herself lacked. Yet this mere Apprentice had executed it flawlessly. Wariness prickled her nerves.

"Fine. If you can wield Oscillation Palm, you might be useful," she conceded, her tone thawing slightly. "Help me seize Crimson Fortress, and I’ll add your name to the mission report."

Lucien feigned surprise. "Crimson Fortress? Ruled by that 'Judicator'—a Scout, I hear."

"I know. Orton lost to him. But I’m no Orton," she hissed. "Together, we’ll crush that savage."

"How do you know a student fell to a local?"

"Pre-mission pacts. Students landing nearby ally up." She eyed him dismissively. "No one sought you? Figures—you’re weak."

Fortunate I didn’t impersonate Astor, Lucien thought. She knows Orton; she might know Astor too. Had Orton fled north after losing to Zhou Shan to find her? Then why divert east?

He swallowed further questions. Each risked exposure. Her alliance offer meant friction with Orton—or that Orton had found others. Either way, Crimson Fortress was in peril.

"Deal. But I need to strengthen myself first," Lucien pressed.

"Unnecessary."

"Then let me heal, at least."

After a tense pause, she hauled him airborne toward the enclave.

Astor’s Flesh Forging Essence had only three uses. Two propelled him from mortal to Apprentice, then Scout. The last dose boosted me to Apprentice. To reach Scout, I need another essence—and this woman is my key.

The county enclave held just 200,000 survivors, yet teemed with soldiers—most wearing the Judicator’s colors, now under her control.

"That 'Judicator' commands 80,000 evolved warriors," she said, landing atop a derelict tower. "Two thousand deployed north to link territories. Six Apprentices guarded them. I killed two; beasts took another. Three remain."

"Your name?" Lucien asked.

"Glenna."

A figure materialized on the roof, bowing. "Ma’am! Judicator’s troops—30 kilometers out."

Lucien spun. His blood chilled. The man’s eyes widened in recognition.

He knows me.

Before Glenna reacted, Lucien lunged. Oscillation Palm slammed into the man’s ribs. Bones cracked as he catapulted off the tower, crashing below. Screams erupted.

Glenna whirled, livid. "What was that?!"

"He ambushed me when I landed!" Lucien snarled. "Bled me half dry!"

"When?"

"Drop day."

"Where?"

"100 kilometers south." Lucien met her glare. "Doubting me? Or mourning your pet savage?"

"Watch your tongue! I care nothing for locals," Glenna spat. "But you don’t slaughter my assets!"

"Just a primitive—"

"Mine."

Lucien raised his hands. "Fine. No repeats. Those troops out there? Mine. Want them brought in?"

Glenna turned away, studying her wrist-terminal, ignoring him.

Lucien exhaled. Lee Magnus. The man witnessed Astor’s death—knows I’m Terran, knows I killed Astor. Silence meant exposure. Glenna outclasses Astor; a failed ambush meant death. Patience.

The northern front had dissolved under Glenna’s reign. Soldiers defected or died fleeing. And Crimson Fortress had gone radio-silent since dawn—gnawing at Lucien’s nerves.

He marched Roslyn, Xu San, and 10,000 evolved soldiers into the enclave, warning the two surviving Legion Commanders who’d bowed to Glenna. That night, he returned to her.

"Borrow Astrilith?" Glenna stared incredulously. "You?"

Lucien nodded. "Name the interest. Tenfold post-mission."

"You wield Pyro-Crystals but lack Astrilith?"

"Depleted."

Glenna hesitated. Astrilith wasn’t Terran Pyro-Crystals. Each world bred unique energies, forging divergent cultivation paths—yet all converged on cosmic power. Astrilith crystallized raw astral force, absorbable by any being. Only planets synced with cosmic ecosystems yielded it. Terra produced Pyro-Crystals, Frost Shards... but not Astrilith. For students like her, it was oxygen.

"Doubt me? I’ll trade." Lucien dumped a heap of Pyro-Crystals between them.

Glenna’s eyes ignited, mentally scrolling galactic exchange rates—none fixed, all regional. Here, facing a desperate buyer? She could dictate terms.

"Five Astrilith shards," she declared coolly.

Lucien gaped. "Highway robbery! This haul trades for twenty shards anywhere!"

"Take it or leave."

He gritted his teeth. "Done. But I test a combat art afterward."

Glenna smirked. "Anytime."

As Lucien left with five thumb-sized, translucent shards, Glenna gleefully scooped up the Pyro-Crystals. Perfect for fire-based arts—amplifies power mid-combat. Rarer than Astrilith for me! Her mind raced. Tartarus Prime? Unknown sector. Maybe a Pyro-Crystal-rich world?

Outside, Lucien allowed himself a grin. Lopsided trade? Pure profit when the goods cost nothing. Only offworlders held Astrilith. Astor hadn’t even owned a Void Ring to store it. Glenna’s wealth hinted at noble ties. More to milk here.

He retreated to his quarters—a skeletal villa—and buried Pyro-Crystals around its perimeter. Deterrence against thieves.

Flesh Forging Essences channeled ambient astral energy, but absorption speed hinged on cultivation manuals. Elite factions hoarded Astrilith, detonating it in confined spaces to flood the area with dense power—fueling rapid breakthroughs. That hunger made Astrilith wars inevitable.