Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

Nero took some time to meditate, hoping to restore his energy and enhance his abilities. With the addition of his second law, he felt an increase in strength and a remarkable boost in his healing powers, allowing him to bounce back much faster than before.

Eliminating the orcs was just the beginning for Nero—it was more like the opening act. He could feel the new power coursing through him, urging him to test and refine it. The careful hunter he once was had transformed into a fierce force, eager to explore the limits of his newfound strength. A deep focus settled over him; he didn’t want to stop there. He craved more challenges, more battles, and more fuel for the burning ambition within him.

For the next two hours, a section of the ancient forest became a chaotic training ground, scattered with remnants of battle.

His initial movements were deliberate, fine-tuning the techniques he had started to develop. He would suddenly appear in a clearing where a couple of Red Orcs were feasting on bones. Before his arrival could even be acknowledged, his sword, bathed in a swirling mix of fire and lightning, was already striking. He discovered he could adjust the balance of these elements in his attacks. A wide, horizontal slash against one orc was filled with flames, melting through its rough armor before he even made contact. The follow-up thrust aimed at the second orc was charged with lightning, delivering a jolt that caused the creature to convulse and collapse, its insides damaged. He was grasping the essence of each power: fire for wide destruction and armor piercing, and lightning for swift strikes and internal harm.

Nero soon crossed paths with a lone High Orc, a scout with a sharp knife and a small shield. This enemy was quicker and more aware of its surroundings. It spotted the brief shimmer of light that signaled his arrival and rolled out of the way of his lethal strike. As it rushed at him with surprising speed, Nero decided to test his defense instead of fleeing. He let an armor of fire and lightning envelop his arm as he blocked the knife’s thrust. The result was astonishing; as the knife met his arm, it not only became hot, but the lightning surged up the blade, causing the High Orc’s arm to seize and its grip to weaken. Nero swiftly finished it off with a simple, almost effortless swing of his sword, finding that the flow of combat felt more natural.

As time passed, he grew more confident, and his tactics became bolder and more fluid. No longer did he see groups of orcs as threats; instead, they became targets for his training and practice.

He came upon a group of four Red Orcs and one High Orc guarding a narrow path. This time, he didn’t jump right into the mix. Instead, he positioned himself on a rocky ledge above them. Holding his sword high, he attempted to create a ranged attack by merging his powers. He focused on shaping the fire into a spear-like projectile with a core of lightning running through it.

”Searing Bolt,” he quietly spoke.

He launched the fiery spear. It raced through the air, striking the ground in the center of the group and exploding not just in a fireball, but unleashing a storm of flames and lightning. The Red Orcs were obliterated, while the High Orc on the edge of the blast was knocked back, enveloped in smoke and crackling electricity. Nero quickly Flash Stepped to where it landed and drove his sword through it before it could recover.

His swordsmanship flourished under the demand of constant practice. He began using the Flash Step not only for movement, but as a crucial part of his attacks. He would prepare a powerful downward chop and just as he swung, he would Flash Step forward and down, combining the force of his swing with the surprising speed of his movement to create an unbelievably powerful blow. He used this technique to slice through a charging High Orc, its own momentum tearing it apart on his energized blade.

Once, he found himself cornered by five Red Orcs, their fierce gazes closing in on him near a large boulder. A smirk crept onto his face. Just as they lunged forward, he shot straight up into the air with a sudden burst of speed, supported by dazzling wings made of pure lightning. The feeling was different from his usual fiery powers—more unstable and buzzing, but incredibly fast. From above, he watched the confused orcs looking around for him, now just an empty space where he had been moments before.

Then, he turned upside down and dove toward them like a missile, with his Stormblade aimed downward and spinning. He crashed into the group like a whirlwind of fire and electricity, leaving behind a smoldering crater and a scene of chaos in his wake, with five orc bodies scattered around.

He moved through the thick woods not like a person, but like a powerful storm. The sharp sound of his sudden movements was followed by flames roaring, lightning crackling, and the cries of the orcs as they fell. He left behind destruction that told a story: some orcs were just ashes, others were burnt skeletons still holding their weapons, and a few looked unaffected except for the strange smell of ozone in the air—the aftermath of a fierce electrical shock.

He began to use his surroundings to his advantage. He leaped onto a large, dead branch hanging over a path, waiting for three orcs to walk underneath. With a swift motion, he cut the branch, and as it fell, unleashed a wave of fire that engulfed them. He even tricked a big High Orc into stepping into a shallow stream, knowing water would carry his lightning. One powerful strike from his sword sent a shocking bolt through the water, zapping the creature in a breathtaking flash of blue and white.

After two hours of battle, he stood in a small clearing, breathing heavily—not from tiredness, but from the excitement of the fight. The air was thick with the smell of burnt wood and charred meat, mixed with the fresh scent of a storm. He had taken down twenty-five orcs—both Red and High—during this intense clash. He examined his hands and sword, feeling a newfound control over his powers. The way he combined fire and lightning had become second nature to him; he could switch from one to the other effortlessly or even blend them for an overwhelming attack.

The last jolt of lightning faded from his fingertips, and the wild roar of the battle quieted down, replaced by the soft rustle of the wind through the charred trees. The adrenaline that had fueled him for hours started to fade, leaving a calmness that felt almost meditative. The air, once buzzing with the chaos of his magical attack, now settled into an easy hum. The job was done. The monsters were taken care of, and he’d put his new powers to the test.

But stepping back through the portal to the shiny halls of the Leclair estate felt a bit off, like a song that just didn’t resolve. There was a different kind of craving gnawing at him now, one that wasn’t about fighting. It was a basic need for comfort, for a moment of pure, simple peace.

Reaching for the spatial ring on his finger, Nero summoned its contents. In a flash of light, his trusty cooking kit appeared on a flat stone: a small pot, a waterskin, a sack of good-quality rice, and a nice chunk of meat from a non-sapient, stag-like creature he had hunted days ago. He also pulled out a stylish ceramic cup and a dark glass bottle sealed with wax.

He moved with a calm efficiency that felt worlds apart from the intense, precise moves of his swordplay. A flick of his wrist started a small cookfire, the flame a gentle orange glow instead of a raging inferno. He rinsed the rice from his waterskin, the rhythmic motion soothing his mind. The meat was seasoned with some wild herbs he knew were safe, skewered, and set over the fire to roast, the sizzle and mouthwatering aroma filling the clearing with a different kind of satisfaction.

This was his ritual. As the rice boiled, producing clouds of steam, and the meat browned, he broke the wax seal on the wine bottle. It was a deep red from a vineyard in the Leclair domain, a gift from Lux. He poured a measure into the ceramic cup, the rich crimson liquid glimmering in the fading light.

Sitting on the stone there, with the charred forest as his dining area, he relished the simple pleasure of the fluffy rice and juicy, herb-roasted meat. Each bite grounded him, reminding him of life outside of endless battles and the chase for power. He sipped the wine, enjoying its complex flavors of dark fruit and oak, a nice contrast to the earlier tastes of lightning and smoke.

He wasn’t thinking about the next enemy or challenge. He was just enjoying the moment. Watching the artificial stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky of the pocket dimension, he listened to the familiar, peaceful sounds of the night—the chirps of insects timidly returning, the distant call of a night bird.

This quiet meal felt like a luxury. A little indulgence he needed. After hours of being a weapon, here he was, just a guy enjoying a nice meal and good wine under an unusual sky. When the last grain of rice and the final sip of wine were gone, he carefully packed everything away just as he had summoned it.

He departed going finally back to the real world, outside the sky was dark, it was deep in the night.