Divine Beast Ascension

595 But That’s Not Why I Told You This

“You’re right. She shouldn’t have been involved in any way,” Hurman sighed.

Reuben finally turned his tear-stained face toward the Practor Patriarch. “Then why–”

“That’s just the world we live in, Reuben. You can’t blame the circumstances. You can’t blame others. You don’t even need to blame yourself, if you don’t want to. But if you do blame yourself, then get stronger. That’s how the world of Dominus thrives and falls, by the overwhelming power of the victors and the declining power of the defeated,” Hurman stated, staring straight into Reuben’s eyes.

“As a patriarch, you aren’t like everyone else. You aren’t like common folks. Even if that person is stronger perennial or even a king, they won’t understand what you need to go through without carrying such a burden themselves.”

Seeing Reuben on the verge of either screaming back at him or burying his head in the ground, Hurman sternly continued, “You can mourn all you want. Day and night, sun after sun, moon after moon, and at every equinox if you wish. But don’t you dare let your mourning become your weakness. Do that, and her death will have been in vain.”

“It’s already in vain!”

“Is it?!” Hurman shouted back at the crying man, verbally pushing back instead of letting up. “How long have you been a perennial without any improvement?!”

Reuben’s eye twitched.

“How long have you been stuck in the same place, unable to advance at all with your cultivation!?” Hurman continued to question. “How much longer do you plan to coast on the side and watch as the rest of the world surpasses you and takes control of your life?!”

.....

“You’re one to talk!!” Reuben barked back. “How long were you stuck in the elder realm, oh great and mighty final candidate!?”

“For more than sixty years.”

The sudden calmness of Hurman’s answer was jarring to the Mottz Patriarch.

Hurman repeated, “For more than sixty years, I was the strongest elder in all of Trighton Territory. And for sixty years, I failed to ascend and become a perennial.

“But does it look like I ever stopped and gave up?”

Reuben’s boiling anger reduced to a simmer as he hesitantly shook his head.

“I never stopped training. I never stopped cultivating. And what most people can’t accomplish in sixty years, I’ve now done in two, charging into the divine class and going from peak-elder to mid-perennial. So, tell me. Did my sixty years of training essence micro control go wasted? Did my sixty years of forming a custom, sword-based cultivation technique leave me unfulfilled?”

With every word, Reuben’s anger subsided slightly. It was still there, barely burning in the back of his mind, but the passion behind that anger was starting to get redirected at himself.

Hurman continued, “When my wife died, did I stop being a patriarch?”

That was the final blow to Reuben’s proud psyche. His frustration momentarily dwindled away as Reuben blinked and thought back to the news he had heard a few decades ago.

“It was only a few years after my son, Mertin, was born. With three boys, I was prouder than ever. I had been down on myself more than usual for my failure to complete my custom technique. Eala and my boys were everything to me. They were my driving force to never stop training, to never stop pushing myself…”

Inhaling slowly, Hurman paused.

“... When Eala fell ill, there was nothing I could do. I paid for every doctor I could find, no matter how much debt I needed to accrue by the end. I took out loans from friends and businesses alike. Every time a medic diagnosed her and told us the same old thing, I would hastily thank them for their service and begin my search for a new doctor.

“I panicked… I was frantic in my search for hope and I never let go. Even after she passed…

“No matter what my old friends and colleagues said, I continued to go into debt. I began paying for doctors of neighboring territories to come and see her, including Prodson. I refused to accept the inevitable reality.

“And every time Eala told me to stop… When she told me that after the second diagnosis, she could feel how serious it was. And by the third diagnosis… Eala could feel she wouldn’t be much longer for this world…”

Sighing and exhaling, Hurman put on a smug, self-mocking grin, “Yet I never stopped the search. I continued borrowing money, even when Eala was completely against it.

“Then, when my wife passed a few moons later, I was left with my three boys and a mountain of debt. Debt that I spent half a century paying off. Instead of having better resources for my cultivation or the cultivation of my sons, I was paying off debt. When I could’ve saved up to purchase a cultivation technique or two that’s similar to the one I wanted to finish creating, I had to put those funds toward my debts instead.

“If Tranton and Kuldar hadn’t accepted personal private sword lessons as repayment, I still might not be done with all those medical payments,” Hurman said with a sarcastic chuckle. “That’s how Fulkar and Trenk became who they are today, both competing for the Mortal Championship…

“And if I hadn’t accepted help when a proper hand of support was offered, my family would still be struggling or on the brink of collapsing.

“But I didn’t tell you all that to accept help. I told you all that so you don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Hurman slowly stood up, glancing down at the forlorn Mottz Patriarch. “I never stopped training because my boys were young and needed me to provide. And while my wife’s passing wasn’t in my control, similar to your wife’s passing, I royally screwed my entire family for decades by not accepting reality as soon as I should’ve. I caused my training to be more difficult and set up the near downfall of my family because of my rash decisions while I was filled with love and irrationality.

“So don’t be irrational. You can love and hate as much as everyone else. But as a patriarch, you must always act rationally. The moment you stop being rational is the moment you’ll always look back on with a heavy heart full of regret.”

Walking away, Hurman didn’t look back at the mourning patriarch. However, under his breath, Hurman softly spoke to himself, “That’s why I will do everything possible now to make up for the life that I robbed my children of, that I robbed my grandchildren of…”

Hurman shook off his past emotions and joined the rest of the group for a quick round of wine. But he didn’t stay to enjoy the celebration.

Instead, Hurman, still in his booze-stained clothes, set up a small, one-man tent and stowed himself away. While the mercenaries drank and talked for a few hours of partying, Hurman was working hard, studying a scroll with a furrowed brow. Half of the time, his eyes were closed as Hurman tried to put the scroll’s teachings to the test.

“Almost… I think I’ve almost got it,” Hurman would quietly mumble to himself, keeping his spirits up despite how much he struggled with the art depicted on the scroll.

Eventually, the partying was over. Those from the celebration were strewn about the camp. Some people lied in the grass and dirt while others cozied up to an empty bottle, log, or boulder.

Hurman, however, emerged from his small tent with a frustrated expression.

“Oh? You’re still up?”

The Practor Patriarch nodded and approached the small fire that was kept alive by the man on night watch. “Can I ask for some advice?”

Blinking and smiling, Hurdo shrugged. “Sure, I guess. But I don’t know what you could need from me. You’ve only had our clan technique for a couple of years and can use it just as well as I do And you use water to the same degree. So I doubt my experiences with the technique will be of any more use than the last time you asked me or Fontu for advice.”

Hurman shook his head. “It’s not about cultivation. It’s about this.”

Looking over, Hurdo scanned through the open scroll and started laughing, “Telepathy?! But I never used a battle art for it, or whatever that is.”

“It’s a human battle art,” Hurman clarified. “Unlike sentient beasts, we need to spend time training just to pull off a simple skill you all have naturally… And since I’m sworn to the service of the Iron-body Clan, I figured this would help make that a little easier.”

Hurdo nodded. “That’s fair. I’m sure Vloz and them would find it helpful… But how can I help with something I’ve always done naturally? I don’t even need to think before doing it. I just… can.”

Inhaling to ignore his imminent embarrassment, Hurman asked, “Can I at least practice with you?”

“Oh, sure. Go for it,” Hurdo accepted with a beaming smile.

“Alright…” Hurman sighed and closed his eyes. He took a moment to clear his mind of everything and make sure to focus all of his senses on the gorilla sitting beside him.

‘C… Can… hear me… n-ow…?’

‘I can hear you,’ Hurdo mentally replied.

‘Y… ahh! …’ the Practor Patriarch attempted to cheer.

Hurdo then added, ‘But your voice is choppy and hard to understand.’

‘R-right… I… try… a-gain…’

For the next three hours, while everyone else got some well-deserved rest, the two strongest and least tired cultivators spent the time practicing Hurman’s preschool-level telepathy.