The Primeval Era-Chapter 28: Vakochev’s Doctrines of Stone! II

In the Lands of Stone, blood determines family.

This is what most believe. That the ties which bind are woven in the womb, passed from mother to child in an unbroken chain stretching back to the first people who walked upon the endless rocks.

But the Warriors know a different truth.

They know that there exists another kind of bond, one forged not in birth but in battle. Not in the sharing of blood, but in the spilling of it. When two Warriors face each other with weapons raised and intent clear, something sacred occurs in the space between them!

A spar is is confession. It is trust given physical form. When you raise your weapon against another and they raise theirs against you, you are saying without words: I will show you my weaknesses. I will reveal the gaps in my defense. I will let you see the fears I hide from everyone else.

And they say the same to you.

This is why Warriors who have sparred together will die for one another without hesitation. They have seen each other at their most vulnerable. They have witnessed the moments of doubt, the flickers of fear, the desperate scrambles when technique fails and instinct takes over.

They have been trusted with something more precious than secrets.

The shamans say that when the ancestors look down upon the Lands of Stone, they do not count bloodlines to determine family. They watch for those who have stood across from each other with death in their hands and chosen to make each other stronger instead.

Because in the end, the family you are born into is merely chance, but the family you bleed with is choice!

And choice, in the Lands of Stone, is the only thing that truly belongs to us.

—

The First Doctrine of Vakochev’s Doctrines...

Damian thought about what he should call it as after thinking of The Primordial Tongue and how he converged everything into one process...

"Let it be known as...The First Doctrine of Vakochev’s Doctrines, The Primordial Convergence."

BOOM!

The Primordial Convergence!

Damian felt the changes across his body, the new strength humming through systems that had been empty for so long. Theory was great. Understanding was valuable. But he wanted to confirm it.

He wanted to feel it.

So he looked at Uncle Adam and breathed out, his expression shifting to something more serious.

"Old man, how about a spar?"

Uncle Adam’s eyebrows rose.

"I want to see something."

...!

A spar with an old Warrior who used to be at Bone Tempering before his injuries over the years made him succumb to the peak of Flesh Awakening.

It was a heavy request.

Even diminished, Uncle Adam was a killer who had spent decades honing his craft. A soldier who had fought in wars that Damian had only heard stories about. A protector whose spear had claimed more lives than most Flesh Awakening Warriors would face in their entire existence.

But Uncle Adam did not hesitate.

He rose to his feet with the smooth motion of someone whose body remembered combat even when his conscious mind was elsewhere. The Bloodmoss Paste covering his wounds had done its work well, the injuries from the battle with the Butcher now more than half healed. Scabs had formed over the deeper cuts, and the swelling had subsided significantly.

Tendrils of Mana crackled over his skin as he allowed his power to rise to the surface. The familiar serpentine patterns of blue energy coiled around his arms and chest, visible proof of cultivation that had survived decades of hardship.

His hand found his spear where it rested against a tree, and he grasped it with the easy familiarity of an extension of his own body. The stone tip gleamed in the filtered light, still sharp despite the punishment it had endured today.

He looked at Damian with an expression that was utterly serious.

In the Lands of Stone, especially where Damian and Uncle Adam came from, spars were sacred.

They were not mere practice. They were tests. They were opportunities to measure oneself against another, to find weaknesses and strengths, to grow through controlled conflict. In the courts of the Vakochev Empire, a spar between Lugals was treated with the same gravity as a formal duel.

It was an honor for any Lugal to invite anyone to a spar.

An honor that Uncle Adam clearly felt deeply.

"The last spar I had the honor to have with the Young Lugal was in your tenth summer."

His voice was thick with emotion, memories of a different time flooding back. A time when the empire still stood. A time when Damian was a prince with a future rather than a fugitive with nothing but survival.

"You were small then. Fierce, but small. Your father watched from the training grounds."

Uncle Adam’s grip tightened on his spear.

"I will give my everything for this, Young Lugal. You do not have to worry about me holding back."

...!

Damian smiled wryly as he rose up, his body responding with a smoothness that surprised even him. The Mana coursing through his systems made everything feel more responsive, more alive.

He looked at this warrior who had a serious expression that showed he would not be pulling any punches.

This old soldier who had protected him through eight years of running and hiding. Who had taught him the Doctrines that kept them alive. Who had watched over him during the darkest nights.

Now they would face each other as Warrior and Lugal.

As teacher and student.

Damian bent down and picked up the stone axe he had carried from the village, testing its weight in his hand as he pushed away the jug holding the milky Auroch’s Grace.

The axe was not the elegant weapons he had trained with as a child, not the carefully balanced instruments of war that the empire’s craftsmen had produced. It was a crude thing, stone bound to wood with sinew.

But it would serve.

He settled into a stance his body remembered even after eight years of dormancy. His feet found their positions. His weight distributed properly. His arms held the axe at the ready.

DUM!

His heart beat with that new heaviness, and he felt strength surge through him in response.

"Come, old man."

His voice was calm despite the anticipation thrumming through his veins!