The Primeval Era-Chapter 27: Vakochev’s Doctrines of Stone! I

DUM!

The beat of his heart was a ridiculously heavy one.

Every time it beat, it felt like a surge of strength coursed through him, radiating outward from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was not merely a heartbeat anymore. It was a declaration. A drum of war sounding within his very flesh.

His marrow was hard to even explain.

He could feel it deep within his bones, stirring with purpose it had never possessed before. It felt like his marrow was trying to produce Mana on its own, reaching toward a state of generation that should only belong to Fourth Circle cultivators. It had not changed enough to fully allow this, the crystallization was barely begun, but the intent was there. The potential was there. Given time and further cultivation, his marrow would become a wellspring of power rather than merely a vessel.

Even his blood!

It carried a faint trace of Mana that had not existed before. When it coursed through him with each heartbeat, pushed by that newly empowered organ in his chest, he felt unbelievably alive. The sensation was intoxicating, like waking from a long sleep to find the world more vivid than he remembered. Colors seemed sharper. Sounds seemed clearer. Every breath filled him with awareness he had never possessed as a broken, Mana-less shell.

And his bones.

Fuck, they felt sturdy!

Not merely strong, but dense in ways that ordinary bone could never achieve. When he shifted his weight, he could feel the difference. His skeleton had become something more than mere framework for flesh. It had become a foundation that could bear loads and withstand impacts that would shatter normal men.

An initial round of this new methodology of cultivation had actually achieved such a ridiculous result.

If he did this again once or twice, with his bones, blood, marrow, and organs now being stronger and more reinforced from this first attempt, he should be able to achieve an even bigger result the second and third time. The damage would be less severe. The healing would be faster. The gains would compound upon themselves.

Could he not truly start to enjoy the boons that only the Second to Fifth Circle Warriors normally enjoyed very soon?

His expression was one of shock and solemnity even as he felt that invisible muscle in his mind had become slightly tired again. The cost of speaking that letter was real, a fatigue that settled behind his eyes and made his thoughts move slightly slower than usual.

But that letter.

That Primordial Tongue!

It was something so unimaginable that the potential it held for changing his fate was beyond his current ability to comprehend. He truly could not see its ends right now. Could not fathom where this path might lead if he continued walking it.

"..."

DUM!

The beat of his heart continued with heaviness as it gave him a sense of clarity that cut through the fatigue.

He began asking himself a question that felt important.

What should he call this new method of cultivation?

It was his method that he was making. His creation. His defiance of the established order that everyone else followed without question. It deserved a name that reflected its origin and its purpose.

"Vakochev..."

...!

Yes.

It had to have his name in it, however much this might stroke his ego.

The Vakochev bloodline had been renowned for twelve generations of dual Physique awakening. They had ruled an empire. They had shaped the Lands of Stone according to their will. And they had fallen.

But the name still meant something.

It meant everything.

And as for what could come after his name...

He turned and looked toward the astonished Uncle Adam, who was staring at him with an expression that mingled pride with disbelief with something that looked like shock

He remembered this old man’s Doctrines.

The accumulated wisdom of a lifetime of warfare and survival. Twenty or more principles that guided how one should move through the Lands of Stone. Rules for staying alive. Rules for fighting. Rules for knowing when to fight and when to run.

His Doctrines?

Damian smiled brightly, a genuine expression of joy that had not crossed his face in longer than he could remember.

"Hey, old man, I just came up with something new."

Uncle Adam leaned forward, hanging on every word.

"I want to call it... Vakochev’s Doctrines of Stone."

The words felt right as they left his mouth. Heavy with meaning. Laden with promise.

"A style of cultivation that will allow me to move across the Lands of Stone without fear. To face all the monsters and those painting the endless lands with blood. To face them all without worry."

His voice grew stronger.

"Doctrines that will allow me to look upon those who took everything from us and not fall down, even if they had decades more to cultivate."

He met Uncle Adam’s gaze directly.

"What do you think?"

...!

His eyes pulsed with a light he did not know he had as he said this. A fire that had been banked for eight years of hiding and farming and pretending that survival was enough. A fire that was now beginning to roar back to life!

"Vakochev’s Doctrines of Stone..."

Uncle Adam said the words slowly, tasting each syllable as if it were sacred text.

Then he smiled.

It was a smile that shed years from his weathered face as his rough face smiled, and he said...

"Well, a little rough around the edges, but I like it, Young Lugal."

The old warrior’s voice grew thick with emotion as he closed his eyes briefly and looked up.

"I like it very much. May your Doctrines be graced by the Ancestors and allow your rule... your right... to be grasped once more."

...!

Vakochev’s Doctrines of Stone!

His Doctrines!

And the first one alone was revamping cultivation as everyone knew it, painting Mana across his entire body simultaneously rather than following the safe, slow, established path of the Nine Circles.

The First Doctrine of Vakochev’s Doctrines of Stone could be considered set!