Coreless Cultivator: a Litrpg Cultivation story

04 Broken Path

Despair choked Alric's voice. The Blessed Mother, a literal goddess, couldn't help him!? The authority of her denial pressed down on him, a physical weight squeezing the air from his lungs. All these years, a sliver of hope had flickered within him, a belief that someone, somewhere, could mend him. Now, it seemed, that hope was a cruel illusion.

He fought back the urge to scream, to lash out and shatter something, anything, to express the turmoil churning within him. But respect, ingrained from years of hardship, held him back. Here, in this sacred space, such a display would be unthinkable.

With a voice barely above a whisper, Alric choked out, "Thank you for your time."

Alric's despair was interrupted by a flicker in the Blessed Mother's gaze. It wasn't pity, not entirely. There was... something else.

"I see you've got some fight in you," the Blessed Mother said, her voice surprisingly firm. "Good. You'll need it."

Alric's confusion warred with the tremor that ran through him. "I... I don't understand," he stammered.

"Let me say again," she clarified, her gaze unwavering. "I cannot help you. My path requires a core, and unfortunately, that is beyond my power to grant." She paused, her knitting needles momentarily still. Then she leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. "But that doesn't mean you're without options."

The Blessed Mother leaned back in her chair, the rhythmic click-clack of her needles resumed. "First, however, we need to complete the formalities of your Choosing Ceremony. Just because my realm demands a core doesn't guarantee the others won't offer surprises. Though, in all honesty, it's unlikely."

"I've already informed my siblings of your situation," she explained. "Rather than leaving my domain and visiting each of their altars, I've requested they join us here for this part of the ceremony. It'll save us all some time."

With a subtle shift in the air, the room seemed to expand. A section of space to Alric's right solidified, revealing a clearing bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Before Alric could fully comprehend what was happening, a vision materialized in the newly formed space.

A woman of breathtaking beauty stood there, her form shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence. Her hair, a cascade of flowing silver, framed features that could only be described as celestial. She wore a shimmering gown the color of a summer sky, adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to dance with starlight.

The woman turned towards the Blessed Mother, her voice like the tinkling of wind chimes. "Mother," she greeted, radiating an aura of serenity and grace.

"Bard," the Blessed Mother replied.

The Bard's gaze then flicked towards Alric, and in that brief moment, he felt like he was being scrutinized by a force of nature. She was a presence that held the allure of boundless entertainment, the thrill of high-stakes gambling, and the raw power that could command a vast empire. Breathtaking beauty veiled a core of steel, a predator in a captivating disguise.

"I'll be brief, child," the Bard's voice resonated, cool and assessing. "My path, like the Mother's, requires a core for cultivation. Without the proper techniques, you wouldn't last a day among my followers. They're a lively bunch and not exactly known for their nurturing tendencies."

With that blunt assessment, the Bard shimmered out of existence as abruptly as she had arrived.

The vacant space beside the Blessed Mother didn't remain empty for long. A ripple of light formed, coalescing into a man who exuded an air of easy going confidence. Alric had envisioned a merchant adorned with ostentatious jewelry and overflowing coin pouches, but this man was surprisingly ordinary. He had a kind face, warm eyes, and a simple traveler's garb that spoke of practicality over extravagance.