Review: Tenet of the Undying: Yielded Freedom by Nathan Gregg

Synopsis:

Fight. Win. Die. Repeat.

That summed up Ren’s life. Or rather, both lives.

After dying a veteran in a dead land, Ren’s soul is snatched up by a Goddess to be her pet warrior. But despite every bloody assignment, Ren won’t die. His new master yanks his soul from the jaws of death each time, his second chance at life now a blur of pain and service without end.

Until his moment to escape finally comes, to a place not even she can find.

But this new world is strange. They have magic here. Their culture is utterly foreign, just as foreign as Ren is to them. In a world ruled by sects and cultivators and mana arts, might makes right. Only the strong survive.

Good thing that’s what Ren does best.

Ren’s found his freedom, and he intends to keep it at all costs. Even if he must yield some of it to yet another master… and understand a strange new power before it kills him a final time.

The Goddess’ dog is off his leash and sharpening his fangs.

Favorite Lines:

“The world had ended regardless of their struggles, after all. But that didn’t seem right.”

“Worn, but not broken. Tired, but still willing to fight”

“A man is not defeated until he considers himself to be.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Tenet of the Undying: Yielded Freedom is a brutal, emotionally charged fantasy that never lets the reader forget the cost of survival. From the opening chapters, it’s clear this is not a story interested in clean victories or heroic simplicity. Instead, it follows Ren through cycles of violence, endurance, and moral erosion, asking what freedom actually means when it must be earned through endless suffering. The tone is unflinching, often grim, but it never feels gratuitous. Pain here has purpose, even when it’s overwhelming.

Ren is a compelling protagonist precisely because he is worn down. He is powerful, but never invulnerable. His strength is counterbalanced by exhaustion, grief, and an accumulating sense of responsibility for those who die alongside him. The arena, the cultivators, the monsters, and the larger cosmic forces all blur together into a system that feeds on struggle. What stood out to me is how often Ren’s internal conflict mirrors the external one. Every fight pushes him forward physically while pulling him apart mentally, especially as his tenet awakens and demands something from him that he doesn’t fully understand.

The relationship between Ren and old man Ren is the emotional backbone of the book. Their dynamic is layered with mentorship, manipulation, love, resentment, and inevitability. It’s clear that everything Ren is becoming was shaped deliberately, and that realization lands heavily. The book handles this relationship with patience, allowing its full weight to unfold over time rather than relying on a single revelatory moment. The result is a quiet devastation that lingers long after the scenes themselves end.

Worldbuilding in Tenet of the Undying: Yielded Freedom is expansive but never detached from the characters living inside it. Cultivation levels, cosmic entities, and apocalyptic stakes are filtered through individual loss and memory. Even when the scale becomes immense, the narrative keeps returning to bodies, wounds, fear, and choice. By the later sections, the story feels less about winning and more about enduring without losing one’s humanity entirely.

What stayed with me most is how the book treats freedom not as a reward, but as a burden. Freedom is something Ren is promised, fights for, and ultimately questions. The novel refuses to present liberation as an endpoint. Instead, it frames it as a responsibility that can destroy you if you’re not prepared to carry it. That tension gives the book its emotional gravity and sets it apart from more conventional progression fantasy.

Summary:

Overall, Tenet of the Undying: Yielded Freedom is a dark, emotionally intense fantasy that blends cultivation, cosmic horror, and character-driven tragedy. It will resonate most with readers who enjoy grim fantasy, progression fantasy with consequences, and stories that interrogate power, sacrifice, and freedom rather than celebrating them outright. This is a book for readers who want depth alongside action, and who are comfortable sitting with discomfort long after the final chapter. Happy reading!

Check out Tenet of the Undying: Yielded Freedom here!


Review: Coven of Andromeda by Ron Blacksmith

Synopsis:

When a powerful magical artifact disappears from the Tanner home, Bree uncovers her family’s true legacy: they’re descendants of witches who fled a dying world centuries ago. Now, Bree must forge an uneasy alliance with Sam Sorken, her mysterious neighbor who harbors secrets of his own—he’s a necromancer from that same world, sworn to protect the coven.

Together, they race against time to stop Kestral Drach, a vengeful voodoo witch preparing to breach the Realm of the Dead and consume the power of countless spirits. As ancient histories collide with present dangers, Bree must embrace her heritage and master unexpected magic that binds her family across generations, before Kestral unleashes forces that could destroy both worlds.

Favorite Lines:

“The timing of destiny is rarely convenient”

“Balance has never been particularly difficult to disrupt.”

“Different paths sometimes lead to the same destination, my boy.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

At first glance The Coven of Andromeda looks like two different novels stitched together: a high-fantasy apprenticeship set beneath lavender skies on Eldoria, and a contemporary tale of bayou folk-magic unfolding in rural Louisiana. The stitching, however, is deliberate. As dimensional rifts widen, necropolis spirits seep into southern swampland, and the narrative threads converge with satisfying inevitability.

Blacksmith frames the entire story around one idea—that so-called “life-magic” and “death-magic” are complementary halves of the same discipline . Sameril, a meticulous student of necromancy, and Bree Tanner, a reluctant heir to her grandmother’s coven, spend much of the book wrestling with that paradox. Their eventual alliance is persuasive because both characters must confront inherited duty: Sameril through the austere Codex Mortis , Bree through a family legacy that offers “truths we must face” rather than evade .

Structurally, the novel alternates measured training chapters with brisk set-piece battles; the rhythm reminds me of a well-paced anime season. The climax is undeniably crowded—multiple factions, a power-hungry voodoo queen, and a spirit of chaos invoked in a single ritual—but the ambition rarely tips into confusion. When the rifts finally erupt, Blacksmith delivers the promised spectacle without abandoning the quieter question of what balance between worlds should look like.

Stylistically, the writing alternates between lyrical description and colloquial banter. A paragraph detailing obsidian pillars flickering with ghost-light may be followed by a dry aside about who is responsible for bringing refreshments to the next ritual. This tonal flexibility works because the characters themselves embrace both gravity and levity; a sisterly bond forged late in the novel underscores that the real stakes are personal before they are cosmic .

Summary:

Overall, I would describe this as A Darker Share of Magic colliding with Practical Magic at a Cajun cookout. Readers who enjoy expansive fantasy with contemporary texture will find The Coven of Andromeda an engaging—and occasionally demanding—journey. Its length requires patience, but the reward is a robust exploration of power, responsibility, and the fragile equilibrium between the realms of the living and the dead. Happy reading!

Check out Coven of Andromeda here!