The Path Unending (A Cultivation Quest)

A/N: A big thanks to the 35 people who have pledged to me on Patreon! If you'd like to join them, you can do so here.

It's that time once again, everyone! We're back with the start of the next round of commissions. My apologies to everyone for starting them so late this month. My official story is that the server downtime absolutely ruined my schedule. It has nothing to do with the fact that I've been enjoying my birthday games. Nothing whatsoever, and you can't prove otherwise.

Today's commission requires a little bit of background. Months ago, on the discord, I started waxing eloquent about an old story idea I had. Lots of things were mentioned, but one of those things that stuck out to some people was a character who I called 'the Death Dealer'. I talked about him a bunch and I guess some people remembered, because when I started collecting this month's commissions, one of them was "Hey, Ves? Remember that Death Dealer guy? I want to see him."

So here he is! I hope you enjoy this look in a land far away from the Radiant Empire and the Artists who inhabit it.
--------------------------
To the west of the Radiant Empire lies the Emberflow Abyss, a vast ocean so deep and dark that not even the proudest Artist has attempted to reach its bottom. A ship leaving the Empire and crossing the Abyss can travel near endless miles on its waves without glimpsing a hint of land. But if the ship is sturdy enough and the crew is hardy enough, they can reach the coast of the Monolith Continent. This is a strange, fractured land, without the unifying hand of a king or emperor holding it together, and the crew must be wary of any sail that might darken their horizon.

But eventually, port must be made. Often, it is made in the free city of Tempest Moon. There, at least, there exists some semblance of law and stability. The crew can take shore leave without any great risk and empty their heavy pockets of all coins. They may visit the pleasure houses of the Saffron District, seek a tavern near the docks to slake their thirst or a very few may decide to empty their head of all thought in the opium dens of the Stork Quarter.

One place visiting sailors will never travel to is a simple restaurant located three blocks away from the dockside. It is a humble, unassuming building made of thin wood and dark clay, sitting beneath a sign proclaiming it to be the Answered Prayer. It has no signboard proclaiming it's dishes or prices and no crier stands outside to invite passers-by. Indeed, the locals of Tempest Moon give the Answered Prayer a wide berth, as if they fear accidentally stepping inside it's nearly-bare walls should they get too close.

They know what most travelers do not: only a truly desperate man sets foot inside the Answered Prayer by their own choice.

Gao of Marshall's Stand is such a man.

The burly sailor sits at a table in the center of the restaurant staring determinedly down at the table in front of him. He does his best to ignore the surprisingly large staff, all of whom watch him when they think he isn't looking. His hands grip each other so tightly that his knuckles turn white and his palms bright red and he eats the poorly made dumplings without tasting them.

It isn't until one of the attendants approaches him that he even looks up from his inspection of the table. "Your patronage has been a gift from the heavens themselves," the staff member intones. As she speaks, her eyes roll and she focuses more on straightening the flower tucked into her hair than the customer before her. "And we hope that you have not found our service lacking."

Gao barely keeps from swallowing in fear and looks up, staring at the attendant's chin. "I apologize, but I must say that it was indeed poor service," he manages to get out. "My custom has been wasted on this place."

"That is truly a shame," comes the completely deadpan response. "We shall all beg forgiveness from the ancestors above and rend our skin with a flagellant's flail as punishment. How can we ever redeem ourselves in your eyes?"

The sailor does not respond right away. Instead, he reaches out, grabbing a steaming cup from his table. He raises it to his lips to wet his dry throat- only to find the cup plucked from his hand.

The attendant studies it carefully. "As our service has been so lacking, I cannot bear to allow you to stain your sacred body with our foul concoctions any longer." She nods decisively. "This will be poured into a beggar's pit and purified with seven sacred herbs- perhaps then, it will become honest tea in the next life."

In any other establishment, Gao of Marshall's Stand would be well within his rights to lash out at the shoddy treatment he is receiving. But in the Answered Prayer, he merely returns his eyes to the table. The sailor does not address the attendant's barbs. Instead, he focuses on repeating his well-rehearsed words. "I was led to believe that this establishment was home to company that is second to none, yet I have dined alone."

The attendant snorts and upends the cup to her side. The liquid emerges as a thin stream, and the sound of it splattering against the floor echoes in the emptiness of the restaurant. The Attendant stares at Gao until even the final drop falls from the cup, before finally speaking, "You may be thinking of somewhere else," she replies dryly. "Try the Lunar Envy down near the dockside. Ask for Xuse of the Auburn. You will find no better company in all of Tempest Moon."

Gao's cheeks flush a ruddy red but he makes no move to stand. "N-no," he stammers out. "I… I am not in search of company. I need… I need company."

For a moment, there is silence. The attendant stares down at the sailor who is once against refusing to meet her eyes. She takes in a deep breath, ready to attempt another ploy to rid her home of this outsider- but is interrupted.

"Ah, no need to be so rude, Jukei," a new voice states. "Our guest has come a long way to grace our humble hall. The least we can do is provide him with pleasant conversation."

The sailor's eyes snap up from the woodwork and stare at the new figure emerging from the back. The newcomer is slight of build and even slighter of stature. Standing, he is as tall as Gao is in his chair, and he walks the naked graze of a newborn horse. His hair is long and struck through with silver, but his face? His face is ageless. That agelessness discomfits Gao, as if the face somehow does not fit properly. This man could have just celebrated his twelfth summer- or perhaps his sixtieth, but either way Gao cannot tell.

But from the way the air in the room changes from malevolent annoyance to respectful attention, Gao knows that he has found the company he has sought.

Sure enough, the attendant bows low at the newcomer. "You need not trouble yourself with this one, Master," she says to the floor. "This Jukei is more than capable of seeing off such a nuisance."

"Of course you are," the newcomer answers. He smiles a smile that could be paternal pride or a younger brother's adoration and reaches out, plucking the flower from behind the attendant's ear. He turns it over in his fingers, drawing it to his nose and smiling as the sweet scent fills his nose. "But we must husband your skills and save them for those who need them. We will unleash you upon the next interloper to darken our door. But Sir Gao…"

The man looks over, eyes meeting the sailor's. Veins of black creep up the flower's stem, reaching the ivory bloom. As Gao watches, the petals shrivel beneath the dark onslaught, falling from the wrinkled blossom in fragments of ashen gray. "He is precisely where he needs to be."

The attendant does not argue further. Instead her bow becomes even deeper. Without straightening up, she backs away, ignoring the tea that has soaked into her shoes and forces her to move with an audible squelch. When she is gone, the newcomer moves to Gao's table and takes a seat opposite him. He does not speak. He merely contents himself with folding his hands and studying Gao as if he is inspecting a particularly fascinating piece of art.

Gao's dry throat aches with each breath he takes. It is with great pain that he looks up and stares at the chin of the man across his table. "Thank you for seeing me," he manages to get out. "I thank you for your time-"

"Oh, think nothing of it," comes the response. The silver-haired man waves away Gao's words as if they were merely wind. "My disciple's reluctance aside, I am always happy to entertain such an intrepid traveler."

"But you have not traveled all the way from the Radiant Empire to exchange pleasantries. None of my visitors come merely to offer their greetings," he continues. "So please, let us dispense with the rituals of decorum and cut to the heart of the matter."

The smaller man leans forward, a genial smile upon his face. "Tell me, what can Yong-Shao of the Answered Prayer do for you today?"

Gao is taken aback by the sudden question. He sits up straight and forgets himself, meeting the smaller man's eyes. The ageless boy does not react in any way. He simply sits, as if he is prepared to wait until the end of time for the sailor's answer.

He does not have to wait nearly that long. Eventually, Gao is able to find his words once more. "I hope that you are the man to speak with," he begins. "But if you are not, I beg your apologies."

Yong-Shao does not respond at all, save by arching an eyebrow as if encouraging Gao to get on with it. The sailor hurries to comply. "On my last vessel, I served with a man who came from Tempest Moon," he confesses. "And when we were deep in our cups and lamenting our station in life, he told me of this place."


"Oh?" Yong-Shao prompts. "And may I ask what you were told by your drunk friend?"

"He told me that here in Tempest Moon, one could improve their station overnight. That one could grow in power with the snap of a finger. That all one needed was to come here, to the Answered Prayer, and ask for proper company, and one would be granted power beyond their wildest dreams."

Yong-Shao shakes his head. "Their wildest dreams?" he muses. "I doubt it. If there is one thing that is limitless in this life, it is the dreams of power held in the hearts of men." The ancient boy stares into space for a moment, contemplating his own words, before returning his focus to the sailor. "And did your friend have anything else to say?"

Gao can only shake his head. "I asked him to tell me more the next morning, but he would not say a word. He would not even admit that we spoke the night before."

"I see," Yong-Shao responds. Again, he considers Gao's words, but this time he has no philosophy to espouse in answer. Instead, he reaches out and lifts an empty cup from the table. "Your friend was correct, Gao. Here, in the Answered Prayer, we are capable of granting a boon unlike anything else."

"But!" he continues, cutting off the sailor before he can speak again. "We do not hand out our gifts with impunity. It takes a special spirit to embrace what we offer. So if you wish to gain a boon, you must be tested to see if you bear such a spirit."

Gao straightens up. "Of course," he answers. "I will undergo any trial you have in order to-"

Once again, he is silenced by a wave of the hand. "No, no, that will not be necessary," Yong-Shao answers. "I am quite sure that a talented young Servant such as yourself is no stranger to tests of skill and strength. No, my test is far simpler: I just need to know why."

The sailor stops short. "I… why, Lord?"

Yong-Shao nods. "Exactly." He idly begins to spin the cup in his hand, spinning it as if it was upon the potter's wheel once more. "There are no few paths to power, Gao of Marshall's Stand, and all of them are safer and more rewarding than sitting in that chair. You are well-traveled. You must know at least one Artist in a school who would help further your Path. So why precisely are you here?"

Gao's eyes move back to the table. He falls silent once more.

When he speaks again, it is with the voice of the broken. "It… my son, Lord," he intones. "It is my son. He is a good lad, a strong one, one who could be a captain in his own right one day. But he- he and the Magistrate's Boy have become fast foes. Were their battles left to the fields and schools, it would be one thing. But my boy has been coming home black and blue, telling tales of the Magistrate's Men finding fault with his conduct."

"The beatings are getting worse," Gao continues. His hand curls into a fist. "The Magistrate's son is using his father's power to ruin my brave boy. The last time, we were barely able to afford the medicines required to heal him. I fear what will happen next time- and I am a Servant with no power of my own. I cannot protect my son. I cannot strike back against his foes. I cannot save his life- not as I am now."

"But with your boon? With your blessing? I could reverse his fortunes in an instant."

Gao looks up from the table and Yong-Shao studies his eyes. They are haunted with worry and grief, consumed with self-hatred and terror. They are the eyes of a man who has been pushed into a corner.

They are perfect.

Yong-Shao stops spinning the cup. But he does not put it down. Instead, he holds it flat in his palm and turns his gaze back to Gao. "Your words have moved me," the Master of the Answered Prayer says. "And I am inclined to give you what you seek."

Gao's eyes light with hope and gratitude falls from his lips- but Yong-Shao waves him to silence once more. "But first, I must make it clear what precisely my blessing is."

The sailor falls silent once more. The ageless youth nods appreciatively and continues. "Tell me, Gao… do you know why a person dies?" A look of pure confusion crosses the sailor's face. Thankfully, Yong-Shao did not actually expect an answer.

"I understand why a man can die in battle," he continues. "Or how a man can fall to sickness or poison. But why do men simply… cease? Why does age weigh so horribly on the mortal man? Why does time ravage a man's flesh so?"

Yong-Shao studies the cup in his hand. Under his attention, it begins to fill with a thick, dark liquid. "I asked myself this question long ago," he muses. "Always without an answer. But in my youth I was bold enough to form a theory."

The cup in the old child's hand fills faster and faster as he speaks, and as it does, the silver begins to fade from his hair. "My theory was simple: that man consists of two aspects of anam at his core. He is made from Life Anam… but more importantly, in his heart, man is made from Death. We create both of these energies in equal measure from the moment we are born, the two forces co-existing within our flesh in an ancient harmony."

"Such a state cannot last," Yong-Shao states. His hair is nearly pitch black once more as the liquid reaches for the cup's edge. "And man is but a creature of the flesh; we lack the spirit to create life and death in equal potency for long. What time takes from us is the potency of our life anam- and when life falters, death's strength only increases. Only when death is at its apex does our mortal flesh begin to fail."

"But what if that balance was restored?" the proprietor asks. "What if someone was able to harvest their own death, separating it from their body and keeping it in harmony with their life? Why… why, they could live forever."

"That is the fruit that my theory has yielded, Gao of Marshall's Stand," Yong-Shao states. "Through centuries of study, I have learned to separate my own death from my body. It is an ancient death that has been growing inside of me from the moment I was born. And it is the gift that I offer you."

Yong-Shao deposits the full cup in front of Gao. "If you drink that," he states. "You will be taking my death into you. You will gain this bare fraction of the anam that has sought my life for generations. With it, you will be more than capable of dispatching the guards of a mere Magistrate- and any who may come for vengeance in the aftermath."

"But it is not a blessing without cost," Yong-Shao admits. "Taking one's death into you will disrupt your own balance. You may stave off my own demise, but yours will arrive all the sooner for it. This cup will grant you power… but you will not have long to enjoy it."

"In all honesty, I would suggest you turn away," the now dark-haired man says. "If you do not consume the death before you, it will return, without consequence, to the tree that bore it. To me. But adding it to your flesh will not be a kind experience- and some find that the reward they gain is quite sour indeed."

Gao wavers at Yong-Shao's words- but freezes at his next. "It is entirely up to you, Gao of Marshall's Stand. Do you wish to enjoy a long, healthy life of adventure upon the seas? Or…" he gestures to the cup. "...do you want that for your child?"

The sailor stares at the cup before him as if in a trance.

Then with quick, decisive movements, he lifts it to his lips and drinks.