Hmmph... this junior is a good seed [Cultivation Management Quest]

Ten Years Earlier

The Fearless Line



The missions are coming out soon. She'll never admit it, but she's chomping at the bit today. The letters from Gaius have reached somewhere inside her head. He's right. What it's trying to tell her. Of course. Of course that's what she should be doing. And the answer, at least to start, is obvious.

Fight. Kill. Kick ass, take names, show these fuckers who's in fucking charge.



Not, of course, that she's letting it show. Be a bad look, she knows that. Captaincy is finally starting to settle in a bit more, and she's started working out what she needs to do to make this work. That veneer of "officer" sits over the top of everything else. No fear. No confusion. Everything must be sharp, clear, reassuring. That way, the squad forms up around her more quickly. Less doubt, she's noticed. Just obedience. Draconis helps, too. He's a solid second, she has to admit. Hard working. Still very private, but he's swallowed that she's in charge now. Since she named him sergeant too, it's been easier; he can raise his doubts in private, she can listen without feeling like she was handing him the keys to the kingdom.



Which is why he's letting a sharp little smirk play on his lips, putting on a show of hungry almost-fidgeting and pacing, a panther waiting for the pounce. He can do that. Better, it spreads from him to the rest of them. Cecilia's fighting down a bloodthirsty little smile that fits her sweet face surprisingly well. Nikolas is running a whetstone down the edge of his spearhead over and over, blade already so sharp it sings as it moves. Even Priscian looks ready for a tussle.



Well. They should be. Four bounties in the last two months. Even if they had ended up needing extraction, that was a good record. People were starting to pay attention to their merry band of lunatics. The Legate's barbed little comments had been replaced with stiff congratulations, and she wasn't the only one. It felt good. It felt really good.



At last, the door of the dispatch office swings open. Maria turns back to the squad, shoots them a sharp little smile.

"Ready to stretch your legs, lads?"

"Oh, yes, captain," purrs Draconis, backed by a chorus of gleeful agreement.

"Good. I'll organize a stroll."

She stalks away, the smile still dogging her lips. It's early yet. The night patrols aren't even back. She'll have her pick of the missions before the rest pile in.



Two other squad leaders join her, a Divine Saber and a Drunkard. The Saber (Liming, she thinks his name is) keeps his distance, cordially ignoring her. She returns the favour. It's as close to friendly as either of them can manage, and as much as it pains her to admit it, he's a good soldier. Less arrogant than most of his sect. Follows orders. If he wasn't a fucking sword-shagger, she'd probably like him. The other, Ganbei, is notably more social.



"Morning, paleface!" she says genially, thrusting a bottle of something potent and alcoholic at Maria. She waves it aside.

"Morning pisshead. Saw you and yours staggering more than usual last night. Celebrating?"

"Of course! That most important of celebrations, Captain."

Ganbei let that dangle, drinking from the bottle and smirking. Maria winced in pre-emptive horrified amusement.

"…What's that?"

"Being drunk."

The laugh comes unbidden, but she lets it loose. The Drunkard's funny, give her that. And again, a decent soldier. That divide had become more and more important the longer they stayed on the line. Those who could be trusted to do what was needed over what was glorious were far more important than those who wore your colours. It had even seeped in to the complex cross-sect dynamics you saw in every Fort; good soldiers would find deference in unexpected places, sometimes.

Maria pulls her mind back to the present.

"You must celebrate that a lot."

Ganbei gives a genial shrug.

"Have to do something to keep myself occupied. The nights can get so long when the brewery's closed."



Liming coughs quietly, and they glance at him, then the desk. A Strength Purity she doesn't recognize has settled behind it, four or five scrolls piled up in front of them.

"Squad Leader Ganbei?"

"See you later, Snowskin," mutters the Drunkard, and sways away. Maria shoots a good-natured obscene hand gesture at her back. Ganbei takes a scroll and is gone. The Strength Purity glances back and forth between Dan and Maria, narrows their eyes.

"…Squad Leader Liming?"

Fuck. That was unexpected. Normally she'd have gotten next pick – Sect politics had set the Devils over the Sabers in the last few months over some fuck up with the Blade Pact. Something must have happened. Still. Could have been worse. Liming doesn't try and rub her nose in it; strides to the desk, examines the scrolls, takes one, and leaves.

"Squad Leader-"

"Captain," she says, stepping forward to look at the scrolls. She doesn't wait for a response. Ganbei and Liming have left her an embarrassment of riches – three solid patrols, all likely to be heavy this time of day. A few caravans were expected in today, the first handful of refugees from Ya Ma city. That always meant combat, as skirmishers followed after them, looking to disrupt the line as it broke to let them through.



She couldn't have asked for a better day.

Too cocky, murmers the Red Place. Beginning to sound like me.

Hush. You'll love it. Besides. Today's the day.

It rumbles skeptically. Heard that before.

Today it's true. Today, we're going to see it.

Heard that before too.

Her good mood is starting to curdle. She fights back a pang of annoyance.

Do you have to be so fucking negative all the time?

Yes.



Ugh. No. No point in engaging further. She'll only annoy herself.

"This one," says Maria, picking up the scroll for route Hummingbird. The Strength Purity nods, but she's already half-way out the door.



---



"…and the Flood Dragon says, 'try the chicken, I'm sure that'll taste better!'"

Cecilia's giggling already before Priscian's even finished the joke. It's adorable. They're cute as hell, Maria has to admit. Maybe she'll be hearing wedding bells soon.

"Stow that, Legionnaire," growls Draconis.

"Yes Sarge. Sorry, sarge."

"Sargeant."

"…Sargeant. Right."



They're ten miles and half an hour into route Hummingbird. So far, not a peep. Maria's starting to get a little antsy. Which is stupid, of course; a fight isn't going to present itself just because she wants one. She knows that. It's not making the tension any better though.

The rest of the squad haven't picked up on her frustration; they're moving, sharp and professional, along the patrol route with grins on their faces and sparkles in their eyes. That vicious, excitable hunger has shifted into a relaxed professionalism, honed by long practice.

Well, at least she's not spoiling it. Draconis is, but she's pretty sure he enjoys it, so that still counts as a victory.



They turn back off the third frontline stretch, back into the depths of the Line. Hummingbird's an interesting one – goes back and forth a lot, alternating and overlapping with the other routes as reinforcement. You'd spend more time out front where the fight would come to you than you would otherwise, but never for long, and there'd usually be another squad near enough for back up. Good for days when she was feeling scrappy, which was most days if she was honest. But it seems to be letting her down, today.



But then she hears the bellowed "SKIRMISHERS!" from route Tiger less than a half-mile away, and relief pours through her. Hummingbird always delivers.

"Pris, scan," she snaps. Priscian's eyes close as he reaches out with his Qi sense, then flicker open again.

"Fourteen, mainly Altar, one or two Gao, and a Noble Knowledge flesh golem. Saber squad is on Tiger."

"Wounded?"

"Two out of six, both still upright. Their runner's gone."

All her birthdays have come at once. The grin she's been suppressing finally claws its way onto her face.

"In, form up on 'Conis, Hoplite," she says. "I'm going in loose."

Draconis's eyes land on her, but they don't have the time to argue and he's learnt better than to try and argue in front of the squad. The rest nod, and then they're gone, a blur of bronze and red, hurtling through the foothills towards the sound of battle.



Within thirty seconds, they've closed on the others. The battle's already in full swing. It's Liming's unit. They're doing well, spaced out enough to let them swing their blades and close enough to watch each other's backs, but the weight of numbers is starting to show; the two wounded are at the edges, with no protection on their free sides. They can't circle to fix that, either – this is a border rush, not a direct assault, and if the Alliance skirmishers can get past they will. It's not an uncommon tactic; the Gao would be prepped for a suicide attack, with everyone else serving as distractions or meat shields. They'd punch as deep as they could, then trigger an explosion of poison gas that would taint the land so badly you couldn't cross it without an antidote. Thus slowing any patrol that tried to cross, and weakening the line.



Good play. Pity it was going to fold like a paper napkin.



Maria drops her spear and jumps. The Red Place writhes in her skull, impatient for release, but she holds for a few more moments, working out the arc of the jump. Right in the middle. Good. She'll move into a roll, throw her shield at the Gao, and then the Place can take over.



She has half a second till landing, just reaching the height of her arc. Twists her head just enough to catch the Hoplite punching into existence, already lashing out with its spear even as it weaves itself together. Well played, Draconis – the positioning will take pressure off Liming's left flank, give them a beat to juggle their position. She turns away.

Quarter of a second till landing.

Gao first. Get them away before they die.

Yes, mother.

And then we try to see it again.

Grumbling, wordless acknowledgment.



Landing. The moves play out like clockwork. Feet connect in the middle of the Alliance column. Roll keeps her moving, makes her a harder target. Shield hits the first Gao in the jaw, snapping it apart like dry kindling. Three steps to close with the other one.

Red Place takes over. She's already in the viewing room, the transition seamless after long practice, watching the world through the window. Her spear starts tearing through air and flesh alike, hacking a path to the remaining Gao. She hears her voice raised in deep, guttural howls.

The Gao-

I fucking know, stop nagging.

More howls, more blows, then on the two poisoners. Broken-Jaw is turning to run, but too late. The Red Place puts its spearhead though his shoulder, punches him in the back of the head, between his shoulderblades, three spots down his spine. Maria hears the bones crack. Broken-Jaw's limbs spasm. Good play. It won't have popped the poison gas in his lungs but he won't be moving for a while until his cultivation heals him up.

The Red Place keeps going, surging forward like the tide. The second Gao isn't running. There's a flicker of indecision on his face. Then his hands start to move.

Release seal. Fuck.

He-

I said stop fucking nagging-

And the Place closes before he can finish. The spear carries on, cutting through Second's shoulder just as it did Broken-Jaw's, stapling the two together. One shove sends the two thudding into one another, knocking Second's hands apart. It buys a breath, maybe two. That's enough. The Place snakes a hand between them, heaves the spear up – too fast for momentum to start pulling the bodies down- spins on their heel, away from the line-

Screams

Heaves

Throws.

The spear and the Gao on it crest the sky for a moment. Then the force pulls them out of sight, back off towards the contested cities.

There. Happy?

Yes.

Didn't need fucking telling at all, did I?

No.

Managed perfectly well-

Yes, alright, I get it. Sorry.

Good.

…Don't have a weapon now, though.

Fuck off.



Maria laughs inside her own head. There. Duty has been addressed. Time to look. She reaches out…

(And this bit is hard, the result of hours of practice, still not perfected yet-)

…and the Red Place reaches back.

They shift. Curl around one another.

And then they're both there at once, the body twitching and shivering as their commands flicker in electric whispers up and down its nerves. The division between them blurs, leaving them a smeared yin yang of personalities. She felt the Red Place's constant low-burr of fury, killyoukillyoukillyouall, and over that the cynicism, protectiveness, doubt. Her own determination, battle-hunger, excitement seep into it in turn.

It's bizarre, uncomfortable, painful almost. But they'd found this place both times the Dao had reached out to them. They couldn't ignore that.



The fight is a blurred chiaroscuro of sounds, textures, and movement. They let themselves dive into it. The Altar aren't that much different to Cannibals, close up. Their oldest foe.

First, a weapon. One of the press of furious cultivators has a knife raised. That'll do. Hands go to the wrist. Fingers tighten, clench. A crack. A series of pops. Broken bone and torn cartilage. The fingers spasm. The knife falls free.

They catch it, bury it into the cultivator's head. Watch the eyes roll back. Move on.

(are they still screaming? Hard to tell. The world seems fluid and dreamlike, like this.)

Move into the dance. Knife glides from place to place, cutting, stabbing, slashing, severing. Bodies open like ripe fruit. Blood paints the air. Blows come back, punches, qi blasts, weapons. Some hit. Most don't. Doesn't matter. Pain's an old friend.

They're getting nearer. They can feel it. Distant flickers. Not quite there, though, not all the way.

Keep going. Knife's still dancing a killing waltz, slow and glorious. In the distance, at last, sound translates. They are screaming. Laughing, too. Howling. Bellowing. Behind that, more shouts. The melee sings its own song in clashing metal and pounding flesh.

Doesn't matter.

Keep going.

More flickers. Something ahead. They can almost reach it now, they can almost see it. Gaius's words echoing in their head; your Dao loves you, Maria; it wishes to be with you, to be exulted by you and to empower you in turn…

Dance the waltz, knife. Paint the world, blood. Do whatever you must, just keep reaching...



But something's wrong.

The flickers are stilling, drawing back. The world is sliding back into focus.

Why? Why is-

Then it clicks. They're pulling apart. With every second, the split's growing. With it, the clarity's draining away. No. No. Not now. Not when they're so damn close…

But it's too late. There's one last desperate moment when they are still they, when they can still feel the last hints of… of… something.

And then it's her and the Red Place. The Flesh Golem is dying underneath her hands. Everything else is already gone – she can see the hoplite fragment as the squad drops out of formation, the Divine Sabers sheathing their blades.

And she still. Hasn't. Fucking. Seen it.

---

Second arc I came up with for last turn. Gonna see if I can do it as a flashback thing. Not entirely sure it works. @Alectai @Kaboomatic @TehChron , may I have a threadmark please?

My first memory was of dust.

Dust on the ground, coating the sandstone walls of the village. Dust in the air, choking our crops and sapping any amount of fertility that exists. The well was regularly choked in dust and sand, forcing the village bucks to every so often go down into it and clean it out as much as possible. This might last a month, if that, before the winds and dust would choke us again. This was life in Stable, one of the few true villages in the territory of the Goatmen.

And yet, we couldn't move away. For a people like that, there was nothing for us to move to. It was a miracle enough that this village could support a singular Cultivator at the 3rd Heavenstage, with the stuff it could produce, and even then it took almost everything everyone had to keep him here. Truly, a prosperous village, though there were bedtime stories of the greatest village, Goatpen, where the Elder Trio lived, each wielding immortal might in the 5th Heavenstage.

At least, this is what my mother taught me. She was the daughter of the Village Elder, Kid Shen, and thus had learned much about the scope of the world at her knee. My Father, Cao Jue, was a merchant of some prosperity, transporting what little goods we produced to Goatpen and returning with what goods he could purchase. Most of it went to Kid Shen, as his due, and the rest was sold and distributed as needed.

This was life. Hard, crushing, unfair.

This is what it means to be a Goatman.

My name is Cao Wei. And this… this is my story of how I became a Cultivator.
My first memory was of dust. My second memory was of 'Heat'.

I didn't know what it was called, so I named it 'Heat' - that power everyone and everything radiated, to some degree. Through this 'Heat', I could tell where people were no matter what. And right now, I was using it to sneak outside, and avoid all the adults so I could go look for anything interesting. With how the sands constantly shifted, sometimes interesting relics would be uncovered. Usually, they'd be found by the adults and given to Kid Shen, as all that came from the sands is his due. But if you snuck out at the right time, you could find some really good stuff - and as long as you were careful, it wouldn't be immediately taken from you back in the village.

So I carefully crept, avoiding Kid Shen's room that radiated with heat, pausing and stepping back as another Goatman walked just outside the house, then carefully opening the door and slipping out. At that point, it was just careful movement and not allowing my hooves to ring against any hard patches in the ground. Soon enough, I was past the village's borders, and up on the sand dunes surrounding the area.

Now… to search. Carefully, I stretched my senses out, feeling for any signs of 'Heat' that I could. The desert was mostly cold, past our sparse fields, so it was pretty easy to avoid the mundane beasts that lived beyond the borders. The light of the stars and the moon shone above, and the wind blew and sent waves of sand dancing across the surface of the desert. Pulling my shirt over my nose to try and avoid inhaling any sand, I carefully made my way over the crest of a dune before I noticed it - a burst of 'Heat', just at the trough between two nearby dunes!

And there was a lot of heat, as well. I almost break out into a sprint toward the 'Heat', sliding down the side of the dune I was standing on as I reached the point where the Heat was emanating from. There it sat, a translucent, cloudy grey pebble, worn by weather and shimmering with 'Heat'. This…

It felt sort of like one of those cases of intense 'Heat' that my father would bring to Grandfather Shen, whenever he returned from his trips. Carefully, I reach out and pick it up, bouncing it off my palm. If Grandfather wanted these… then it had to be incredibly valuable. All I had to do was get it home, then… and maybe I could figure things out from there.

Little did I know, but this chance encounter was what set me on my path of Cultivation…

---

@Kaboomatic @TehChron @Alectai Gib threadmark

Gaius Antonius Omake # 39: Growing Pains

An old notebook sits in a corner of Gaius' ever-cluttered room, filed away under "cultivation", which comprises the majority of such notebooks. Within it, Gaius has documented the physical changes in his body which have occured as he advanced through Qi Condensation. The vast majority of the notes are from the first three Heavenstages, where the most drastic changes in appearence occur for an orthodox Cultivator(barring mutations of course). However, this notebook has recently been dug up and used again.

----

MK 180:

While in the Qigai Secret Realm, I went through a drastic shift in cultivation, advancing from the Ninth Heavenstage to the Eleventh in one year. This of course means I passed through the Tenth Heavenstage, that of physical purificcation, and my body has transformed in many small ways. I am grateful that this physical purification caused all of my broken bones to be set back into place and healed somewhat, otherwise I may have been too hurt to make it out of there alive.

As of my attainment of the Tenth Heavenstage, I have become aware of many changes to my body, large and small. I shall record every one which I can find here for posterity, so as to recalibrate my martial arts to make optimal use of my physical form.

The first and most notable change is that of purification. Physical correction of imperfection is a gradual process which occurs naturally as one cultivates, but it is significantly accelerated by the attainment of the Tenth Heavenstage. By saturating my bones, organs and muscles with qi to such a degree, I have fixed many tiny problems which persisted despite my cultivation. Thus far I have noticed the following improvements:

-Two badly chipped teeth, which fell out without pain and were soon replaced by two newly-grown teeth. One missing tooth was also replaced. Downside: the fake tooth getting suddenly ripped out by the new real one was fairly painful.

-Increased flexibility in both ankles, all residual aches from old injuries completely gone.

-Index and pinkie fingers straightened with mathematical precision.

-Slightly narrow sinuses on my left side widened.

-Residual waste in bowels purged completely within 12 hours of attainment.

-Slight bend in 7th and 15th vertebrae(Below threshold of scoliosis), both corrected.

-Tendons in both shoulders tightened, slight increase in flexibility.

-Distance between stomach and throat increased by one inch, eliminating acid reflux problems.

I suspect all of these ailments would have eventually gone away, but at the rate it was going, that may have taken until well into Foundation Building or longer.

More strangely, I have recorded changes in my body which are not just repaired damage, but outright small-scale alteration. Some of it seems like it could suggest outright intelligence and logic. As these changes took a few months as opposed to the more immediate easing of physical ailments, I wonder if these changes were somehow guided by me. Has my subconscious mind gained a degree of control over my own flesh?

Most notably, I have lost two inches in height(from 6'6" to 6'4"), and over the past three months I have gained fifteen pounds, almost entirely muscle. Perhaps this was a way of further optimising my body for martial arts, or it was to relieve present and future joint pain. Either way, my proportions have become a bit closer to the Clan standard.

Some changes were seemingly completely meaningless. About 20% of my hair has fallen out and been replaced with seemingly-identical hair. I suspect this new hair might get tangled less, but I cannot confirm if this is real or confirmation bias. My fingernails and toenails also fell out and were replaced, and I cannot notice any change whatsoever.

My senses have also increased greatly in acuity. I know for a fact that for decades, every sensory organ in my body has been utterly without flaw, and yet they have all grown sharper. I can hear a wider range of sound, I can pick out more individual scents at once, and most surprisingly, my vision has increased from 220/20 to 270/20(though the curvature of the turtle's shell makes this negligible unless i stand at a point of above-sea-level elevation). This change has not been entirely positive, however; my sensitivity to pain has increased somewhat, and I must increase my body-conditioning regimen to dull it once more.

I have no proof, but I suspect the changes in my body to be more significant than normal for the Tenth Heavenstage, and I will need to stay vigilant in the future so as to decipher the cause. I manifested the beginnings of Dao-based abilities sooner than normal; perhaps this is somehow related?

Finally, I must note here that 100 years' worth of cultivation can be difficult for the body to process. A few of my veins have become significantly distended from the excessive pace of the qi that was pushed through them. Furthermore, in the aftermath of leaving the Qigai Realm, I have occasionally experienced fits of mania, most likely another symptom of more than doubling my cultivation progress in less than a year.

----

Ah, man, I really wanted to get the fourth part of that secret realm arc posted today, but between work and helping to plan that big crossover event, I wasn't able to quite make it. Instead I decided to clean up and finish a short little thing that I had waiting in the backlog for whenever Gaius reached the Tenth Heavenstage. I am addicted to making Number Go Up, and once I start doing it I don't like missing a day.

I wrote this when I was musing about the fact that our bodies have so many tiny imperfections that we never think about because they don't affect our quality of life. Those infinitesimal glitches, old injuries, benign mutations, tiny asymmetries... they make each of us a little more unique, a little more human. And thus perfecting a body, truly wiping all that away, would be a bittersweet feeling, I think. Like tearing a few pages out of a book, erasing a bit of your history.