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

[Kaboomatic]

Ninth Prince & Katha Theodora Collab 2: Abductions and Assholery (Part 2)​

Vengeance is something of a powerful word.

Oh, certainly, great sagas have been written with vengeance in mind. In some cultures, vengeance is a virtue, whether it be righting wrongs inflicted upon your family or your loved ones, or returning a debt in blood after a craven, scurrilous coward goes back against upon an honourable deal. Vengeance is as much part of the hun as it is the po, and embarking upon it is a natural process, an act of karmic rebalancing observable even in nature. Heaven desires things to be even, and therefore vengeance is just. Or so it is said.

But vengeance can be petty just as it can be righteous, pathetic as it can be meaningful, empty as it can be fulfilling. Vengeance, much like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Some consider taking the life of another a worthwhile trade for getting shrifted for a bowl of noodles; others think that taking vengeance upon unreasonable people who think lives are worth more than food is morally just; and others still attempt vengeance upon those who equate food with lives, or even those who don't equate life with food. But that is that, as they say, and this is this.

The point that Katha Theodoros, young Cultivator of the Golden Devils and second scion of the nearly defunct Theodoroi Lineage, was trying to get to was that vengeance is subjective some of the time, perhaps even most of the time.

But she was really struggling to understand who the fuck even tries stealing an entire village just to get back at another person like ancestors above is poison too expensive?!

"Calm down there, woman," Rathos cried out, "People are trying to think up here!"

"People are trying to think down here!" She snapped back. "Who does this?! WHAT EVEN IS THE POINT OF ALL THIS?! Either lives are important, in which case hundreds don't equate to one, or only cultivators are important, in which case the Ninth Prince is fucking dead who even gives a shit HE'S DEAD!"

"He's right there," Marlissa said in a small voice, right as Rathos snapped back with a "He's a ghost but he's still right fucking there you ding dong."

Upon the end of that little tirade, the ghost in question asked Katha a question. "How exactly have you never come across this particular kind of idiot 'young master'?"

"I mean, seriously." He continued, not letting Katha even answer. "This type of rampant disregard for life in the pursuit of one's goals coupled with the sheer idiocy that makes most goals they're striving towards utter nonsense is just a thing that happens when you give a young cultivator more resources and authority than they know what to do with."

"If someone goes through life thinking that no matter what they do, they'll face no consequences, then what you get is a superpowered manchild with no concept of morality and a god complex as large as the Flipper Region." He shrugged, in a sort of 'what can you do' way.

"Now, back in my day-" The Ninth Prince was cut off by three simultaneous groans from the three younger cultivators, all of which had grown up with grandparents that kept on bringing this shit up.

He chuckled. "Alright, alright, I get the point. But even still, back in my day, the exact same thing happened, even more so really. You had people moving around with zero consequence for their actions because the Great Powers were in an uneasy state of balance and nobody wanted to break it."

"Then the Old Bandit got killed and now everything's up in flames. Most of those young masters have gotten some life experience and either wisened up or died."

"For someone to do something this stupid, in this day and age, we're looking at a real idiot. I'm talking 'too dumb to cycle qi properly' and an ego inversely proportional to their actual competence. In other words, one of the worst 'young masters' I've ever had to deal with."

The Ninth Prince stretched, working out the spiritual kinks in his ghost joints, before looking at his juniors expectantly. "So! Pop Quiz! How do you think we should deal with this Young Master?"

"Wait wait wait wait before that before that, about the Young Master thing!" Katha refused to let go of this situation, she absolutely could not accept it! "I was given to understanding that the current situation in the Virtuous Flipper Region is too chaotic and too messed up to have any power tolerate wasting the total, unequivocal attention of a Core Formation Elder on some little shit's temper tantrum! Young Masters categorically can't exist where we are, especially in the Desert, because we're operating on a shoestring Qi budget in every waking moment!" She waved her arms around, just for emphasis, even though it made her look crazy. "We are literally burning money just talking out here in the desert! So how the hell is this one little shit doing this sort of behaviour?! Did the Ninth Prince eat him in a past life or something?!"

"No, he's just part of the Jingshen Clan," Rathos noted with a roll of his eyes, as if it were patently obvious. Which it was, even Katha had to accept that on reflection. "Think about it. They're fabulously wealthy and do fuck all to gather that wealth. Everyone wants Spirit Stones and they'll pay literal king's ransoms for them. If you're a highly placed enough Jingshen scion, you could literally do nothing and still cultivate to ridiculous extents. Their entire family operates off nepotism! Absolutely disgusting," Rathos said with a sigh.

"Nepotism is inevitable in all Clan-based structures, Rathos," Marlissa mentioned wryly. "Even we do it."

"That is that and this is this, Marlissa."

"...No it fucking isn't!" Katha cried out.

"Shut the fuck up, you are literally wasting money just talking."

"Out in the desert?" Marlissa asked.

"No," Rathos said, "Just in general. So preachy."

"Listen here you insolent fuck–"

"POINT IS!" Rathos belted out suddenly, which drowned out his sister's indignation beneath a wave of shock and, she would continue to refuse to admit, pride, "We should deal with him swiftly, mercilessly, and with a swift kick to the groin. I nominate Katha does it."

The Ninth Prince, watching all this with a great deal of amusement, frowned, then raised an eyebrow. "Cool. I'm not against it, but why?"

"Because if I do it, that's just male on male violence. That's expected. If you do it, you're validating his vengeance, and that's not as funny. If Marlissa does it, he might actually die. Katha's the best combination of survivable and hilarious."

"That statement can be taken out of context so hard I'm not sure it should be taken even in context," Marlissa said aloud. "Rathos, she's physically almost at Foundation Establishment already. Your sister could actually axe-kick someone in half."

"Yeah, but you don't have any control over your own strength, Marlissa. Meanwhile, she knows that making it survivable is half the challenge," Rathos said, a slight grin on his face as he looked back to the childhood they wasted, both together and independent of one another. "And honestly, making it painful without making it permanent is half the fun of a nutcracking experience. Right, sis?"

Thinking quickly, Katha nodded. "You'd know best, considering how many times I kicked you in the balls."

"Yeah, you have the broken ankles to prove it."

Katha blinked. Marlissa sucked on her teeth, not sure what to think and feel besides a hot flush. "Beg pardon?"

"Blood of Bronze, woman," Rathos remarked with more than a little pride, enough that he would dare point both of his thumbs back at himself. "My balls are literally metal. Well, no, they're this weird bloodline alloy bronze thing - look it's a good comeback, just let me have this."

"Oh, no, I thought you did great. Fucking fantastic counterpoint," Katha noted with a firm nod. "You're the one who ruined it, not me. That's all on you, little man."

"Fuck's sake woman you know I have performance anxiety - NOT LIKE THAT–"

The Ninth Prince blinked. Then he just stared at the bickering twins, the kind of stare a parent gives a disobedient child, the 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed' stare. "Are you two quite done?"

Rathos quietly stared at his feet. Katha looked around, trying to find a tumbleweed, and when that failed to materialize just idly kicked at a small sand dune, scattering it into billowing clouds of brown dust. "...Yeah," They both said in unison.

"Perfect. Now, back to the question at hand. On their side, a weak Young Master with a god complex, I'd put him at about Foundation Establishment but the kind of Foundation Establishment where he can be defeated by a few Qi Gathering Cultivators. Accompanying him is an Early Core Formation cultivator, almost certainly very badass, with some sort of Earth Dao."

"On our side, we have the three of you, and me, the Ninth Prince. Our objective is to take back Liaogai Village, and save whatever villagers are still alive. Their objective is to stop that from happening. I have a plan in mind but I want to hear your thoughts."

Katha looked at Rathos, who looked back at her. For a moment, the twins seemed to share a moment of solidarity, together as two halves of a greater whole. Joined in immaculate purpose, both heirs of the Iron Legions came to share the same conclusion at the same moment. And each of them, independently but together, turned to Marlissa and gestured with their hands for her to go first.

Because there is no justice in the world, and siblings can always agree on one thing, at least; sometimes, other people can get fucked. Murdering each other comes later.

"...A-Ah, well, thinking about it… This is going to be a trap, isn't it?" said the young Shieldmaiden. "I mean, just from the description of the Core Elder alone, he's definitely going to be hiding somewhere… Possibly even a hole."

"That's pretty cliche and overdone," the Ninth Prince pointed out. "So yeah, most likely. Any ideas on dealing with it?"

"...Uh," Marlissa wisely said, definitely not at a loss for words.

His familial honour satisfied, Rathos immediately backstabbed Katha. "Well, my sister's dealt with Earth Cultivators before. Any ideas from the Great Battlefield?"

The asshole did it before she could. Katha did not know whether to be furious or proud. "Yeah, we threw a Mechanikos at them for good luck before striking the region with techniques."

A beat, a moment passed ephemerally as all parties waited for the other to make the first move. Sweat began to visibly bead on the side of Rathos' head. He glanced surreptitiously at his sister, who watched him keenly with eyes like a hawk's, then at Marlissa, who watched him with too-kind eyes that stung with betrayal.

"More seriously, the Centurion deployed some Wood techniques to rip apart the ground and expose what laid beneath to the elements. Not sure that would work on an Earth Dao, but exposing him can't go badly at all." Katha shrugged. "You know, besides revealing a Core Formation Elder to beat our faces in. That sort of good stuff."

The Ninth Prince hummed noncommittally. "Well, that's some good thinking, getting your minds on the right track. As a reward…" He looked between the three, "...Rathos."

"You get to learn a wood technique."

Rathos stared at the Ninth Prince in disbelief. "Wait, like right here right now?"

"Yep!"

Rathos stood in shock for a moment more, then shrugged. "Alright, what am I learning?"

The Ninth Prince smiled. "I'm so glad you asked! What I'll be teaching you today is an art known as Demonic Oak: Crushing Bind. Got it from the Magic Oak Sect a while back in a game of high-speed poker and I just never used it because I have my own things going on."

"The basis of the technique is just causing thorned vines to erupt from the ground, squeezing around a target, but with the fun twist that you get to actually control the pressure that those vines are squeezing at."

"Now, before we actually try this out, how well versed are you in fundamental Qi Theory?"

Rathos wiggled his hand in a so-so gesture. "I know the basics, enough to actually learn techniques but not enough to create them. Everyone from a big or respected clan knows at least that much."

The Ninth Prince clapped his hands. "Alright, perfect! Means I don't have to explain it to you. So. Basics. There's five modules you need to know for this, all of them converging at Acupoint 14. The 3-13-49 feedback loop, both the leg links, 9-56-49 and 3-37-12, and the projection module around the chest, 73-104-13. Route it through your wood aspected meridians, A, K, and P, and avoid the Fengdu meridian, if you hit that with this qi flow you'll probably explode."

"And that's about it, so try it out, the theory is relatively simple and I have faith in your ability."

The Ninth Prince snapped his fingers. "Oh, actually. Don't end the qi in the projection module, start it there and move through the legs. Makes the technique about 1.4 times more effective."

Rathos nodded immediately. "Right. Seems simple enough."

"Literally none of that made sense to me," Katha said, dumbfounded.

"Don't worry about it. That was just putting into words the feeling of looping snakes through your body until it's about to spill, then dumping it into your legs to ground the backlash while you invoke a specific element and route the Qi through your fingertips. Specifically the left hand."

"That still made no sense," Katha said, significantly less dumbfounded but intent on seeming smarter than she made herself appear to be.

Clicking his tongue, Rathos Theodoros promptly performed the Demonic Oak: Crushing Bind technique, and as massive gnarled vines erupted and ensnared his sister he also made sure to string her up so she could not move. As the earth split and vines spilled forth like the appendages of a long dead God, Katha's expression remained firmly blank.

"Real mature," she said, more disappointed than anything. "I kinda get the gist of it, so get me out of here."

"Part of the beauty of the Demonic Oak: Crushing Bind technique," the Ninth Prince said at that specific moment, "Is that it cannot be released by the one who invoked it. That's why this one might actually be useful in this situation; a Core Elder will actually take more than two or three seconds to break out of this one. Anyways, the only way out is to cut yourself free."

Rathos, experimentally, struck a vine as hard as he could, and found that the skin was able to take his blow, only slightly denting and leaving the contoured impressions of his knuckles against its surface. He whistled. "Yeah, that's not something we can do casually."

Katha rolled her eyes. "Well, you'd best get to cutting, Rathos. Unless you want to kick that Young Master in the balls yourself."

"I kind of do, actually, but as I am a good brother I'll cut you loose first. Just give me a bit… Marlissa, can I borrow your sword?"

—-

"Alright, everyone remember the plan?" The Ninth Prince asked, crouching behind a rocky overhead.

Rathos sighed, standing out in the open like a normal person. "Yes. We do, like we have every other time you've asked this."

"You go out and distract the Core Cultivator while we go after this Jianggu guy and hold him hostage. Once we get him, we negotiate his release for the release of your village."

The Ninth Prince gave a big thumbs up. "Perfect! With that, I think we're ready to move o-"

"-Actually," he said, holding up a finger, "hold that thought."

The reason for that thought being held was a small snake, not even really a spirit beast, finally returning from its scouting expedition. It slithered over to the Ninth Prince, forcing its tail into an exhausted salute, and hissed out a report, punctuating its speech with greedy gulps from a small puddle of water the Ninth Prince had conjured up.

As it finished its debriefing, the Ninth Prince rapidly cycled through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and the secret sixth stage of grief that can only be felt by snakes, Fleeg.

After taking a minute to compose himself, the Ninth Prince turned back to Katha, Rathos, and Marlissa. "So. Remember the plan?"

At this point, Katha had finally had enough. She tossed up her hands and stomped forward, yelling as she did. "Yes! Of course we remember the plan, you FUCKING-"

She was cut off by the Ninth Prince, wearing the most dead-eyed expression possible. And considering he was actually dead, there were a lot of possible expressions. "Well we're tossing it out the window because the Jingshen turned my village into a floating island."

"--shiiiit." Jaw clenched, Katha looked for the words that would right this wrong. She found none. "Ah."

"Yeah. Ah." The Ninth Prince had mostly recovered his composure by this point, and even managed a smile. "So. New plan."

"I still distract the Core Cultivator, but instead of you all finding Jingshen Jianggu and holding him hostage, you just have to cut the chains."

Katha and Marlissa each nodded, understanding the plan intuitively, but Rathos, conveniently the only one who did not bring a weapon, wracked his mind for a way forward. "Wait, hold on, chains? It's a floating island, not a flying island. Why the heck does it need chains?"

"To make sure no one steals it, obviously," Katha said with a roll of her eyes.

"Who's going to steal it?!"

"We're literally about to do that right now."

While his Juniors squabbled once more over something inconsequential, the Ninth Prince snapped his spiritual fingers, remembering something. "Oh. Yeah. So, a floating island is a ludicrous expenditure of Qi and Spirit Stones unless you make it a permanent effect, so that the island in question doesn't hover at a certain altitude and instead just keeps going up. According to my expert scouts, the Jingshen chose that second method, and instead of just letting it float into the sun, they've attached three enormous chains to it, anchoring Liaogai to the earth."

"Good bit of redundancy," Katha nodded. "One chain would be enough to keep the village in place. Three is to ensure that if any one or even two chains get cut, it would still remain tethered, buying more time and forcing us to extend further. Clever."

Rathos shook his head. "Doesn't look that way to me. The chains are too thin, and not suitable for tethering an entire floating village to the earth. Their anchor points aren't centered anyhow, so if the enchantment is what I think it is, the village will just float unevenly. There aren't three chains for purposes of redundancy, but geomancy." He nodded to himself firmly. "In theory, if we cut any one of them, the other two might snap from the stress."

"...Which would throw the village around," Katha continued, clearly peeved. "This is a rescue mission, not an array engineer's math problem. If what you're saying is true, then we need to cut all three of them at the same time, at the right point, if we don't want the people who are presumably still there to… Well, not die."

Marlissa, quietly, raised her hand, and amazingly the siblings quietened down. "I think the Ninth Prince had more to say," was all she said.

"Thank you Marlissa. Good to know that one of these juniors has m-" The Ninth Prince couldn't contain his laughter. "Okay no, I'm a ghost and I still can't say that with a straight face. The thank you does still stand though, and you have permission to slap your boyfriend and his sister if they keep on being like this."

"Now, if my calculations are right, and they're obviously right, I'm the Ninth Prince, if the chains are cut exactly one third of the way up them, they should have just enough weight to keep Liaogai from floating off, but also keep it mostly airborne, so we'll have an actual floating island instead of a chained up one."

"And!" The Ninth Prince exclaimed, holding up a ghostly finger. "If we detonate the bombs that Elder Xie thinks I don't know she placed under my village, we can use the resulting explosion to rocket back to Clan Lands."

"So unless you got anything to add, that's the plan."

Rathos, sucking on his teeth tersely, thought to ask something about the geomancy involved, but ultimately that was beyond him. The Ninth Prince's math did check out; cutting the chains at a third their length should give enough stability that the islands won't just float away - or at least, not unevenly. Katha, however, immediately raised her hand. Then she spoke anyways, not bothering to wait for permission. "How do you plan on keeping up with a Core Elder? Actually, you're not going to tell us that, so follow on question: How long can you keep up with a Core Elder?"

The Ninth Prince thought for a moment. "Well, I don't have my snakes, but I am a ghost, so… Fuck if I know really. A day? A few hours? Somewhere in that range. From experience though, I'll be able to hold off a Core Elder for just long enough for you three to cut the chains, after which I'll collapse into a near-death state and you'll have to make a mad dash to activate the bombs before the core elder reaches you."

He shrugged. "That's just kind of how that stuff works."

"...Right, okay, so we have to cut that island free in a few hours." She sighed heavily. "Marlissa, how thick are the chains?"

"Thicker than a man's torso," she replied as she peered out into the distance with a telescope.

"Thicker than you," Rathos added pithily, unable to resist a cheap shot.

"You insolent fuck--"

"Like you haven't cut through thicker things," Rathos scoffed. "Nascent chitin sword, remember? Damn thing should slide through spirit steel like fucking butter. Seriously, those things can't be enhanced to more than Early Foundation standard, if that. Just hack twice and measure once or whatever."

"Just because the Hornsword is nascent chitin does not mean it is a nascent level sword. For all intents and purposes, it's edge is duller than you are! It's only a sword because nascent materials categorically don't give a fuck." A heavy sigh. A pause. Then Katha slapped her brother lightly on the cheek, just enough to turn his head a bit and leave an angry red welt. "The point is, I'm going to be exposed while I'm trying to cut it, and that leaves Jianggu to the two of you - mostly Marlissa, since you have Array nonsense to handle. And that is all assuming he doesn't have Qi Condensation lackeys, and it's the Jingshen. Of course they have lackeys."

"I can handle Jianggu," Rathos offered.

"He's in Early Foundation and you're only at Ninth. Not a chance in hell."

"Well, that might not be a problem." The Ninth Prince interjected. "From everything my scouts told me, it sounds like Jingshen Jianggu is…"

"Alright, you know how some cultivators have techniques or items or bloodlines or whatever that let them fight above their Cultivation Level? For shorthand I just call it Impact, or Power Level."

The three juniors nodded, Rathos casting a very pointed look at Katha's Nascent Hornsword.

"Well, this Jingshen Jianggu doesn't have that. Instead, he's weak enough that he has a negative Power Level. He's so bad at being a cultivator that he's perhaps the weakest Foundation Establishment cultivator in the Flipper Region. I'm pretty sure Rathos could lay him out with a single punch."

On reflex, Katha shrugged immediately, ready to say things she did not mean purely out of familial ribbing. "I don't know about that… Rathos punches like a girl."

"Your punches break bones," Rathos pointed out. Whatever amusement Katha felt about all this, he clearly did not share. "And Marlissa murders," he added, which brought a red flush to the girl's cheeks.

"Yeah? And?"

"You're a girl, last I checked," he noted bluntly.

"...And?"

"Stop being obstinate, dammit! Jianggu's my problem."

"...Fine." Katha folded her arms. "But I get first swing at him."

"Sure, whatever. I'll go keep him busy or whatever." Rathos glanced to the ghostly Expert who brought them there. "By the way… Would you rather we killed Jianggu, or should we leave him alive? Denying the Jingshen an Expert is never a bad idea, but by your metric he's taking resources away from someone competent, so… Your call?"

The Ninth Prince shrugged. "I suppose we can leave him alive if you want to, but the Jingshen are richer than god and I don't really care all that much. Ultimately, if you don't kill him, that's fine, and if you do kill him, it's not so bad. See how the situation unfolds."

"Right then!" Rathos clapped his hands once. "Then that's me! Let's get this shit done!"

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Jingshen Li was ready and willing to kill something.

His idiot nephew had been going on and on and on and on about how much of a genius he was, how cunning his plans were, and how foolish the Ninth Prince was, to the point where Jingshen Li, known as a butcher without peer by his enemies, was almost glad to go hide in his designated hole and put a layer of earth between him and his brother's son.

Almost.

It was still a dirt hole after all, and even though, as a Core Formation cultivator, he was able to ignore the petty trifles of the flesh and spirit, the indignity of the situation still burned with the heat of a phoenix.

And the worst part was that even underground, Jingshen Li, sacker of cities and destroyer of landscapes, was still able to hear his nephew, ranting and raving about his 'masterful big-brained plays', whatever the fuck that meant.

He could be sharing a drink with one of his sworn brothers right now, going out to punch a spirit beast until it died while piss drunk. Wushan would have probably been up for it, the man was unfortunate enough to have three raging idiots for sons, which he had complained about at length to Li on one of their drunken beast-punching adventures, but at least the fourth was a good lad. Quiet, too. Too bad he couldn't inherit, being a concubine's kid. Oh, that horny bastard.

Jingshen Li, breaker of armies and man standing in a dirt hole, could only wish for his nephew to be quiet. Alas, Jianggu had never truly mastered the art of keeping his foolish mouth shut. Then again, Jianggu had never truly mastered anything, from qi techniques to the ability to talk to women without making a rampant fool out of himself.

He still remembered the time that Jianggu had attempted to court one of Wushan's daughters. Good times. Not for Wushan, or for Jianggu, but it was very entertaining for him to watch, and really, wasn't that what mattered?

Jingshen Li, uncle to the weakest Foundation Establishment Cultivator in the Virtuous Flipper Region, was roused out of his musings by a miracle. As if by the providence of the heavens, Jingshen Jianggu, a god in his own mind and worse than dirt in everyone else's, had finally stopped talking.

…He immediately expanded his Qi Sense to as far as it could go. The only things that would ever shut Jianggu up were his death or one of his schemes actually succeeding.

Thankfully, Jingshen Li, man who deeply cared about his nephew despite Jianggu's everything, quickly found his brother's son, hiding behind a rock on top of the Ninth Prince's floating village.

Of course, that meant that Jianggu's plan was actually working, and that meant that…

Another quick scan with his Qi Sense later, Jingshen Li, who'd kept the same smug expression on his face through three years of Cannibal torture, sunk to his knees, eyes wide and mouth slack.

There, plain as day, floating slightly above the sands, vaguely translucent and definitely angry, was the Ninth Prince. Or, at least, the Ninth Prince's ghost, which was quite a bit easier to wrap his head around.

The Ninth Prince's ghost didn't even seem to have lost any of the snake-man's power, indeed, it was actually stronger than when the Golden Devil Chosen had died all those years ago.

But all of that threat assessment was conducted in the background of Jingshen Li's mind, for the prevalent thought in his head wasn't of battles or tactics, but rather of family. Specifically, one particularly irritating member of said family.

Jingshen Jianggu was, by the barest of definitions, correct. And that meant that Jingshen Li, Elder of his clan and too old for this shit, would never hear the end of it.

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Backed by the sun, the light that shone down upon Jingshen Jianggu was tinged in the colours of grey and green, steel and poison. In his deathless state, the Ninth Prince's glare was no less grave, no less imperious. Power continued to well in the dead Naag's soul, power overwhelming and in overflowing excess. The dusty air of the desert was tinged with the taste of iron, then nothing at all, the senses numbed and deadened by the poisons that the Ninth Prince had embodied in entirety, incarnated or not.

"I knew it," said Jingshen Jianggu, raising his hands to the air with a strength that only the vindicated could bring to bear. "I knew you were alive! THEY ALL THOUGHT ME FOOLS, BUT I KNEW YOU WOULD COME! NOW YOUR FINAL DEFEAT COMES, GOLDEN DEVIL, NINTH PRINCE!"

Yet, as Jianggu boasted, the Ninth Prince sighed, a trail of green vapours leaking from his mouth. The young man was beneath his notice, his power a pittance compared to that which leaked from his soul. No, his eyes looked further beyond, not merely at his stolen home but for the uncle that doted so strongly upon him, a man-shaped waste of effort and blood. And from the earth did his uncle emerge, a plume of sand to follow a burst of light, lightning crackling and light flashing like stars and sparkles in the trailing earthen wake of Jingshen Li. In the air and atop a sandstone spire, both men stood as they regarded one another, one a butcher of butchers and the other the Hero of a Miracle.

"Uncle!" Jianggu cried out. "You weren't supposed to reveal yourself so soon! THIS ISN'T PART OF THE PLAN! I'M SUPPOSED TO BE THE MASTER BAITER! ME!"

"You were going to hide in wait for me and then spring the trap with my back turned," the Ninth Prince recited perfectly, and as Jianggu gasped the dead man craned his head both ways. "Got to say, that's a pretty good plan. You know, besides the bad parts."

"It's a terrible plan," Jingshen Li responded frankly, though his nephew on the ground below heard nothing of his remarks. "Only yours is worse. You have only come here to die, Prince."

The Ninth Prince laughed. Then, his laughter turned to madness, and his madness turned to catharsis. "I've come here to fix that little shit, old man! You don't know the magnitude of the shitstorm that is about to hit both you and your miserable fucking Clan! I am the Ninth Prince, and you will give back my home and my family!"

"Bold words for a dead man," said Jingshen Li, and with such a naked proclamation he threw the first punch, imbued with ghostflame and more than enough to kill any upstart revenant.

Only for the ghost to match it, blow for blow, strength for strength, as the sky split in twain and as sound tore open the air.

"It takes one to know one," the Ninth Prince responded, his sharp sneering grin glinting in the sunlight even as his spiritual form pulsed with green and grey. He threw a second punch, the sound of shattering glass, and the wind howled in pain like a wounded beast as a torrent of dust was thrown up by the backwash. This, too, was caught, and Jingshen Li's eyes widened a hair as he realised that this was no mere foe, no simple Expert he could lay low with two fingers and a dab of ointment.

Then, a feral grin. Perhaps the Ninth Prince would be a suitable vessel to pour his frustrations into, one that would last even as he exerted himself for the first time in what felt like decades.

"You have no idea who you are dealing with, Jingshen," the Ninth Prince hissed.

Li laughed. "Then show me, Prince. Give me something worth beating to a pulp!"

A third clash, and the sandstorm began in earnest, the battle in its eye lit only by intermittent lightning as the gnashing sandstorm drowned out all light and all sound. As Jingshen Jianggu despaired at its base, fretting over a plan gone off the rails when they had never even been laid. As more power was expended over the land with every clashing strike than it had tasted in hundreds of years.

As three children slipped the cordon as clandestine thieves, carrying the sword that would carve freedom into Jingshen Jianggu's face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME, UNCLE LI?!! YOU BETTER BE, OR I'M TELLING FATHER!"

As two titans waged war in the skies above, Jingshen Jianggu raged on the earth below. Even as the camp rose to alert and the servant cultivators sworn to Jianggu's service emerged in droves to fend off the attackers, the young Expert continued to rant and rave at the injustice that had been dealt at him. This was his moment, his triumph, and to be disregarded like this was unacceptable!

It was unacceptable enough that he was caught unawares by the redheaded beauty landing in a crouch right before him, her ponytail billowing dramatically in the wind as it caught up to her. Spotting her at the last second, Jianggu's scream was cut short as Katha stepped forward, the Hornsword pulled as much as drawn from its place on her back, and clonked the Expert right on the top of the head with its blunt edge.

"Right," she sighed, and leaned the Hornsword between her shoulder blades. Then she looked around as her brother landed a full second behind her and left deep craters where his feet landed. "I'm going to cut the chains now. This one's your problem."

"Right, right… Seriously, do you think the Ninth Prince even listens to his own plans? I thought I was supposed to immobilise the Core Elder before--" Turning back around, Rathos squinted, then his nose wrinkled. "--Dude, what the fuck? He's not even knocked out!"

As if on cue, Jianggu groaned and began to rise, before Katha and Rathos each gave him a swift kick between the ribs.

"Smack him again!" Rathos cried, as he gave one final solid kick.

"I'm not smacking him again, dude! He's your problem now!"

"Oh for--fine, fine!" Fist clenched, Rathos clenched his fists, then spread his legs and lowered into a half-squat. "When you're ready, I'll throw you. Hopefully I don't need to do this three times, because that would really suck."

Rolling her eyes, Katha held the Hornsword close to her chest, then let herself fall into her brother's hands. He caught her gently, drew deeply upon the reservoirs of Qi within, then with a grunt hefted her over his head before taking one step, two, and a loping third before driving his feet into the earth and throwing her forward with the full force of his body and his weight in concert.

His sister flew, silently, and satisfied by his part Rathos turned back towards Jianggu, who was no longer writhing on the ground before him. By now the Scion of the Core Jingshen had picked himself off the ground, and his face was a twisted rictus snarl. He looked at Rathos as if he were a slab of meat fit for carving, and the spite that radiated from his smile told of a great willingness to rip and tear until it is done. Around the base of the plateau, the ringing clash of steel and the rising plumes of dust told more about the battle unfurling below than the screaming soon to follow.

"You… YOU!" Jianggu laughed, a mad giggle emerging from his throat. "I'M GOING TO ENJOY KILLING YOU, YOU LITTLE--"

His fist hit like falling thunder and the snap was twice as hard. Jianggu cried out as his head reared backwards, and Rathos flexed his fingers as he prepared for the next phase of the fight.

"--YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Jianggu, bleeding from his nose but not much else, stumbled back only a few steps before pointing fingers. For all of the Ninth Prince's bravado about this Expert's lack of ability, he was still a Foundation Establishment Expert after all. "You punched me in the face! YOU PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE!"

"I heard you the first time," Rathos scowled. Far below, he heard Marlissa cry out sharply, before a loud crack and the lamentations of several First Heavenstage Juniors echoed upwards. She was doing fine, then. "Look, we both know I'm not going to listen and you're just going to get mad, so can we skip the monologue and just get to punching each other now?"

Jianggu, snarling, pulled out knives and a lever-action crossbow. Rathos, seeing this, looked askance at the arsenal and sighed blithely.

"...That's just not sporting, dude."

The only sound Jianggu made next was angry laughter as he hurled a cavalcade of bolts at the Golden Devil before him, and it was all Rathos could do to punch out the earth beneath him without trying to kill Jingshen Jianggu too quickly.

What kind of Foundation Establishment Expert still relied on these aids anyways?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jingshen Li was an incarnate god of crashing earth and cracking sky, destruction deigning to wear the form of a human. His every move reflected the dance of rock and gale, a crushing avalanche of slaughter. If even a single blow connected, the Ninth Prince would be killed instantly and immediately.

The Ninth Prince perished ten times over in the first two seconds.

A punch to the skull, a kick to the torso, a left hook and a low kick and a right jab and a headbutt and the flick of a finger, all infused with Qi and Dao enough to make dead men die.

And yet.

The punch met an illusion, the kick was tangled and weakened by a curse, the left hook stalled for a crucial half moment by a buried trap, the low kick and the right jab and the headbutt and the finger flick turned away or weakened enough that the ghost didn't die.

The earth howled with the injustice dealt to its god, the heretic who dared not die in the presence of its master. As Jingshen Li rushed forward, he drew on the fury of his loyal servant, each swing and each blow backed by the howling grudges of a thousand stones.

The Ninth Prince laughed, for what was the earth to one who once flew unbound by its grasp? Earth met metal and was cut in twain, while water washed away the pieces and the grudge was refined into curses and plagues, and once more Jingshen Li was left without his due.

The Naag were once known as the Blightbringers, leaving nought but rot and death in their wake. With one hand they killed armies and with another they killed landscapes. The Ninth Prince was but a fraction of a fraction of his former might, but he could still do that much. With a wave of his hand, stone died and ghosts ran rampant, an open wound on the world where earth decayed and the spirits themselves were rotted into monstrosities, howling apostates that lunged at their former god.

With a single stomp, Jingshen Li healed the world.

And thus the battle went, the Butcher of Cloud and Hill lashing out with the most basic of attacks, still enough to win the battle in an instant, and the shade of a shade of a shade frantically throwing trap after trick after deflection, all to delay death by a fraction of an instant.

Every movement the Ninth Prince made was a spit in Jingshen Li's eye. Every curse, every poison, every cunning trap and dirty trick was an insult. Merely by existing, the snakeman's ghost defied the will of an incarnate god.

His Daoheart would allow no less.

And the Daoheart of Jingshen Li would allow no resistance.

It is a complicated thing, when two Daohearts clash. The great cultivators of the age, they all have their principles and their bottom lines, and woe betide any fool who crosses it.

Not every fight between experts brings Daohearts to bare. Most are petty things, mere happenstance when two paragons by chance meet on opposite sides. The animosity there is the animosity of politics, of territory and resources, or even of simple mutual disgust.

But when two such ideals are battered against each other in the fires of battle, the thunder rolls and the earth trembles.

These wars are great and terrible things, shattering the landscape and fully erasing one side from existence. Neither can live while the other survives, a two way tribulation that will see one emerge victorious and the other struck from the records of history.

Thankfully for both parties and the desert as a whole, the Ninth Prince and Jingshen Li have unleashed only a fraction of their Daohearts. But when ideals clash, there will always be a spark, and between experts of this caliber, that spark is to a normal battle what a wildfire is to a candle flame.

Jingshen Li clenched a fist. The sky shattered, screaming shards of wind hurtling towards the Ninth Prince.

Each fragment of howling gale and rushing wind was met by hissing snakes, miniature dragons cloaked in power. Acid and fire and steel and curses and a hundred hundred other spells and techniques eating away at the broken wind until all that was left were seeds of air, stopped by a wave of the Ninth Prince's hand.

And so it went, the Ninth Prince and Jingshen Li, Jingshen Li and the Ninth Prince, the only constants in a roaring tide of pain. Earth and sky fragmented and broke and widened and twisted according to the will of its master, clashing with a dizzying array of curses and spells and techniques combining and reforming and generated whole cloth from the mad labyrinth that was the mind of a paragon.

That howling vortex only intensified, the world's righteous anger pitted against a demonic confluence of horrific magics. All life within its sphere was immediately eradicated, sentenced to a thousand years of naraka for the crime of standing in the presence of two immovable constants of the world.

Then, in unison, those immovable constants moved. Jingshen Li and the Ninth Prince took slow steps towards each other, their respective domains grinding and cracking against the other, until the two monsters were mere inches from each other. The world waited with bated breath for the first blow in this clash, the first true attack to be made.

Instead, both the Ninth Prince and Jingshen Li disappeared, their auras of death and destruction dissipating into nothingness as the two were erased from the world by the simple fact of their speed.

Then the two reappeared, hundreds of meters from each other.

This time, the world wept, for what else could it do? The battle was once more joined and the two titans were wreathed in auras of power that this sleepy corner of the desert had only experienced when the heavens broke and great titans of bronze fell from the sky.

The War for Heaven had long since ended, but its aftershocks were still being felt to this day.

Jingshen Li roared as he thrust his hands down, earth and sky bending and breaking before his all encompassing will, a symphony of shattered glass as the world around him simply broke. Great fissures jutted out of the desert as the sky fell around him, nothing in all Heaven and Earth daring to STAY WHOLE IN THE PRESENCE OF ITS MASTER-

The Ninth Prince howled as he raised his arms into the air, the hissing of serpents following his every action, a howling torrent of curses and spells and dark rituals, thousands of thousands of snakes coalescing out of his rampant qi, forming an endless abyss of scales and fangs that DEVOURED THE VERY BONES OF REALITY-

Then, they stopped.

The world went silent, both out of relief and the fear that even the slightest noise would attract the attention of the two titans.

Nothing was said between the Ninth Prince and Jingshen Li in that moment, for there was no need to. Both had gotten the measure of the other. Both knew enough to stop holding back.

And yet, for that moment, nothing occurred. Both men knew they would kill the other eventually, but for now, they could wait.

For a time, there was peace, a comfortable detente between two opposing powers.

And then there was war.

----
Hurtling through the air, as the wind screamed her ears not with her passage but with wailing shrieks as two titans waged terrible war, the only thing that Katha Theodoros could see in front of her was a village floating upon a slab of earth and the massive chains that pinned it to the firmament. There was no doubt in her mind that she could cut it, for her hands carried a blade of nascent chitin, and there were few things that would not break against such a material.

But the question that continued to niggle at the edges of her consciousness was not a matter of if she could cut it, but when she would cut it. Twelve Heavenstage she might stand, it was still a far cry from Experts that could cross horizons across a single day or Elders who bade the earth to quake with but a gesture. She was a Junior, a gnat in the great scheme of things, a seed from which a mighty oak could spring but which was still oh so very, very pathetic.

It was a question with a simple answer, but it demanded a response not once or even twice, but time and time again. And it was tiresome and irritating for there was no reason to answer it again and again, no reason but her own nerves and the pedestal she stood upon, demanding that she live up to the unreasonable expectation of cutting a chain thicker than her whole body in a single swing.

But it was a simple answer, and she would continue responding with that answer, until the moment that came and not one breath later. The moment that was fast coming.

One. Two. Three. She held the Hornsword in her hand, unevenly hewn and more like a cleaver than a fine blade, balanced not by keen craftsmanship but because the one who gave it to her simply wanted it to be so.

She took a breath. The chain came quickly. Rathos' aim had been too keen; she was not going to slip past it, but crash against it head on.

Head on will have to do. The moment came, she threw herself into a spin, and with a mighty cleave she threw all she could against the side of the chain, precisely at the point her brother warned it would have to be cut.

Her arms jarred. The shock traveled up throughout her entire body. It felt like the giants that ruled the world had taken her into their palm and shaken her like a toy. For a blissful moment as she lost focus, the Hornsword threatened to slip out of her hands.

Eyes opened. She reasserted. Hands tightened and kept the sword from flying away.

It took another second before she realised that she had no whiplash or pains from smashing into a heavy iron chain head on, and four more before she skidded to a landing on the ground. Katha looked up, chest heaving and lungs burning, and saw Liaogai Village still floating evenly up in the sky, the chain dangling perfectly just as her brother and the Ninth Prince had predicted.

That one would be the easy one. Two more to go, these ones slower.

Katha looked around, saw the numerous First Heavenstage lackeys trying to surround her and flank her while mortal auxiliaries lined the cliffs and overwatch lines. Mere bolts will be useless against her. But time was not on her side. She'll have to move quickly; en masse, even First Heavenstage techniques could hurt.

And the next minute turned to pandemonium as her mind's eye closed and her body moved to the rhythm of her Iron Blood.

---

War.

To some it was glory and power, the chance to change their lives forever, betting it all on the edge of a blade. To others it was death and pain, a horror beyond horrors that they strived to avoid and endure. To yet others, it was merely another day in their lives, the killing of cultivators and mobilization of armies as mundane as daily meditation.

But if you gave one of those myriad definitions to any of the souls unlucky enough to witness the battle between Jingshen Li and the Ninth Prince, they would laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh till the world's ending.

War was two powers seeking nothing more than to wipe each other from existence.

And this war was one that the Ninth Prince was winning.

Not easily, and not quickly, of course. Jingshen Li was still a Core Formation Cultivator, an incarnate god that warped the world through his every whim. His fists were thunderstorms and his feet were earthquakes, a living avatar of destructive force.

Any ordinary Chosen, the apex of the apex of Foundation Establishment, would have been torn apart by the storm and the fury almost immediately, bodies and minds and souls and Daos ripped into a million million disintegrating little bits until nothing remained of their existence, the heavens and the earth rejecting any possibility that they may have been alive at all.

The Ninth Prince killed Chosen like mortals killed chickens, by the dozen and with a few callous swings.

If Jingshen Li was an incarnate god, then Anush Naag was once to such a god what that god was to a mortal. Terror of Jharkand. Master of Ten Thousand Serpents. Butcher of the Fifth Sea. Vritra Reborn. A Nascent Soul could kill every Core Formation Cultivator in the region, easier than flipping over their hand, the only thing stopping them being the wrath of the other beings on their level.

The Ninth Prince as he was now was a fraction of a fraction of his former might, ghost of a remnant that had just barely managed to see the peak it had started from. But the one thing he'd never lost was his mind, the mind of a genius and a monster, paragon in every sense of the word. That mad labyrinth filled with horrors beyond imagining had been working overtime, spiked gears turning, a well-oiled monstrous machine.

It is commonly accepted in the Turtle World that tricks and plots and traps and schemes and all other varieties of devious machinations are, after a certain point, useless.

This is a world where measurable and enormous gulfs of power can and do exist between its inhabitants. This is a world where the weakest cultivators are only useful as fodder, desperately fighting to survive with and against their similarly weak peers, until the battle between the cultivators that actually matter is finished, and all their struggles are rendered absolutely meaningless.

In such a world, there is only so much cleverness can do. It can do quite a lot to be sure, thirteen Qi Gathering cultivators can hold off an invading army, one of those cultivators can trick a Core Formation Elder into fleeing like a broken dog. But schemes and tricks are nothing in the face of raw overwhelming power, the type of power that smashes all machinations into dust. Traps do nothing to someone strong enough to walk right through them, schemes useless against a being that can spot them from a hundred li away.

Ultimately, cleverness is useful, but vastly outclassed by strength and power.

The annals of the clan record that when the Ninth Prince heard this saying for the first time, he doubled over and laughed until well after he wasn't able to breathe.

The battlefield was a riot of power. Illusions dotted the desert, obscuring attacks and arrays and curses and hidden summons and sometimes nothing at all. Sometimes they were simple recreations of the terrain they were obscuring, useful only to confuse and stall Jingshen Li further.

Curses lay hidden in the desert, vicious hissing things that would rend flesh from bone and burn blood from body. They congealed and coalesced, running so thick that spirits of venomous spite began to form, twisted serpents that slavishly obeyed their creator, the man at the focal point of it all.

The Ninth Prince dodged and backpedaled, ducked and jumped, bobbed and weaved, always managing to stay mere inches and moments ahead of instant death.

As he went, he traced array diagrams in the sand and the sky, burning them into existence with acidic qi, preparing them for instant activation.

Each array slowed and stalled Jingshen Li, webs and glue and quicksand and walls obstructing his path for barely an instant. And even as each array was shattered into so many fragments by the wrath of a deity made flesh, his power was slowly bleeding away.

Finally, finally, Jingshen Li was nearly spent. His Qi was almost depleted, his body heaving with exertion, even the immutable and perfect body of a Core Formation Cultivator showing signs of fatigue.

And then the Ninth Prince snapped his fingers, sending shattered fragments into the air, twisting and writing and being tortured into a monstrous array used to bring ruin and damnation against all that opposed its blasphemous slaver.

With a fanged smile and a clawed hand, the Ninth Prince activated his horror, and the desert erupted in sand and nuclear fire, a miniature mushroom cloud of death and decay, a plague upon reality localized to a single instant of torment.

When one was powerful and skilled enough, it was possible to split the atom.

And yet.

Even after all of that, even after the worst that the Ninth Prince could throw at him, Jingshen Li still stood.

He was quite battered, cuts and bruises littering his body, fire and acid leaving their own marks. One arm was black with a necrotic venom, while the other was gouged and cut fiercely, the work of a dozen different arrays acting in concert. The right side of his face was beset by whirling smoke created by a horrific curse of aeration, even as his lower legs were slowly turning into stone. His chest was scarred and blasted by a radioactive explosion.

And yet, scarred and damaged, Jingshen Li, who had once killed a Cannibal Elder while dissolved into a cheese soup, was unbroken, and unbowed.

As the Ninth Prince watched with a mix of horror and fascination, Jingshen Li took one step forward. The earth broke.

He took another. The sky quaked.

A third. The world shattered.

Jingshen Li had no need to take a fourth step.

Instead, he disappeared, vanishing into the splintered fragments of the battlefield even as the Ninth Prince desperately pushed his Qi Sense to the utmost, scanning for any trace of the Butcher of Earth and Sky.

Eventually, after an instant that lasted a thousand years, the Ninth Prince found what he was looking for, the leviathan in the depths. He blanched, and performed twelve incantation gestures simultaneously, a hundred countermeasures and treasures being activated all at once.

A tenth of a second later, Jingshen Li grabbed the Ninth Prince by the face and slammed him into the sands.

He smiled, bloodied teeth contorting into a hateful rictus that would have stopped the heart of any mortal unfortunate enough to see it. Then, for the first time in their war of extermination, Jingshen Li spoke, a horrendous broken noise emanating from a scarred throat. "Got… you."

----

The battle in the skies was not something Marlissa could comprehend, so she did not try to. It was a place far beyond her, free from earthly tethers, and it was a place she was unlikely to ever see in her lifetime either as a Cultivator or otherwise. For one of her stature and talent, it would be almost a miracle to even see the Expert realms. And that, thought the shieldmaiden, should be good enough.

But those were thoughts for another time, in another setting, with a different set of challenges that were not trying to kill her. Aspis strapped to one hand and Xiphos held in the other, Marlissa instead faced down dozens at a time with naught but skill alone, the Qi she commands used exclusively for physical enhancement and speed.

That much and more she would need to keep up with Katha Theodoros, who was already halfway up her next chain and running up an uneven near-vertical face, all the while dodging or simply ignoring every projectile fired in her direction. Even now, there was something like a Century or two's worth of Qi Condensation Cultivators trying to go after her, though largely standing in the First they were attempting a fool's gambit.

It was difficult to disentangle the legendary Junior, an indisputable victor of the Yuan Contest, from the awkward, sardonic and understated girl she knew her as in the time they met, and which Rathos often spoke her as. But then, there was something else about the twins, for even Rathos, who was now the less talented of the two, had rocketed into the Ninth Heavenstage within two decades and was seriously considering taking the Tenth. The Theodoroi… Theodoroses? They were something else.

Around her, fissures like smiles in the earth began to split the ground apart, robbing her of the space she needed to utilize her speed. And while the Bronze did not flow exceptionally strongly in her veins, she was still part of the Clan, still slower than would be expected of the Sixth. But it was irrelevant. She did not need to be fast, just fast enough.

And in a pinch, the traditional shield of the Clan was circular for a reason.

Marlissa's arm flexed and sweaty muscle rippled as she loosened the bindings on her shield and caught it on the rim with her fingers in a single motion, spinning about with sword in one hand and projectile in the other. With a shout she struck the earth, axis of rotation confirmed, target spotted. She released, the shield flew true, and her eye proved as reliable as it had ever been. One, two, three Jingshen Servant Cultivators were thrown off their feet and had their breath stolen in a single strike that shattered ribs and jarred diaphragms. Her shield, momentum spent, continued to spin unevenly for a distance before it skidded to a stop upon the floor.

By then Marlissa was already upon it, snatching her shield up into hand once more even as a dozen bolts struck her armour and two or three cut through, but never into, her skin. Another throw, and a mortal crossbowman was decapitated outright, the rest of their platoon scared into fleeing by the brutality of it all.

She looked around. The attacks, which had flowed ceaselessly before, had suddenly stopped around her. Marlissa watched them, saw the fear in their eyes. Head on, the dead crossbowman looked to still be alive, his head transfixed in horror, for the shield had nailed his two-part corpse against the side of a cliff and was fully embedded halfway into it. And she was barely exhausted, while they had lost at least a dozen of their own.

And while the fighting was far from over, their spirit was nowhere near as indomitable as her own.

With a sigh, Marlissa twirled her blade and shouldered it, folding her free arm behind her back. This place was close enough and the ground was open enough. She should probably try to get them off Katha's back.

"Come on," Marlissa growled, and for a girl of her nature the words were fierce like a lion's roar. "If you can't even deal with me, you can't possibly take down Katha Theodoros."

As if on cue, spurred on by the mention of her name, the second chain fell limp as Nascent Chitin found lesser materials wanting once more. Marlissa smiled, though it came out more as a smirk or a feral grin, especially with the blood that stained her face, the blood that was not hers. The mission was about done. Just need to push a bit more.

Just a bit more killing. For the clan. That couldn't be wrong, could it?

"So stop trying to kill me," roared the shieldmaiden as she clashed her sword against her vambrace, "And kill me!"

----

The Ninth Prince woke up.

This was, oddly enough, an uncommon occurrence.

Cultivation was a path of ascension. As one rode the wheel ever upward, they slowly shed their mortality, step by step, small realm by small realm. One of the first things to vanish, stripped away by the road to perfection and cast into the void between lives, was the need to sleep.

As a cultivator stepped into higher heavenstages, they began to rest less and less, fractured divinity sustaining them far better than any mortal notions of 'rest' would. And as they stepped into Foundation Building, constructed their great Pillars of Truth, the need for mortal measures was utterly severed.

The Ninth Prince wasn't merely a Foundation Building Cultivator either. He was at the apex, Great Circle and still pushing on forward. The number of experts or Chosen in the entire region that could match him in the same great realm could be counted on one hand.

He was also dead.

These two factors combined to create a being that needed no food, no water, no air, and no sleep.

There were only two times the Ninth Prince ever woke up anymore. The first was when he actively chose to sleep. It was almost like a hobby at this point, one that was surprisingly popular with Foundation Establishment cultivators. He tried to stay out of the subculture drama though. (The Ninth Prince had seen sects erupt in civil war based on disagreements about the proper way to place one's pillow. Heavens forbid that the pillow and anti-pillow factions ever came to blows.)

The Ninth Prince was currently experiencing the second set of circumstances under which he woke up. That was, of course, after he'd been knocked unconscious.

With the sight that awaited him when he returned to the waking world, the Ninth Prince almost wished he'd just stayed unconscious.

Jingshen Li was an implacable titan, looming far in the distance and inches away from him, a burning shadow forever seared into his vision. The Ninth Prince braced himself for apocalypse, a sputtering furnace of Qi coughing and wheezing back to life as precious energy was spent on a hundred hundred defensive techniques, a spiritual armor of scales.

But it never came.

The man - the monster - simply sat there, content to wait and watch, as the Ninth Prince shakily rose to his feet, extricating bits of soulstuff from the splintered pit where he'd been bashed against the rocky outcropping.

Eventually, the Ninth Prince fought to his feet, waging a thousand thousand wars of conquest simply to force his body into motion. The man who had never been affected by alcohol was swaying like a drunkard.

A lesser man would have laughed, would have mocked the hero for being reduced to such a pitiful state. A lesser man would have lashed out with biting words and cutting scorn. A lesser man would have been dead.

Jingshen Li simply stood up, wounds and injuries suppressed. Then, he appeared in front of the pitiful figure and, with a motion so simple that a mortal could copy it and so profound that entire libraries could be written about its complexities, punched forward.

The earth, so recently pushed up by its god, splintered and shattered in the face of divine will, as the Ninth Prince was launched through forty feet of solid stone and into the open air.

This time, Jingshen Li had neither the patience nor the injuries to wait for the Ninth Prince to recover. Instead, the Destroyer appeared before the Ninth Prince as the shade was falling to earth, and, with a single forceful kick, expedited that process.

And so it went, with the Ninth Prince, pillar of the Clan, Chosen of Chosen and Paragon of Paragons, a shining beacon of boisterous hope to his allies and a baleful lantern of venomous despair to his foes, being tossed around the desert like a mortal ragdoll.

Jingshen Li broke through earth and sky and the space between, shattering everything in his path to drive the Ninth Prince further and further into the clutches of the cycle of reincarnation, battering and breaking the hero with punch and kick and elbow and headbutt and palm strike.

No man, alive or dead, could withstand that battery if they had not already grasped divinity, if they had not already formed a Truth within themselves. Each attack carried with it the weight of endless forever war, an unending hail of utter destruction.

It was impossible for the Ninth Prince to survive.

And yet crossing the Seas as a Qi Gathering cultivator was impossible as well.

Despite everything, the Ninth Prince hung on to life, tenacious and stubborn until the very end, until ruin and the world's ending. He would not perish to something like this, not when fractured infinity spurred him onwards and the truth of sovereignty burned within his belly, howling for victory.

Eventually, Jingshen Li grew tired of their Tandava, the dual dance of death and destruction wearing down on the Breaker of Idols. With a flick of a finger and an outsurge of Qi, a mountain was raised, spires of broken earth being forced and battered together until a twisted crag of rock and ore jutted from the desert.

With a single flick of his finger, Jingshen Li speared the Ninth Prince's ghost to the cliff walls, a massive crater of molten metal and burning stone marking his impact.

And as the Ninth Prince slowly extricated himself from his latest impact point, Jingshen Li slammed him down straight into the crater.

Once more, the Ninth Prince struggled to his feet. Once more, Jingshen Li knocked him into solid stone.

The Ninth Prince struggled to his feet. Jingshen Li knocked him down again.

The Ninth Prince struggled to his feet and hit the sand again.

The Ninth Prince struggled to his f-He tasted dirt again.

The Ninth Prince str-Knocked down again.

Again

Again.

Again.

Down Again and Again and Again and Again and Again and Again and Again and Again and AGAIN.

…T-No.

…The Ninth Prince stayed down.

And he continued to remain down, unmoving and unable to fight, a living corpse merely waiting for inevitability, waiting for Jingshen Li to put him out of his undead anguish.

And the Core Formation Cultivator obliged.

With great thunderous steps that shook the heavens and the earth, Jingshen Li trudged over to the Ninth Prince. With heaving muscles and guttering Qi, Jingshen Li raised his leg. With contemptuous effort and incredible power, Jingshen Li brought his foot down in the blow that might leave the last Scion of the Naag dead for the third time.

And with fangs and claws and venomous spite, the Ninth Prince smiled, as Jingshen Li, Executioner of the Impure, peerless warrior and incarnate god, and, for the first time in this battle, once more a concerned uncle, was finally within range of a worthless wretch's fearful cries.

And finally, after aeons of punishment, an infinity of Naraka and tortured by the fiercest of demons, the Ninth Prince moved, turning to look up at his foe. The message was clear, even as no words were said.

Got you.

----------------------

Jingshen Jianggu was a mess. Bleeding from a thousand cuts, his chest dented in, left shoulder dislocated, knees bending too far inwards to be natural. His attire was now red and black-brown where it had been white and blue accouterments previously, the crimson of his blood mixing with the light tan of the sands. He had challenged an upstart at the Ninth Circle of Qi Condensation with the highest and mightiest of expectations and found himself humbled. But he was standing, while the upstart Devil was face down on the ground, knocked into a twirl by an errant blast of Qi.

It was distasteful, but a victory was a victory. Scowling and sneering, Jianggu held a Qi Musket over Rathos Theodoros' head with his right hand, holding it point blank. Even his toughened bronze physiology couldn't endure such a blow head on.

"Got you," the Expert undeserving of the title said. "Die screaming like Heaven wants you all to."

Rathos muttered something, his mouth filled with sand, and Jianggu felt a rush of anger. He kicked Rathos twice until his body rolled over slightly and his mouth was free, reddened by the blood flowing from his nostrils.

"Now scream, monster! Repent with your final words, sinner!"

Rathos coughed, a shower of sand from his mouth.

"I said," Rathos said firmly, "I can do this all fucking day! Hapless Desert Maw!"

His hands, numb from constant strikes, clenched suddenly as they grasped the earth. And Jianggu yelped as the earth beneath him suddenly swirled and liquefied like soup, swallowing him up to the waist like a rockodile's maw. He fired once, twice with the Qi Musket, and the second blow glanced off Rathos' collarbone, searing skin and scratching bone. The scion of the Theodoroi paid it less than no mind, instead pushing himself off the ground and launching himself forward, hands blurring. Rathos caught onto Jianggu's right hand in the flurry and pulled it hard, until it popped free of its socket as well. Limply, in screamless pain, Jianggu found that he could move neither arm, and his legs were helpless.

He was helpless, now truly at the mercy of a Junior a Realm beneath him. And Rathos collected himself, wiping his mouth clean of blood with one rough rub of a toned forearm.

"Thought I was just muscle, didn't you? Well, now I've got you," Rathos snarled back in response, an echo of Jianggu's earlier refrain. "Any last words before I rip your arms off properly?"

The helplessness. The pain. The threat of excessive violence. It was too much to bear. He blubbered, tears flowing freely.

"U-Uncle," Jianggu wailed. "UNCLE LI! HELP!"

----

There was no question as to what Jingshen Li would do. His every action was decided aeons in advance, as if a tangled skein of fate was woven around the Butcher of Earth and Sky, puppeteering the Core Formation Cultivator and binding him in an inescapable web.

The Ninth Prince was, for obvious reasons, most commonly compared to a snake. But for this moment and this moment alone, all that any observer in the heavens and the earth would have been able to think of when they gazed upon him was an incredibly well-fed spider.

Of course, Jingshen Li could take the extra second needed to eradicate the Ninth Prince's life once and for all, and with the last Scion of the Naag in such a state, it would be as easy as flipping over his hand.

But with his nephew's cries for help ringing in his ears like a great bronze bell, cries that might be at any moment snuffed out by a cold and unfeeling world, Jingshen Li, Core Formation Cultivator, Master of Battle, Hero of the Jingshen, and, in this moment above all else, Jingshen Jianggu's uncle, dared not take that extra second.

Instead, he kicked off of the earth, plunging his fists into the sky and demanding that it speed him on his way, refusing anything less than utter and total exploitation, a tyrant to his slave.

With cracking earth and broken sky, Jingshen Li rocketed forward. Each step was magnified a thousandfold, Space and Time never quite breaking but definitely bending. The flows in reality were warped again and again, scarred so deeply that they would not be healed within the current Cycle.

After the world had forgotten Jingshen Li and the Jingshen Clan, this area of folded space would remain, and grow host to hundreds of spirit beasts and spirit plants never before seen in the Virtuous Flipper Region. As time went on, as life was wiped out and reformed, far beyond the lifespan of any human of the Region, as the political climate shifted and changed and consigned great powers to the dust of history and the sands of time, this area would remain.

So it is with every Core Formation Elder, with every Nascent Soul Tyrant. Those who have grasped divinity and impaled themselves with its razor's edge are always doomed to be forgotten by men and beasts as Time takes her due. But their memory always is outlived by their footprints on the Turtle World.

Thus it has been since the first Cultivator formed their Core. From before the War For Heaven, when Calamity and Ruination reaped their bloody toll, to long after the Sun falls from the sky and brings one last explosion of life and heat to nine corpses floating in an infinite sea.

Heaven will never forget those that have defied it. Their imprints will mar and shape the world forever. It is immortality, of a sort. The only eternity most can ever hope for.

However, most pay such things no heed, preoccupied with their own matters. Fleeting as they may be in the face of eons worth of change, they are all-consuming to those living them. Even as Jingshen Li made one of his million marks on the back of a dead beast, he kept moving, pushing harder and harder and more and more, breaking sky and crushing earth in his wake.

At this rate, Jingshen Li would make the immense distance in less than a minute, a passage so fast that Foundation Establishment eyes would barely be able to track anything more than a blur, and mortal and Qi Gathering eyes wouldn't be able to track it at all. By most Core Formation standards, this was an incredibly wasteful speed, burning Qi and stamina far greater than was viable in any situation, especially not when an Elder had been beaten half to death.

It was nowhere near enough.

He would not get there in time, not when a blade or a fist or a technique of any sort could kill within a second at most, leaving the Incarnate God to arrive far too late, impotent and unable to do more than avenge his nephew.

And Jingshen Li would boil the oceans and break the world before he'd let that happen.

So he crushed treasure after treasure, burnt life's blood and Dao Energy, killed himself by inches to wring out enough power to turn himself into a crimson dynamo, managing to barely match the speed of a Nascent for a single instant, forever reducing himself in order to do what those great Tyrants could manage as easily as breathing.

A single drop of his Heart's Blood fell into the middle of a mortal village,striking hundreds dumb with awe and reverence and sending the remainder into a frenzy of avarice over this most precious of treasures, inflaming desires and dreams alike. The eventual victor, climbing to the peak of a mountain of corpses and consuming them all, swallowed the gem of blood and immediately ascended, breaking through the peak of Qi Gathering and into the ranks of Foundation Establishment.

She would become a bandit of some mild renown, terrorizing the mortals of the region until she eventually escaped into the mountains, an old legacy of carnage drawing her westwards, towards a man with monsters under his skin.

There were other such effects to his passing, sweat drowning caravans and creating lakes, bits of skin flayed by the speed of his movement turning into precious treasures or spawning demons, a broken tooth from a technique's backlash turning into a sword that would become the foundational treasure of a minor sect.

When one becomes a Core Formation Elder, their very passage stirs the fire of legend, spawning a hundred stories and sagas with each action perceived by the world at large.

But despite backlash and side effects, despite the emerald flares following his passing, despite the slight tug at his back that would have disappeared if he had spent a fraction of an instant to sever it, Jingshen Li had succeeded.

The floating village of Liaogai appeared in the distance, though Jingshen Li closed the gap so quickly that it might have been more accurate to say that he appeared above the floating village, akin to a furious moon hurtling down to an unprepared earth.

But there was no masked hero to stop this moon, and mere instants after Jingshen Li had appeared over the horizon, he crashed down, a cataclysmic meteor that would cause the extinction of all life on this miserable hunk of rock.

The world waited with bated breath for the impact, flinching back so that the very desert itself was compressed, the sand and dunes ever so slightly lower than they were before, not due to any sort of peerless technique or secret art, but out of sheer fear as to what Jingshen Li, worried uncle and unbound deity of carnage, would do. What atrocities would he commit, now that his brother's son was dead? What demons would he unleash, what monsters would he tear loose from Tartarus Below?

The desert waited for his answer.

It wouldn't have to wait for long.

Jingshen Li touched down on floating soil with all the grace and poise of a ballerina dancer. Not a single sand grain was displaced, not a single ant was inconvenienced. For a moment, he changed utterly. Gone was the tyrant of breaking earth and cracking sky. Here was a man in tune with all living things. He gave to the world and the world gave back.

Jingshen Li's wrath had transcended such petty things as hatred, anger, and spite. He was beyond an unbound fury, beyond lashing out at anything and everything around him, beyond the petulant wails of a spoilt child. He was perfectly calm, a buddha in all ways, hating none and loving all.

And then, serene and fully immersed in the principles of Zen, Jingshen Li calmly and contentedly took a step forward.

The earth trembled.​

And then another.

The sky shuddered.​

And a third.

The heavens cracked.​

Jingshen Li didn't need to take a fourth.

He appeared in front of the child that was about to kill his nephew, arms outstretched, earth breaking and sky shattering around his fists, an almighty god of destruction ending the world before its appointed time out of disgust at humanity's sins. Faster than lightning, faster than thunder, faster than heavenly punishment because he was heavenly punishment, a living calamity on the tainted blood of the Golden Devils, Jingshen Li struck out with a fist that splintered time and space, nothing in all heaven or earth that could stand against HIS WI-

And then Jingshen Li, bearer of many titles relating to perceived divinity and just as many relating to familial matters, stopped. The reason for this was quite simple.

Rathos Theodoros, who matched his sister in some ways and differed in others, exercised one of the most fortuitous traits he possessed. This cheat skill was a result of winning the genetic lottery and perhaps the greatest way in which he and Katha were separate: Common fucking sense.

Even as Jingshen Li did not take his fourth step, Rathos had already begun the process of tossing Jingshen Jianggu, waste of flesh and valuable only to his father's brother, towards the terrifying engine of destruction barreling down on him.

And so, instead of turning Rathos Theodoros into a million million still living fragments scattered across a thousand li of desert, Jingshen Li healed the scars he'd inflicted on existence and caught his nephew with a single monstrous claw.

Jingshen Jianggu, clutched in the grip of a god that he treated like a slave, opened his mouth. No doubt to deliver some tirade of invective, a seething spew of bullshit and blasphemy, a mocking rant about his perceived importance in relation to all other things. Such was the way of Jingshen Jianggu, to weep like a dog when dealt the slightest hardship but to crow like a rooster when given the slightest of upper-hands.

After all, who would stop him? With Jingshen Li as his long-suffering minder, Jingshen Jianggu, unworthy of the title of cultivator, could boast and preen and mock as much as he wished. The Butcher of Cloud and Hill protected his brother's son from all backlash and rebuttal. He was free to say what he wished, when he wished, as nobody else wished to shut him up.

Jingshen Li, shield of his nephew, simply looked at Jingshen Jianggu. It was a quiet stare, promising nothing and threatening even less, but the power and barely contained disappointment behind those eyes was enough to drown the desert in an ocean of regret.

Jingshen Jianggu, unbearable idiot and far too full of himself, shut up.

Fucking finally.

And as the heavens reeled from this monumental shift and the loom of fate respun itself to account for something beyond even its predictions, Jingshen Li lashed out.

A single kick from Jingshen Li was enough to crush earth and sky, to bend the very fabric of space and time. Even without qi or technique, it would pulp bone and explode flesh, turning foes into so much viscera on the floor, nothing but popped balloons of meat. It was undodgeable, an infinite formless attack that shattered causality to hit where you weren't and struck everywhere at once.

The Ninth Prince watched amusedly as it passed harmlessly by him.

The Naag scion was battered and scarred from a hundred kicks and a thousand punches, cut a thousand times over from fragments of shattered air and earth. His body and soul (now one and the same) had underwent enough physical and spiritual trauma to kill an entire minor sect. By all rights he shouldn't even be crawling.

And yet here he was, cocky and confident as always. He wore an easygoing expression that would be more appropriate for one of the galas that the Ninth Prince kept ignoring the invitations to, an expression that was completely out of place for a life-or-death battle with the fates of innocents and juniors on the line.

He was cool, calm, and perfectly collected.

He was also holding an enormous orb of pure destructive force, the collected runoff from Jingshen Li's battle with the Ninth Prince and his subsequent frantic flight to save his nephew, ten thousand different fragments of dao emanations tortured and chained together, a grinding cacophony of discord and annihilation.

For a moment, there was peace as the world held its bated breath. Neither side moved, neither side acted, neither side breathed. In a different world, one without cultivation but with weapons that could split worlds asunder, this would be called M.A.D. Mutually Assured Destruction. A type of war avoided at all cost due to the sheer capability for carnage and nuclear armageddon.

In this world, it was merely called a Core Fight.

And eventually, like all fights between Core Formation Elders, the situation shifted from standoff to action, as three things occurred in rapid succession.

The first was the Ninth Prince finally unleashing his ruinous technique, earth and sky trembling as the floating island was warped by the orb's mere presence, shattered fragments screaming and howling in agony as they were released, swarming towards their primogenitor in a hundred hundred hateful embraces.

The second was Jingshen Li exploding into motion, plumbing the depths of his reserves in order to wring out enough Qi to escape his impending apocalypse. With one hand, he wove protection spells around Jianggu, shielding his brother's son from the backlash of a technique that could threaten the life of a Core Formation Elder. With a second, he activated a movement technique, ready and able to dodge out of the way of an undodgeable technique.

The third was Rathos Theodoros finally taking the Ninth Prince's unsubtle cues and activating Demonic Oak: Crushing Bind. Enormous roots erupted out of the earth, thorny vines wrapping around Jingshen Li and Jingshen Jianggu, binding and pulling like a horde of vengeful ghosts dragging the two down to hell.

Jingshen Li looked down at his paltry binds with contempt. With a flex of his Qi, summoning the scraps of destructive power available to him, the Butcher of Cloud and Hill made to crush the vines by root and stem, burn them out and scatter the ashes, even as the two vermin before him CRUMBLED TO DU-

Then he looked to his side. At Jianggu, utterly helpless in the face of this attack, protected from the recoil and edge effects by Jingshen Li's techniques, but defenseless against the main body of the attack.

At this moment, Jingshen Li, He of Many Titles, had a choice to make. On the one hand, he could explode free of these pitiful bindings, dodge out of the way of the Ninth Prince's last ditch attack, and kill both the Ninth Prince and Rathos Theodoros, thereby winning and killing a potential Nascent Soul Candidate of the greatest rival of the Jingshen. On the other, he could save his nephew, thereby dooming himself to an agony of torment and a losing position.

With zero hesitation, Jingshen Li used his accumulated power to break Jianggu's bonds and push him to the side, out of the direct radius of the blast, breaking space around his brother's son to shield his nephew further.

And then, a fraction of an instant later, Jingshen Li was hit with the full force of the Ninth Prince's final attack.

To an outside observer, it would have been both horrific and incomprehensible. Thousands of hungry beasts burrowed into Jingshen Li's flesh like gnawing grubs and writhing worms, destroying skin and muscle and tendon and putting holes in bone. The natural defenses and arrays embedded into his body did nothing, for these were Dao-Beasts, splinters of his own philosophy, accepted without reservation.

Jingshen Li's body bulged, contorted, and twisted, as if there were innumerable tiny insects beneath his flesh, wriggling and running under his skin, digging and burrowing as if his body was the soil of an ant farm. The bubbling only grew worse, until great gouts of blood and viscera erupted from his body, eaten and destroyed by the swarm before they could even splatter onto the ground.

He was covered in the shards, a feeding frenzy without peer that threatened to eat him alive for eternity and a day, growing stronger and hungrier and more as they burrowed even deeper, as they hollowed the fallen divinity out bit by bit.

Eventually however, the swarm subsided, Dao energy spent and bodies disappearing as so much dust in the wind, leaving the Ninth Prince to see what had become of Jingshen Li.

What the last Scion of the Naag saw…

Well, it horrified him.

Jingshen Li was more honeycomb than man, thousands of holes criss-crossing his entire body, stopping partially into the flesh or burrowing clear through and letting open air and desert grit into places where they very much should not be. His limbs, his bones, his organs, his face, his teeth, his eyes, none were left unscathed, an abominable sculpture of how much torture it would take to kill a man.

And yet that was not what horrified the Ninth Prince

As the Ninth Prince watched, holes fused together, flesh wriggled and writhed as it forced itself to attach to flesh, Jingshen Li literally stitching himself back together. It was an abomination, a curse against god and man, a memetic agent designed to weaken and suppress peak experts through sheer nausea alone.

Jingshen Li, Core Formation Cultivator and somehow still alive, said nothing, did nothing beyond raising an eyebrow. He didn't need to, the message was clear as a hot desert day. 'Is this all you have?'

The Ninth Prince's face, iron at the best of times, gave nothing away as he buffed his ghostly nails. Eventually, he looked up, simply raised a single spiritual eyebrow, and smiled, low and fanged, the smile of an ambush predator who had cornered their prey. The message was clear as ice cold crystal. 'No.'

With a snap of his fingers, Jingshen Li's world exploded.

If a mind such as Jingshen Jianggu's could manage to form the idea that Liaogai Village was a target that would have an outsized impact on Golden Devil morale, then obviously Manuel Konstantinos and Xie Xinya had already accounted for it. Institutionally paranoid, they'd also drafted up plans for if the Ninth Prince ever fell to blood path or turned against the Clan.

One of those plans simply happened to include a layer of Spirit Bombs buried under the surface of Liaogai Village and charged by the Jeweled Spider herself. At a signal from Xie Xinya or the Archegetes, the bombs would explode messily and violently, with enough force to kill Foundation Building and severely injure Core Formation.

Of course, the Ninth Prince had found the bombs easily enough, and managed to reverse-engineer the access code from examining one of the explosives. The first layer at least. There were almost certainly others, but they weren't reachable and weren't relevant.

Now, what this meant was that with the activation signal, with knowledge of where the bombs were, and with enough time simply standing around waiting for Jingshen Li to finish being eaten alive by his own Dao energy, the Ninth Prince could use earth arts to shift the positions of the Spirit Bombs, shape their charges in such a way that the impact all converged on a single spot.

Jingshen Li was hit with the full force of 36 Spirit Bombs, as Xie Xinya's Dao energy scanned him and found him not only an outsider but an enemy. The impact was visible for hundreds of li, the visions of sheer beauteous destruction inspiring the founding of three minor sects.

These sects would war and ally with each other again and again over the next two centuries, a tangled history of partnership and betrayal that would culminate in a merger of their philosophies and arts into one entity. In time, this Sublime Detonation Sect would produce a Core Formation Cultivator that would go on to marry into the Xie family, thus furthering Xie Xinya's stranglehold on the Clan.

Such stories played out in dozens of pockets of the desert, heroes and villains rising and falling due to a single cataclysmically beautiful explosion in the sky. A smith sought that perfection for the rest of their days, crafting greater and greater weapons that encapsulated that single sublime moment; a band of sworn brothers were distracted long enough for one to betray and consume the rest, falling to the blood path; a young man set out on his journey to the backdrop of an explosive sunset. Such is the way of a Core Formation Elder, they who drink of divinity's poisoned chalice, they whose every move spawns a hundred sagas.

And after an eternity that ended far too soon, as Rathos Theodoros and Jingshen Jianggu wept tears of blood at the perfection of the cataclysm, as the Ninth Prince wordlessly braced himself against the injury that an unauthorized use of the Spirit Bombs inflicted on the wielder, the dust cleared, debris fading away in the evening sun.

For a moment, Rathos Theodoros allowed himself a sliver of hope. Surely that had to be enough, yes? Surely, after all the punishment inflicted by the Ninth Prince, that had to be a finishing blow?

Yes, by any metric imaginable and logical, Jingshen Li must have been torn apart. After a minor nuclear explosion, after hundreds upon hundreds of curses and magics and poisons and arrays, after being eaten alive by his own Dao Emanations, thirty six fermented attacks from a Core Elder should have been enough to kill the Butcher of Cloud and Hill. There was no other outcome. It had to be this way.

And yet.

As the dust cleared, Jingshen Li stood. He was bloodied and battered, an utter wreck of a man, hollowed out again and again by atrocity after apocalypse, but he was alive.

For a moment, the two simply stood there. Neither of them moved, neither of them made any action that could be interpreted by the most hardened and ignorant agitator as an act of aggression. For a moment, even as the desert held its breath and flinched away in fear, there was peace, two broken titans weary from an eternal war.

On one side, there was the Ninth Prince. He had been the unlucky party in their exchanges, beaten and broken over and over, cracked into pieces and an inch away from his third and final death. And yet, now he was in the picture of health, unblemished and completely healed, with a Qi signature to match. There was not a hair out of place, not a fold in the spiritual cloth of his outfit. He was pristine, a cocky fanged smile back on his face, just daring his foe to come and have another go.

On the other side, there was Jingshen Li. The Incarnate God of Crashing Earth and Cracking Sky had had the upper hand in their fight, at least until Jingshen Jianggu cried for his uncle. But that didn't mean he was unscathed. His limbs were gouged and blackened by curses and poison. His face was riddled with holes and turning into a variety of gases, Dao-Beast and hex working in concert. His chest was scarred and blasted by two explosions, one nuclear and the other Dao-based. Parts of his body were melting into sludge. Other portions were petrified. Holes writhed with tendrils of flesh and areas of skin showed naught but bone. But no man alive would have wanted to face Jingshen Li in that moment, for he was still standing, still ready, still able to kill.

The moment that was an eternity hung in the air, suspended from the string of fate. Nothing within a 20 li radius dared to breathe, dared to move a muscle. The world paused, submitting to the power and will of two monsters that walked its back, even as it vibrated with anticipation. The tension in the air was so thick that even the Hornsword was unable to cut it. The entire desert waited for the two holy abominations to finish taking the other's measure.

Eventually, the uneasy peace was broken. Jingshen Li, a shell of a man but still enough to bring wrath and ruin, held out a fist, unmoving. Even as the Ninth Prince did nothing, the fist began to crack the air, a razor-sharp spiderweb sphere that extended in all directions, even those directions that were imperceptible to mortal eyes.

The cracks began to spread, sky splintering and falling to the ground of Liaogai Village, leaving a dark purple void hanging where there was once air. And then, even that void began to crack. Bright red splinters began to form in the fabric of space, expanding in every and all directions, into the future and the past and the realm where possibility died.

The cracks from there went further and further everywhere, a bursting storm that was large enough for a man to be fully engulfed within its depths, a calamity concentrated around a single man's fist and a single god's will. It was a monster that could swallow Liaogai whole, an infinity and an eternity in the shape of a sphere.

And still the Ninth Prince did nothing.

Once more, Jingshen Li locked eyes with the Ninth Prince, who stared back, unblinking. The Core Formation Elder searched deep, looking for some sort of answer to an unasked question, until eventually, hidden and locked away under defenses that were intentionally weak, he found it.

Whatever was found there would not be spoken of by or to any other cultivator alive, a secret that the two would take beyond their graves. All that is known is that Jingshen Li reached out with one calamitous hand to take hold of Jingshen Jianggu. Then, with nary a look back or a sense of regret, he strode into the corridor of broken space, exiting the battlefield and conceding the match to the Ninth Prince.

The Ninth Prince said nothing, did nothing. As the last fractals of spacetime vanished, even as Jingshen Li had long since made his escape, he stood unmoving, unchanging, a statue instead of a cultivator.

Then, when there was no longer a trace of Jingshen Li or Jingshen Jianggu in his perception, as Rathos rushed over to him, as a newly arrived Katha and Marlissa (who had each completed deeds worthy of saga and song) did the same, as a stiff breeze blew through the floating village, they saw why the Ninth Prince had done nothing, said nothing.

His eyes were blank, the thought stolen from him. He had expended everything, given everything, and from nothing snatched victory with fangs of desperate will.

Survival was victory. Victory was Liaogai. And they had Liaogai.

Kaboomatic A/N: It's fucking DONE. Nothing else needs to be said. I hope you enjoy.

Swordo A/N: My man fuckin' killed it. Let's goooooooooo--

 

[Kaboomatic]

Ninth Prince and Constantine Nikeodemos Collab - Misunderstandings and Mortal Peril​

There was nothing quite better than being a wounded veteran, Constantine had discovered. Sure, the actual process of being run through was rather unpleasant, but once that was done with, there was naught to do but reap the fruits of taking such a blow in service to the Clan and House. Sweetening the story, of course, was yet another bounty harvested from a secret realm. The Nikeodemos's favored scion had successfully proven his success in the Yuan Realm was no fluke by returning once more with a massive leap in cultivation and a grand tale of battle with the perfidious Jingshen, ending the last hidden reservations some of his family might have held and leading to a general celebration.


House Nikeodemos was a reserved, proud, and solemn one by character, not prone towards grandiosity or excess under normal circumstances. But Constantine's breakaway success served as an undeniable indication that the drought of fortune that'd seemed to hang over the lineage since their defilement of the Mausoleum had been broken, and combined with much more modest but still substantial gains by other scions of the new generation a general mood of euphoria had overtaken the family. Celebrations grew common, boasts of deeds undertaken in the past, present, and certain to occur in the future echoes through the halls of their manor. And at the center of all this was the hero of the day, none other than Constantine Nikeodemos himself, luxuriating in the fruits of his efforts.


Once a semi-pitied outsider to the massive dynasty's social dynamic, he had now been thrust into its apex … and in truth, Constantine discovered he quite liked it.


With a glass of wine and an easy laugh at hand, the specter of dread that'd haunted the scion ever since the very moment the power of his bloodline had been revealed was banished at last. Sitting there, enjoying a party thrown in the sake of his glory, Constantine found his opinions on the nature of being a 'cultivation genius' changing. Perhaps being a lauded hero wasn't such an odious task - all he needed was a gimmick, an acute sense of danger, and enough deniability to iron out all the awkward bits to make a good story when returning home. And in exchange, he'd be treated like this for the rest of his life? With a scoff, he downed the rest of his glass and sat back with a satisfied smile. He had it all worked out from here, the scion concluded.


If Constantine were a little more self-aware, he might've refrained from taunting the Heavens with such hubristic vigor, for the fates enjoy nothing more than flipping someone's life on end at the moment they least expect. So when the slip of paper found itself into his palm, the scion spared only a moment to glance around in confusion before unfurling it.


Come speak to me in my office. - Sertorius


"Huh," the scion guilelessly said. "I wonder what he wants?"


***


Sertorius Nikeodemos was nothing if not an imposing figure. The current sole Core Formation Elder of the house, he was a figure of legend to the younger generations. Once, Constantine had trembled in fear of his grandfather, viewing him as one of the ancient statues in the Mausoleum having come to life and stepped off its pedestal, a figure of legendary past walking around in the present and changing fate in his wake. He could've counted the times he spoke to the old man with a single hand, and each of those occasions had done nothing but reinforce the impression.


But time and growth stripped much of the awe from the scion, and now his cocky young eyes perceived a powerful elder sitting at an unadorned desk, going over documents and all the other work that went into running one of the Clan's most powerful noble houses. Constantine was intelligent enough to ditch the drink and maintain a solemn bearing before entering his grandfather' study, but nonetheless it remained obvious from where exactly he'd just been summoned from, and in the back of his mind he couldn't help but note the sharp difference between his grandfather's studious work and his own hedonistic pursuits. Still, it was with long practice that the scion schooled such thoughts from his face as he sat down in the chair awaiting him. He'd dealt with his own father's disapproval before. This was merely upping the stakes.


"Grandfather," Constantine greeted, before falling silent as Sertorius slowly set his work down and turned to face his grandson, the most promising specimen from his latest batch of progeny. Truthfully speaking, Constantine was expecting some kind of praise or reward from his mercurial grandfather, who'd remained aloof from the otherwise profuse gratitude expressed by his family at his stunning growth. Yet, as the silence stretched on, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at the thought he may have missed something important.


Finally, Sertorius broke the silence, gesturing towards the bandages wrapped around Constantine's chest concealing the wound he'd taken in the Quigui realm.


"You were wounded." He stated, his expression just as schooled as his grandson's, leaving the boy only to wonder at what might the patriarch be thinking.


"Aha, well, yes." Constantine admitted, giving a short chuckle. "I ran into the Jingshen whilst in the Quigui Realm, and put myself in a little too much danger trying to bail out a junior." Lesson learnt, don't open up with a pickup line. The scion internally cringed, remembering that particular incident. Fresh off his latest powerup, he'd gotten a little too confident when seeing an opportunity to save a younger Clan member from a particularly attractive Jingshen, who'd apparently been using a very powerful spear - something he'd only learned after being impaled with it. No matter how hot the broad might be.


What Sertorius thought of this story, he didn't show. Instead, after letting the silence continue on until it became almost uncomfortable again, he turned and opened a compartment on his desk, pulling out some kind of talisman. Constantine leaned forward with interest, already wondering what this relic might do. Even the seemingly innocuous ones had proven extremely useful - such as the item he'd thought broken until it'd let him cultivate at such an accelerated pace in the secret realms.


"Er, what is that for?" He eventually spoke up when his grandfather continued to fiddle with it instead of handing it over.


"It heals." Sertorius laconically replied, before pointing it at Constantine. The scion had only a moment to realize with horror his prized war wound was about to be removed before he was struck with agonizing pain, his flesh reknitting together in seconds. Doubling over, Constantine barely managed to avoid screaming aloud in pain, nearly falling off his chair in shock. His grandfather frowned in disappointment at the reaction, before shaking his head and standing up. It was clear this matter would require a personal touch.


"Shit!" Constantine finally managed to hiss out with a grimace as the twisting, unsettling agony finally ceased. Glancing up at the desk with a grimace, however, he blinked in confusion to see its occupant suddenly missing - before the scion was hit with a wave of pressure from his left.


"You've grown too quickly and easily." Sertorius coldly diagnosed, leaning over his grandson as he yelped in shock, this time actually being knocked off the chair. "It's left you soft. Fragile." In that moment, staring up at his grandfather from the floor, Constantine suddenly realized that the old man might've been more perceptive than he'd assumed. Before he could offer some kind of answer, however, a hand was clasped around his shirt and he yanked to his feet. "You are going to serve as my aide for the 217th." Sertorius commanded, his face seemingly carved from stone. "There, you will learn much that will be needed for when you take my place. But more importantly, there you will have the weakness ironed from you. No matter how long it takes." … Constantine couldn't tell whether that was a threat or a promise.


With Sertorius Nikeodemos, the difference was largely moot.


------------


Paperwork, as the Ninth Prince had rapidly and disastrously found, sucked.


Well, that wasn't entirely accurate.


Paperwork, in small doses and for needed tasks, was entirely bearable. Fun, almost. The Ninth Prince had been doing the standard paperwork necessary for a member of the Imperial Optimatoi since his induction into the clan itself, and for the most part, it was incredibly easy. Part of that was actually due to the nature of the filing and forms he needed to do. Paperwork was the only method to 'cash in' his various rewards and accolades, and so the Ninth Prince soon grew quite familiar with this aspect of Clan life.


The implication here was that the Ninth Prince had a lot of rewards and accolades, if that wasn't clear to the imaginary reader within the Ninth Prince's head.


Even the paperwork that came with being a Legate was relatively light work. All the Ninth Prince really had to do was read the various forms that his subcommanders and lieutenants sent him, make sure embezzlement was within the accepted thresholds, and sign off on them. Being at the top of the pyramid meant that most of the work was done by those directly below you, and all you needed to worry about was the people you directly managed. It was quite the effective organizational schema.


Now all the Ninth Prince needed to do was get some other Legate's buy-in, and his pyramid schema could be spread to the entire clan! Multi-Legate Management would be the new big thing, he was sure of it.


But the Ninth Prince digressed. Of course, he was allowed to, considering that this was all within his thoughts, privy to no hypothetical observers. And even if such hypothetical observers hypothetically existed, these hypothetical entities would have, hypothetically, already known what they were hypothetically getting into when they opened this hypothetical chapter of the Ninth Prince's hypothetical memoirs.


Hypothetically, of course.


…Anyways.


The issue currently at hand was that the Ninth Prince's legion had been gutted thoroughly and mercilessly by traitors within their midst. Those foul fiends and vile villains had been tempted by the Blood Mist that had ravaged the region, and turned their iniquitous designs on their former comrades! The loyalists of the Hydra managed to fight these heretics off, but at great cost to the 99th Legion itself. The Hydra was but a shadow of its former self.


And this was where the Ninth Prince's paperwork problems came in.


The Clan, being the Clan, had thousands of precedents for lost and broken legions, and even more for what to do once such a legion tried to reconstitute itself. Somehow, all of those precedents involved a truly monumental amount of paperwork. Privately, the Ninth Prince believed that this was a way to punish the Legates that'd sat around and watched as their legions died. If so, then forcing this onto him (Well, probably. The Ninth Prince didn't actually have any proof that the council had forced this onto him, but really, what else could it be? The normal course of how things worked? Please.) was massively unfair on the part of the Council; after all, the Ninth Prince was dead when his legion went to war against itself. This wasn't his fault in the slightest!


And yet, here he was. Literally and figuratively buried under a mountain of forms; requisition requests, bereavement pay, supply files, personnel dossiers, letters from other Legates who were trying to poach his remaining legionnaires, and a whole host of other things.


The Ninth Prince managed well enough (he was the Ninth Prince after all), filling out requisitions, personally delivering bereavement pay to sobbing families, completing supply files, updating personnel dossiers, and sending incredibly polite letters back to the Legates that were trying to step in on his turf that basically said 'Fuk u I'm the Ninth Prince, fight me 1v1 mate u wont, thats wut i thot bitch'.


Those last ones were admittedly quite fun.


But the issue at hand was something that couldn't be solved with politely worded inflammatory challenge letters. Because the paperwork kept on piling up and the requests kept on coming in, and even that wasn't the actual problem at hand.


It would be so easy for a lesser mind to get bogged down in the minutia of paperwork and filing forms and forget about the bigger picture. Of course, the Ninth Prince was no lesser mind. He wasn't even a regular mind. He was a greater mind, one of the largest brains in the clan, and definitely in the top 3 of most intelligent foundation establishment cultivators in the Optimatoi.


Not that anyone was counting of course.


(The Ninth Prince was totally counting.)


As such, the Ninth Prince kept his eyes on the true problem; the fact that the Hydra was severely understrength, truly gutted, completely and utterly broken beyond most forms of repair due to the shameless treachery of those that the Ninth Prince had once thought true and loyal members of the c-


Wow, that was… oddly depressing. The Ninth Prince really needed to stop pontificating for dramatic effect, all it did was make him unintentionally sad.


Also there was no point in being dramatic if nobody was around to appreciate it, but that was beside the point.


The point being that the Ninth Prince needed to start actually recruiting again. Like seriously, this was completely unacceptable, the Hydra was down to around a single Fang's worth of troops. And considering that a Fang was about a hundred legionnaires all together, that wasn't very good.


The Hydra had been actually reverse decimated. And not the silly form of decimation, where it meant 'kill a lot of people'. No, the Ninth Prince meant the Optimatoi punishment of killing a tenth of the soldiers in a legion to make an example of them. But instead of that, the Hydra got reverse decimated, which meant that one in ten of the soldiers of the legion survived.


…Wow, that was once more enormously depressing. Seriously, the Ninth Prince needed to chill a bit. This was getting out of hand.


Anyways, the point at hand was that the Ninth Prince needed to go on a recruiting drive. But nothing too major at first, just a small personal little effort, enough to make a proper command structure. It'd be fun, and the Ninth Prince should probably talk with more of the promising juniors of the clan, keep them out of Aretaphila's grubby Single Pillar mitts.


Seriously, she was taking everyone and it was annoying. The Ninth Prince wanted to take Katha and Rathos as minions slaves legionnaires, and he didn't even have a chance to try. And Rina had that Zenos guy, and…


The Ninth Prince was feeling left out, alright? Were you happy now, imaginary person within the Ninth Prince's head?


Good. Or if you aren't, fuck you, he was the Ninth Prince. 1v1 him mate, come on, you won't. That's what he thought, bitch.


…ANYWAYS


That whole recruitment thing seemed like a good plan. The only issue was figuring out who said promising juniors were, but that was easy enough. All the Ninth Prince really had to do was tap into the Legate gossip network. It'd cost him a few favors, but he could probably get a good list of the juniors with the most talent and luck, and figure out how to poach them from their respective Legates.


…Look it's fine when he doe-


Actually, no. Not even as a joke. That sort of nepotism and selfishness flew in the face of everything the Ninth Prince's Dao stood for.


So, no poaching. Or at least, not unless the junior in question actively begged him to take them on as a legionnaire. But the odds of that ever happening were so slim as to be laughable.


After all, what sort of rising star would want to leave their current legion?


-----------------------------------------


The Ninth Prince took an appreciative sip of alcohol as he stared over the Nikeodemos estate. Sharp, tangy, and with just a pinch of neurotoxin. Just the way he liked it. "Good wine." He praised, setting down his glass and looking over at Sertorius.


The two of them went way back, not as sworn brothers or anything, but they were of a similar generation. The Ninth Prince sent a few trade deals Sertorius' way, Sertorius warned the Ninth Prince of minor beast tides heading towards Liaogai, it was a good time all around. Sertorius had the connections and the Ninth Prince had the adventuring hero power. They worked well together.


And so, naturally, when the Ninth Prince wanted some help figuring out who to recruit into his legion command staff, he went to the Nikeodemos Patriarch. That being said… "You wouldn't believe how much paperwork goes into reconstituting a legion. It's about twelve times as much as a Legate's decennial upkeep paperwork, and I've barely been at this for five years! Between you and me, I feel like the council is trying to punish me for being dead."


There wasn't much actual recruitment talk going around. For the most part, the Ninth Prince was just complaining about paperwork.


"Mmm." Sertorius hummed in a vaguely sympathetic tone, taking a sip from his own clear glass of water. The Nikeodemos patriarch was a stark contrast to the Ninth Prince: reserved in demeanor, dress, and word to the same extent his companion was extravagant. "It can be a hassle." With a snap of his fingers, he called over his grandson, who was obediently waiting off to the side, clasping a pitcher of the estate's wine - the good stuff, too. Constantine shuffered forward, trying not to openly wince at the bruises which dotted his body, and refilled the glass the Ninth Prince had been using. Noting his grandson, the patriarch leaned forward in his seat.


"Have you looked into getting an aide?" He suggested, his voice as level as ever. "Having somebody you trust to handle the minor things can cut down on the workload meaningfully if not significantly, and it can also be used as an encouragement to draw in a promising recruit due to the attached prestige to your own station." Constantine shuffled uncomfortably at the attention drawn to him as he returned to his original position, but despite himself he couldn't help but listen in with curiosity. The Ninth Prince's voice was giving him the strangest sense of deja vu - he could've sworn he'd heard the man before, but he was extremely certain he would've remembered encountering someone so … aggressively memorable.


The Ninth Prince hummed noncommittally, lost deep in the recesses of his own enormous brain. An aide, huh? Well, that would honestly work wonders for his workload, and it meant that he could drop every boring part of his job onto a single person and forget about it. The only real problem was who to pick, the Ninth Prince didn't really have anyone in mind. Hells, that was why he visited Sertorius in the first place, to get junior recommendations. He picked up his glass and took another sip. Mmmm, neurotoxin. "I'm not opposed to the idea, and it'd be an easy way to reduce my workload. The only real issue is finding an aide like that."


The Ninth Prince put down his glass again. "Do you have any recommendations?"


Sertorius nodded solemnly, picking up a folder that'd been laying on the dining table since the Prince had arrived and handing it over. Opening it up, he found in neat script a list of names, with their locations, brief descriptions, and other relevant information included on the side.


"I find it wise to keep a thumb on the pulse of promising prospects," the patriarch revealed with another sip of his drink - which the Ninth Prince suspected him to have boiled beforehand, just to get the right state of utterly tasteless. "But it is also wise to do good friends good favors."


Meanwhile, the patriarch's own aide had perked up at the mention of the Prince's open position - and more crucially, desire to have someone handle the boring parts of leading a legion. As it turned out, his grandfather didn't follow the advice he gave, and preferred to handle nearly every bit of his own legion's administration himself, leaving Constantine with plenty of time to work on the training regimens he'd devised.


So much time.


Seeing a lifeline being tossed to the hellish pit he'd found himself in, the scion wasted no time trying to seize it with both hands, and carefully maneuvered around Sertorius's back before attempting to convey his intention to the Ninth Prince through silent gestures. Conveying his exact intention through trying to wave his arms was a little tricky, but Constantine figured it'd be pretty obvious that he wanted to try and join the Prince's own legion - anything to get him out from under grandfather.


The Ninth Prince, keen eyed as ever and with a long history of interpretive dance under his metaphorical snakeskin belt (well, lizardskin technically. As if the Ninth Prince would ever buy products made with snake corpses), noticed that young fellow by Sertorius's side - Constantine? Yeah that seemed about right - signaling desperately for the Ninth Prince to get him out from under his grandfather's thumb.


…Huh.


Weird.


The Nikeodemos patriarch raised an eyebrow at the Prince's reaction, before turning around and looking at his grandson, now the very picture of the disciplined, filial aide.


"... Do you have something to say, Constantine?" He asked, still not raising or changing his tone in any way, but still sending a sliver of fear down his grandson's spine.


"I was just, uh, thinking that perhaps the Ninth Prince would be interested in recruiting me into his legion." Constantine BS'd with long practice. "I've heard many stories of his and the Hydra's exploits, and would consider it an honor to participate!"


Sertorius wasn't fooled for a second.


The Ninth Prince was delighted. Finally, a junior he could recruit! Someone who would fully and one hundred percent be onboard with the ludicrous danger that he was almost certain to hurl himself into. Naturally, as part of their job description, his aide would be expected to jump into that danger right beside the Ninth Prince, and it seemed like Constantine was exactly the man for the job.


And then it clicked in the Ninth Prince's enormous brain. That was why Constantine wanted out of his grandfather's legion, out of a cushy posting in which he wouldn't see that much comparative danger. Constantine was bored, bored of the mundane life of training and parties that surely awaited him under Sertorius' command.


Truly, the Ninth Prince had found a kindred spirit here today.


And, of course, what else could the Ninth Prince do but assist this fellow adrenaline junkie (the Ninth Prince was honest about his few flaws) before him? "Well, I certainly wouldn't be against it. Young Constantine here seems quite competent, ready and willing to hurl himself into the deepest of danger with nothing more than a scream of excitement. It'd be a pleasure to have him as my Aide." The Ninth Prince said to Sertorius, surreptitiously winking at Constantine when the old man's back was turned, signifying his intent to help Constantine get out of a life of tedium and into a death defying adventure.


Said scion started sweating a little when the Prince began vividly illustrating what kind of adventures he intended to have him get up to, but relaxed when the man gave him one of the most unsubtle winks he'd ever seen, glad that he'd found a kindred spirit with the renowned cultivator. No wonder his legion had torn itself apart in his absence, without the Prince's skilled hand at the helm to lead his band of bloodthirsty maniacs! Surely he'd appreciate having someone as cogent and reserved as Constantine to work alongside him from now on.


"Is that so." Sertorius replied in his characteristically unamused cadence, before pausing as an evil idea flickered behind his stolid facade.


"Of course! The very thought already has my heart racing." Constantine lied through his teeth. "It's just that I'm worried about my posting as your aide giving people the impression I'm c-coddled," at that line even the scion's impressive chutzpah cracked and he nearly choked on the words, but through sheer force of will carried on. "And I want to establish a reputation in my own right."


"Hmm." Sertorius hummed again, openly considering the idea. "It is good to let the young spread their own wings at times …"


"Exactly!" The Ninth Prince interjected once more, visibly excited. "You know how I first forged my legend, scaring off a Great Circle Core Formation Cultivator while I was still in Qi Condensation. And while it was incredibly, ludicrously dangerous, that danger was what cemented my reputation as the Ninth Prince."


The Ninth Prince's voice grew serious as he looked Sertorius dead in the eyes. "Sertorius. I promise you this. I will take Constantine into the most dangerous parts of the Virtuous Flipper Region in service of the Clan. We won't take anything but the most risky missions or the most death-defying tasks. I'll bring your grandson home to you either in a hero's laurels or in a funeral casket."


"There's no corner of the Region we won't go into, no foe we won't face, no trial we won't overcome!" The Ninth Prince was really getting into it now, going into full on GREAT JUSTICE mode. "We'll be pushed to our absolute limits and we'll break through our barriers or die in the attempt. I will forge your grandson into a legend worthy of the Council, a candidate to become the next Archegetes!"


"He has the potential after all, you've told me yourself! All he needs is a brutal training regimen and an even more brutal crucible to test himself in!" The Ninth Prince was standing up now, one foot on the table and arm reaching for the sky. "Your grandson will reach either the heights of glory or the depths of death!"


And then abruptly, the Ninth Prince was sitting in his seat once more, calmly and cooly sipping his wine, as if that hotblooded speech hadn't meant anything to him. "That is, if you're willing to entrust him to me of course."


Constantine looked upon the Ninth Prince with open respect now. That was some of the finest bullshitting he'd ever seen! Normally you want to tone things down lest people think you're full of it, but the Prince spoke with such passion that the scion was nearly believing it himself! An absolutely fine performance, perhaps he would be learning more from the man than how to do his paperwork.


Sertorius, meanwhile, was using his impressive reserves of willpower and centuries of experience at maintaining a poker face not to burst out into full, gut-busting laughter. Instead, he merely took a sip of his boiled water as if the Prince had just commented on the weather before placidly nodding in agreement, his wry grin successfully disguised.


"Then I shall concede to my grandson's desire," he said with the quiet dignity expected of his station.


Constantine - in a similar display of restraint and self-control - managed to avoid bursting out loud into a cheer, and instead offered his grandfather a respectful nod before thanking him for the privilege. Internally, he beamed: at long last, he'd finally escaped the hell of his own creation, and could finally enjoy the quiet, peaceful backline administrative position he'd craved in the first place.


Yes, Constantine determined, smug and self-satisfied, it was all smooth sailing from here.


---------------------------------


"-AND STANDING HERE TODAY, MY JUNIORS-NAY, MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN ARMS, KNOW THAT WHATEVER HAPPENS, WE WILL BE REMEMBERED!"


They had seen the abyss and it was staring back into their souls. Death, darkness, curses, torment, the gates to a hell made by men worse than demons. The message was clear to all who looked on the Poison Maze of the Noble Knowledge Sect: Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.


"I WILL NOT LIE TO YOU, THIS WILL BE DANGEROUS. IT MAY EVEN BE DEADLY. SOME OF US WILL NOT RETURN ALIVE, AND NONE OF US WILL RETURN UNCHANGED."


The boundary from which the Maze was separated from the rest of the world was both ephemeral yet as clear as glass, a tangible energy in the air that separated the world as ordained by Heaven from the abomination created by malice.


"THE TREK AHEAD OF US IS LONG AND ARDUOUS, AND AT POINTS WE WILL FALTER! AT POINTS, WE WILL FALL! THE ENTIRE WORLD WILL SEEM AGAINST US! AND YET, I ASK OF YOU. WHY DOES THAT MATTER?!"


Vague, serpentine suggestions seem to writhe in the distance, although eyesight seemed to grow less reliable mere feet past the walls of the Siege. Were their undead serpents twisting through the ground and into the air, awaiting a moment of unawareness to strike, or was it just their frightened gazes latching onto patterns where there were none?


"THOUGH THE WORLD MAY STAND AGAINST US, THOUGH WE MAY PLUNGE HEADFIRST INTO THE ABYSS WITH NO HOPE OF RETURN, THOUGH WE WILL BURN AND BREAK AND PERHAPS DIE, KNOW THAT WE ARE HEROES, ONE AND ALL!"


The local cultivators showed none of the complicated emotions that usually came with a Golden Devil deployment, instead, upon hearing what the Hydra intended to do, merely looked upon them with pity or simply blank apathy, worn down to nubs by their exhausting and traumatizing duty.


"KNOW THAT, NO MATTER WHAT, WE WILL KEEP PUSHING FORWARDS! WE WILL SEE WHAT THIS MOST VILE OF SECTS HAS TO THROW AT US AND WE WILL LAUGH IN THE FACES OF THEIR STUNNED CULTISTS AS IT FAILS TO IMPEDE OUR ADVANCE!"


Bodies littered the No Man's Land between the two lines, some seemingly as fresh as yesterday, and others decayed to the point they could've laid there for decades. The cleaning bone and rotting flesh was almost as awful and poignant a barrier as the Maze itself, and seemed to taunt the besigers with the fate that awaited any trespassers.


"THEIR CORPSES AND THEIR CURSES WILL SHATTER AGAINST OUR BLOWS! THEIR FATE-TWISTING AND THEIR HEX-ARTS WILL DO LESS THAN NOTHING! WE WILL STAND TALL AND PROUD AGAINST THEIR MOST VILE OF POISONS!"


The Poison Crushing Siege was hell, plain and simply. It was a nightmare, brought to life and grounded in awful reality through the crackle of abyssal energy and rotting stench of the dead. And it was a hell to which the legion intended to plunge.


"THE POISON MAZE IS A HELL MADE BY DEMONS, AND WE ARE THE HEROES THAT WILL CONQUER ITS DEPTHS! WE BRAVE THIS ABYSS, NOT FOR OURSELVES, BUT FOR THOSE TRAPPED WITHIN ITS DEPTHS, THOSE WHOSE SOULS ARE CRYING OUT FOR RESCUE!"


The full force of the 99th Legion, the Hydra Legion of the Golden Devil Clan, was arrayed behind the Ninth Prince, adorned in full panoply. They numbered barely a hundred, but each of them was either a veteran of the Blood Mist Heresy, or a junior hand-picked by the Ninth Prince to join this Crucible.


"WE WILL MARCH ONTO CHUNWANG, AND CLEANSE OURSELVES OF SIN, PURGING IT LIKE WE SHALL PURGE THE DENIZENS OF THIS HELLISH PLACE!"


The bulk of the Hydra was made of those veterans, the scant remainders of the original legion that had stayed loyal and survived the Blood Mist Heresy. They had failed once, with their Legate dead and their legion broken and corrupted, and they would not fail again. There were only two options. Glory or Death.


"WE SHALL MAKE OUR BANNER KNOWN ACROSS THE REGION, UNTIL THERE IS NO CULTIVATOR ALIVE WHO DOESN'T KNOW OF THE HYDRA!"


But there were new recruits, handpicked scions of the clan, heirs to ancient legacies and bearers of powerful Arts, all hungry with the desire to prove themselves on the grandest of stages.


"WE WILL FIGHT SO FURIOUSLY AND FANATICALLY THAT IT WILL TAKE SEVEN MORTAL WOUNDS TO DOWN A SINGLE LEGIONNAIRE!"


Seven-Deaths Li, so named for his Sevenfold Rebirth Art, fidgeted impatiently with his shields as the Ninth Prince gave his speech, bits of earth falling off of the young man like pebbles heralding a landslide. He smiled, relishing the chance to prove himself through carnage.


"OUR WAR DRUMS WILL RESOUND SO LOUDLY THAT WE WILL ROUT THE ENEMY BEFORE THEY EVEN SEE US ON THE HORIZON!"


Alexandria Meduchos hummed under her breath, the melodious notes causing those around her to perk up, jolts of energy pushed into their bodies. Around her feet, the grass withered and died, the music draining the lifeforce from the vegetation and using it to bolster her allies.


"WE WILL SHATTER THEIR CITIES, BREAK THEIR LABORATORIES, TURN THEIR DARK FORGES INTO NOTHING MORE THAN RUBBLE!"


Perses of the Parhelion simply smiled, enormous forge-hammer spinning within his grasp in a mesmerizing rhythm. On his back, he carried a sack filled to the brim with trinkets and all manner of scrap, and at his command, it began to dance around him, a whirling dervish of pointed metal death.


"WE WILL BE A TRIBULATION ON OUR FOES, STRIKING AS HARD AND AS FAST AS THE LIGHTNING THAT RAINS FROM THE HEAVENS!"


Ralia Katona hefted her twin bone axes with a savage smile, beast-hide armor glowing with arcane symbols passed down through the Katona line for thousands of years. With a flex of her fingers, lightning began to crackle around her weapons, the power of the storm released from the beast cores within.


"THE ENTIRE WORLD IS HERE AT OUR SIDE TODAY, THE SPIRITS OF THOSE LOST TO THE MAZE'S DEPRAVITIES URGING US ONWARDS!"


Xin Shen smiled softly as he tended to his bound spirits. Five elemental spirits, one for each element, stood around the man as he performed last minute adjustments, casting his various sorceries on his contracted elementals and fiddling with their bindings, obsessively finishing his last minute preparations.


"BEARING THE PANOPLY OF OUR ANCESTORS, WE SHALL DO THEM PROUD AS WE STRIDE INTO THE ABYSS WITHOUT HESITATION!"


Peng Zihua, Princess of the 60 Kingdom Alliance, stood tall and confident under the weight of the massive array of talismans and treasures she bore on her person. Each one was the life's work of a single masterful artisan, entire lifetimes spent to gird a single woman and protect her from the dangers within the Poison Maze.


"WE SHALL NEVER BACK DOWN, WE SHALL NEVER SURRENDER, WE WILL KEEP ON GOING NO MATTER WHAT WE FACE WITHIN THIS DEVILISH MAZE!"


And finally, there was Constantine Nikeodemos, the Ninth Prince's new aide, preeminent scion of his mighty dynasty. Festooned with antediluvian artifacts reclaimed from the unfathomably deep mausoleum of House Nikeodemos, his armored figure seemed to radiate assured power. Above his head fluttered the ancient Banner of Nike, flying proudly from a grand pike, which brought strength to all that fought under it's aegis and terror to those that opposed their march. He stood as a walking reminder of the Golden Devil Clan's grand history and the Sea Conquering Army's enduring legacy, ready to bring their wrath against the latest foe foolish enough to cross them.


"IF WE EMERGE IT WILL BE WITH THE PRISONERS WITHIN CHUNWANG OR NOT AT ALL! I SWEAR THIS OATH TO ALL PRESENT, THE HYDRA WILL NOT LEAVE THE POISON MAZE UNTIL OUR WORK IS DONE!"


But under the imposing visage of the Cobalt Helm, Constantine wasn't feeling much like any of this. In fact, if his skin were not flush with the distinctly bronze of a healthy bloodline, it would be a rather deathly pallor. Because in that moment, gazing upon the efficacy of the Poison Crushing Siege, and preparing to plunge into this literal hellscape, something had finally occurred to the young man.


"GLORY OR DEATH!!!!!"


"... I may have made an error in judgment."

 

[Kaboomatic]

Delivered to the hands of Jin Shufeng, Chosen of the Noble Knowledge Sect, via spirit snake messenger.

Dear Jin Shufeng,

Guess what!

Well, I assume you've already guessed based on the fact that I'm sending you this letter but the exact mechanics of this are essentially irrelevant, especially since I can quite honestly and enthusiastically say I don't give a solitary fuck. Indeed, I'm actively hoping that the anticipation and dread you're most certainly building up as I continue this rambling is going to fuck with you.

But! Even knowing that I'm playing you like a Guzheng, you're not going to to skip to the good part, just in case I've somehow hidden some sort of secret or important message here, thinking that you'll skip this foreword in order to get to the good part. Seeing as I know that, however, I'm obviously not going to do something like that!

Or am I?

Well, either way, I've wasted enough of your time and energy, so I'll continue on to stating the obvious.

I'm not dead!

Meaning, that you, Jin Shufeng, Divination Prodigy and bearer of the Seven Star Auspicious Body or some other bullshit physique that I don't care to remember the name of, were wrong~

Doesn't that just burn? Doesn't that just tear at your very being, as the edifice you've built your entire life, personality, and philosophy on comes crumbling to the ground? It was already beginning to crack after you realized you couldn't foretell my future, but you rationalized that away, didn't you? Said that while your physique wasn't able to pierce through my fate line, your superlative mastery of traditional divination techniques was more than sufficient to do the trick. You probably patted yourself on the back for having had the foresight to plan for the situational eventuality in which your powers didn't work, never mind the fact that those techniques were for spying on Nascent Souls and (more recently) Single Pillar Kings.

But now?

Now that you don't even have that, how are you going to justify it this time? Are you going to proclaim that this is all an elaborate lie, created by a Golden Devil, one of your rivals within the sect, or a simple garden variety enemy, in order to mess with your head and make you think that your divination skills were unable to work? If so, how are you going to explain what I exposed earlier? After all, nobody but my snakes and myself were around for our little conversation in Qigai, and while you might believe that my snakes would do this to fuck with you (they totally would by the way), where's your proof? They do certainly have means, motive, and opportunity but…

Actually, there's no 'but' here, this could entirely be a method of psychological warfare concocted by my contracted beasts in order to make you doubt your own divination abilities. And even if it isn't, the mere thought that it might be should be enough to cause you to spiral into a serpent-hole of theories and counter theories as you wrap your own mind in knots.

Of course, then there are the easily verifiable sightings of me out and about doing heroic things and preparing for this Century's trials, so that's right out. I might be an illusion. Indeed there are a few schools of thought and very creepy minor sects that say that reality itself is an illusion, but one detailed enough that nobody knows it's fake.

There's a lovely crater where one of those sects used to be, after they tried to kill me via trapping me in an illusion. Seeing as I'm writing you this letter, they obviously failed.

At the same time though, I'm not an illusion. If I was, you'd be able to tell, seeing as you'd be able to scry the fake Ninth Prince. I suspect you've done enough trials to know that whatever makes me unscryable doesn't extend to illusions and facsimiles of me.

The second option is, of course, that you say that I'm a spirit, some sort of lingering will that's been persisting through sheer force of will and desire to gloat. Or perhaps, I've managed to fake my death in a way that technically satisfies prophecy. You'll say that I'm lawyering my way around my own demise. Maybe I'll have been a ghost for a while, long enough for my death to 'count', before returning to life? Will you say that there's been an enormous conspiracy to hide my existence, or that I've managed to conceal my continued life from everyone, including the Golden Devils, until I made my triumphant return mere years ago? Is that how you're going to rationalize your massive failure as both a diviner and a human being?

If so, you'd be right.

Yes, as much as I hate you and everything you stand for, as much as I publicly call you absolutely insane to anyone and everyone who'll listen, I do have to admit that you're a rather good diviner.

An excellent one in fact. So much so that after you gave me that warning, I immediately began to plan, plot, and generally scheme, with total faith that you were right. I did this so well and so magnificently that I figured out a way to survive certain death. The only thing that matches the size of my prodigious throbbing intellect is the size of my equally prodigious, equally throbbing ego.

I managed this level of awe-inducing chicanery through a very specific interaction between a variety of incredibly secret treasures and techniques that I'll never tell you about, but the gist of it is that I died but persisted as a ghost, then got re-incarnated into my fleshy (well, metal) body as a regular cultivator.

Now, you might be asking 'Well, Ninth Prince, since you're so incredibly amazing and I'm so honored to be receiving a letter from you, what do you need this lowly Jin Shufeng to do? Also you're incredibly attractive.'

If you are, first of all, thank you. Second, you're a fucking idiot. Obviously the only purpose of this letter is to gloat consistently and continuously, until I've decided that the annoyance of taking time out of my incredibly busy schedule to write this thing exceeds the desire to mentally and emotionally distress you. I would have stopped about 900 words ago if it wasn't for the various atrocities you commit on a daily basis.

And they're not even the cool atrocities! I understand that you can't assassinate everybody, but really! Torture, enslavement, and experimentation? So three millennia ago. Poison is much more in vogue, especially poison that targets the Blood Path. So many fashionable things that you can do with targeting blood-aspected meridians and Dantians.

I'm obviously manipulating you, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm right, and you know it.

Anyways, the gloating is done for now. I can't be bothered to write out any more of this, especially considering that I have to enact so many preparations for the Hundred-Year Trials. I won't tell you about any of them, of course, because you'll probably use the information to further your nefarious ends, but rest assured that these preparations exist and they're both necessary to save lives and incredibly annoying.

Also, seeing as this letter is being pre-written before I die, I'm not sure what those preparations are. I know they'll happen but I'm pretty much just writing this so that once I both die and revive myself through the power of my monumental cognition, I'll have a letter written out explicitly to gloat with, no extra input needed. I'm that smart, that I can write a letter out a hundred years in advance and still have it be accurate, topical, and filled with the trademark charm, wit, and joie de vivre that nets me invitations to all the best parties.

Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that considering that you're a fucking nerd who sits around messing with fate and reading people like they're novels, but that's what happens when you don't have any friends. It is, as the youth say, not a good look.

Anyways, I do think I'm done gloating at you from a century in the past. If you're dead by the time this letter reaches you, ignore the above. If not, you should be. I hope you die. Go fall in a hole and bury yourself to save the gravedigger the trouble.

We are enemies after all.

Best Regards,

Ninth Prince
Terror of Jharkhand
Master of Ten-Thousand Serpents
Legate of the Hydra
Champion of the Sand Mammoths
Butcher of the Tongue-Boiling Sect
Better Than You
And a Variety of Other Titles, Each More Glorious Than the Last

P.S.: I totally did hide a message in my introduction. It's a modified Zhufeng Cipher with a code phrase and Qi signature that I'm not going to tell you because I despise you.

P.P.S.: No I didn't! You've just been made to look like an utter buffoon! This is why you shouldn't be a demonic evil torturing bastard! I do things like this to you! Well, also countless moral reasons but I doubt you care about those.

P.P.P.S: Or did I? You'll have to find out.

--------

Delivered to Fang Tai, Heir to the Seven Divine Saber Palace, via spirit snake messenger.

I lived bitch. Die mad about it.

Ninth Prince
Better Than You

A/N: Posting this early so as to have an omake out, just in case. The rest will be posted in a lump just before Occi starts reading my fates, because that's how I roll.

 

[Kaboomatic]

Delivered to the Ninth Prince by a puppeted corpse-thrall, sewn into its heart with webs of fate. The thrall gave quite the shock to a variety of Golden Devil staff, but as none of those who died or had to have their minds scrubbed of tainted influence were higher than the Fifth Stage of Qi Gathering, the sacrifice was considered negligible.

Ninth Prince,

To begin with, let me first congratulate you on the monumental feat of staying alive while technically dying. However, as it was my own prediction that allowed you to do so, I will be taking at least sixty percent of the credit for that particular maneuver, as without it you would have most certainly perished like an utter buffoon. As you yourself acknowledged, I am quite the excellent Diviner.

Responding to the points in your letter to me, I would first like to take umbrage with the 'variety of atrocities' you suggest that I've committed. Not with the acts themselves of course, I fully acknowledge and accept the fact that I've done those things. But, as always, you appear to be missing a crucial detail in your indictment of my moral character vis a vis the various things I've done over my time as a cultivator.

Atrocities are only atrocities if the people they affect matter.

I assume you've read the various novels regarding the lives of cultivators written by mortals, it very much seems like something you'd waste time on. Naturally, those novels are essentially wish fulfillment, a protagonist that domineeringly crushes everything in their path. Morality is determined by support or opposition, not good or evil, and 'atrocities' as you call them, are the same. While I do disagree with quite a lot of these novels, that core principle is still something to be acknowledged.

When the enemy lightly injures or offends a person the protagonist cares about, it's an offense worthy of clan extermination. When the protagonist boils an entire nation in a torture cauldron for ten thousand years, it's catharsis and justified.

And when either side wipes out or enslaves or experiments on an entire world's worth of unnamed characters, it's nothing at all.

The story of this world has already had its protagonist - the Soup Chef, naturally enough. There are no antagonists worth mentioning, locked to Nascent Soul as this region is. All that's left are, at best, tertiary and quaternary supporting characters. The rest are unnamed swathes of the unwashed masses, only there for the sake of worldbuilding.

Of course, there is certainly a limit in that regard - even narrative filler has worth, and torturing for torture's sake is meaningless. However, if I, a person, am to advance my own goals, it must be at the expense of the literary entities around me.

I am still astounded by your stubborn refusal to treat the characters around yourselves as characters, instead seeing them as people. Agency is the base requirement to be considered alive, and you know as well as I do that these are puppets jerked around by the strands of fate.

Still, we've had this debate before and I don't intend to rekindle it, especially in letter format. Instead, I come to you with an opportunity, one that I don't need my physique or divinatory abilities to know that you'll certainly take.

I've recently been stymied by a coalition of other Chosen of the Noble Knowledge Sect. I'd normally be free to tangle them in my web and play them for fools, but even trash has a weight of its own when gathered together. It's quite infuriating, really.

As such, I've decided to outsource.

Rest assured, this is most certainly a trap. I have my own nefarious designs at play here, and they will bring ruin to a variety of things that you know and love.

Even still, the opportunity to infiltrate the Noble Knowledge Sect, aided by its most likely future sect master, is far too great to pass up. And while I'm certainly the largest threat to the Righteous Path and the Golden Devils, you have the dossiers on the Chosen arrayed against me. You understand what they're capable of.

Am I manipulating you? Of course. I wish this wasn't the case, as two people unbarred from fate we should be aiding each other rather than opposing each other. However, until you let go of the false morals you have towards fictional characters, I must do so.

Either way, even with my manipulation, you'll still take the offer.

Enter through the west side of the Poison Maze, closest to the sea. From there, do exactly what I tell you. Even if a Core Formation Expert is eminently predictable, they are still powerful enough to crush us if you throw my readings off.

Unravel my plots, form counters of your own if you wish. Wreak havoc on my own sect and cripple its ability to assault the Righteous path. I , quite frankly, couldn't care less.

I await your arrival,

Jin Shufeng
No Other Titles Needed

P.S.: This isn't the only corpse-thrall I've sent out into Golden Devil lands, as I was unsure where exactly you were. If anybody other than yourself, a Single Pillar King, or a Nascent Soul touches them, they will explode violently into a generational curse spirit. You might wish to deal with that before it becomes a problem.

P.P.S.: In addition, I will not be called a 'fucking nerd' by a man who, according to reliable sources, alphabetizes his research papers. I will however acknowledge the friendless comment. Once more though, that's less of an insult than you might believe considering my knowledge of the nature of those around me.

P.P.P.S.: I will also be inviting Fang Tai, of the former Seven Divine Saber Sect. I could say this is part of a cunning plan to bring one of my greatest foes into the heart of my territory using a bait that he will be unable to pass up, pitting him against another group of lesser foes and profiting from the fallout. This is entirely correct.

A/N: The first of many. I wanted to do a drop of all of my omakes at once, but unfortunately some stuff is still stuck on a computer in my college dorm, so we'll see if I get it all in before it's time for me to run the caves. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

 

[Kaboomatic]

A variety of possible futures and outcomes seen by Jin Shufeng over the course of half a decade, recorded solely within the confines of his mind. All such futures relate to the Noble Knowledge Diviner's interactions with Fang Tai, specifically in an attempt to convince the Saber Cultivator to aid him.



A Corpse-Thrall is sent to Fang Tai's encampment within the remnants of the Seven Divine Saber Palace, in a similar fashion to the one sent to the Ninth Prince. A letter is written within its heart, only opening for Fang Tai.

Before the puppet can reach the outskirts of Saber territory and inflict true damage on its surroundings, Fang Tai is there, having sensed its curse fluctuations from within his tent. The Corpse Puppet is captured and sealed with contemptuous ease before being brought to a chamber hewn from stone with one stroke of a saber.

There, it is used as a tempering tool for the initiates of the Seven Divine Saber Palace, who train within its cursed aura, honing their sabers against the unholy energy and becoming practiced in the art of fighting demonic forces.

This results in a small but noticeable increase in the quality of the newer generation of the Saber Palace, increasing their prestige in the Righteous Coalition and gaining access to more resources while killing more Noble Knowledge disciples. A variety of promising blood puppets and poison farms are snuffed out before Jin Shufeng can obtain them, and the total amount of interesting characters and plot elements is lowered, Righteous Path killing more intriguing tertiary characters and possible Nascents than they preserve, though the number of quaternary characters does slightly increase. Throughout all of this, the corpse-puppet's heart is never opened, and the letter remains unread.

The idea is scrapped, opportunity cost too great to justify. Another future is woven.

-----

The Righteous Path's courier service is exploited, agents inserted into the mail system both created and activated, allowing Jin Shufeng to spoof a Righteous signature and deliver a message through the standard channels.

Fang Tai reads this message, though he demands the courier stay until the letter is finished. Then, without the unfortunate cultivator noticing, he stabs them through the throat.

A purge is enacted over the next few years, Fang Tai slaughtering his way up and down the Righteous Path's various systems of administration and communication. Over 95% of all Demonic Infiltrators - none of which are within Core Formation and thus none of which are a match for him - within the Coalition's ranks are introduced to the point of Fang Tai's saber.

When captured by Righteous Path Core Formation cultivators and brought before a Nascent Soul tribunal, Fang Tai produces the evidence of their treachery as well as the letter that sparked this. He's acquitted of all charges, and the Demonic Path's newfound information disadvantage leads to the failure of key assaults and stratagems, setting efforts back decades or more.

Jin Shufeng moves on to other avenues, deeming this tactic entirely useless.

-----

A minion of Jin Shufeng approaches Fang Tai with his offer directly, explaining the terms of the agreement, the exact details of Jin Shufeng's manipulations, and the exact reasons why even if this is manipulation, Fang Tai should and will take the deal. Nine Chosen of the Noble Knowledge Sect is far too great a prize to pass up, after all.

Fang Tai cuts the head off of the minion who made the offer. Then, he proceeds to challenge all nine Chosen to a duel at once, loudly detailing Jin Shufeng's attempts to manipulate him in the process. Of course, none of the Chosen agree to the duel, one versus nine as it is. Instead, the Noble Knowledge Sect erupts into minor civil war between Jin Shufeng's faction and the combined factions of the various Chosen.

Core Formation cultivators get involved, bioweapons and plagues are unleashed, the Poison Maze becomes a graveyard of the dead and dying. Many of the plot arcs Jin Shufeng was following with interest are abruptly wiped out and replaced with a standard civil war plotline, one with far more stakes but far less originality than the bevy of storylines originally occurring.

The plan is discarded once again. Another possibility is spun.

-----

Foes are placed in Fang Tai's path, each with a separate piece of a puzzle leading to an ancient Saber inheritance. Fang Tai cuts down each enemy with ease, seizing their pieces and reaching a cave in the heart of the Mountains. In that cave rests a clone of Jin Shufeng, waiting for Fang Tai with the offer and the message.

A variety of conversation paths are attempted here, divination and the Seven Stars Auspicious Body's unique properties being used to map out the flow of speech. All lead to the same outcome, even if some take a few minutes or hours longer than others.

Fang Tai reacts with suspicion and derision, unwilling to consider the idea of working with a Noble Knowledge member, especially Jin Shufeng. He also reacts negatively towards the clone, immediately realizing the false nature of the entity and growing enraged. A single stroke of the saber bisects the curse clone. The Plague Spirit within is slain easily, and the residue it leaves behind will taint the land for generations, becoming a minor obstacle for the Golden Devil forces that come to occupy the territory.

From there on, Fang Tai continues to be found on the Demonic/Righteous Front, reaping a great toll from the Noble Knowledge Sect and their erstwhile allies. Any changes in terms of kill count or narrative potential are ultimately negligible, other than increasing the Saber Cultivator's disfavor with Jin Shufeng. Not exactly a nemesis but slightly more than a powerful antagonist. A variety of arcs and interactions open up between him and Fang Tai, though none that end particularly well.

The best option so far, no inherently negative outcomes. The thread is only partially abandoned, and Jin Shufeng opens his eyes to a similar - yet very distinct - fate.

-----

The foes placed in Fang Tai's path are all of the Noble Knowledge Sect, patsies and unimportant plot threads being pruned from Jin Shufeng's web of stories. Fang Tai is easily enlightened as to exactly what manipulations he's undergoing. This doesn't dissuade him, however, and the Saber Cultivator reaches the end of the trail Jin Shufeng has set, in the same cave in the mountains.

This time, no clone of Jin Shufeng waits for him. No, this time, it's the real thing. With life-saving treasures of course, but even still.

The same web of conversation paths, the same techniques used to map out the flow of speech. It's easier than the previous attempt due to the similarities - Jin Shufeng is able to use far more inference than he normally allows himself, and thus his fate-reading senses aren't as strained. Eventually, he finds that all threads lead to the same outcome, though admittedly a more positive outcome than before.

Fang Tai initially reacts with suspicion and derision, but eases up once he realizes - with mild shock - that the real Jin Shufeng is actually here. From there, the Noble Knowledge Chosen is able to steer the conversation towards slightly more favorable paths, most notably that Fang Tai doesn't immediately kill him. Conversation deteriorates in most paths, and even without his fate-sight, Jin Shufeng can see the exact moment Fang Tai decides that killing him (or at least removing one of his life-saving treasures) is worth more than killing nine Noble Knowledge Chosen, regardless of how dangerous they might be.

The unfortunate thing is that Jin Shufeng agrees with Fang Tai's assessment of the situation. If his plans pay off, the favored son of the Noble Knowledge Sect will be far more of a threat than any nine ordinary Chosen put together. Insomuch as any Chosen can be 'ordinary' of course.

The fate line ends with Jin Shufeng being cut down with a single saber stroke, a life-saving treasure used in order to save him from the attack. By the time he returns to the Noble Knowledge Sect, the story has already spread, and attacks from the various Chosen opposing him grow bolder and more ferocious - though never escalating to the point of outright war. Ultimately, this doesn't change the end outcome of Jin Shufeng killing every single Chosen and then being attacked by all of their Core Formation Masters at once(most likely at the behest of his own Nascent Soul teacher - the old lady's been growing quite suspicious as of late).

For however long he remains alive though, the Fang Tai plot arc remains the same, Saber Cultivator taking a more personal interest in him and becoming half-a-step between a powerful antagonist and a nemesis.

Jin Shufeng sighs, vaguely disappointed. That was the last option he had available to him, and none of these possible futures were of any benefit to him. The best option was the loss of a clone and things staying as they were. With a resigned nod, the Chosen shelves the idea of Fang Tai aiding his project in the Noble Knowledge Sect.

Some things, he muses, just aren't meant to be.

A/N: And here we see the thought process of a master diviner. Bit convoluted, but I wanted to try out a new style of writing. Hopefully it works, but you'll have to be the judge of that. I hope you enjoy.

 

[Kaboomatic]

The following is an imperfect record of the journey of Fang Tai from the lands of the weakened Seven Divine Saber Palace to the Noble Knowledge Sect's Poison Maze, recreated from thirdhand accounts, excerpts from the several thousand biographies written about the Chosen in question, and the scars of the battles he engaged in during this time period. Historians are still unsure as to what caused him to undergo this trip to begin with, but many speculate that it was the Saber Chosen's famed intuition that led him on the path he took. Ultimately, however, only three beings know the truth of what occurred in the Poison Maze that decade, and none of them are willing to share.

---

Scraps of a mortal's remembrance of a conversation had with Fang Tai after he saved their village from a Blood Path raiding party. The memories had to be pried from the mortal's corpse, as Fang Tai left them unprotected after he killed the Blood Path belligerents. As this was within the Devil Bee sphere of influence, the village was quickly overrun a week or so later.

Mortal: How can we ever repay you for this milord?!

Fang Tai, severely irritated: Shut up, get out of my way. I have places to be.

Mortal, questioning and confused: Surely you can stay long enough for us to throw you a festival or prepare a grand feast?

Fang Tai, somehow more irritated than before: Nope. Need to get to the Poison Maze. Move before I make you move.

Mortal, shocked at the mere thought of going near such an evil place: Milord! Why would you ever go anywhere near such an evil place?!

Fang Tai, idly considering whetting his saber with human blood: That doesn't matter. Leave. Now.

Mortal, finally getting the hint as they watch Fang Tai unsheathe his Saber: Y-YES MILORD!

---

A scouting report from the outriders of the Ma Clan, group Bear fifty-one. The report is vague and infuriatingly unclear in places, partially due to the fact that if any of the spies got within range of Fang Tai's perceptive abilities they would be cut down in an instant. Even still, two thirds of the observers that trailed the Saber chosen found themselves without limbs or working internal organs. The Ma Clan Khaganate considered it a welcome price to pay in order to gain information on such a dangerous threat and produce accurate threat responses.

Subject Hawk Seven Wolf Two, designation: Calamity was spotted heading west northwest from the lower corner of our territories. Though we were cloaked and far out of range, the faintest tinges of killing intent were still able to be sensed. It is this agent's professional opinion that designation: Calamity is hunting someone or something, most likely to the detriment of any who get in his way. As such, I cannot recommend engaging with any of our forces; in addition, I would suggest evacuation procedures for any settlements and outposts within the threat radius of the target.

---

The following is an excerpt from a popular saga told among mortals, regarding a brave saber wielder that vanquished evil wherever he went, eventually descending into the very depths of hell itself to fight demons for eternity. Normally, it would be clear that this was about Fang Tai, however certain other elements make it far muddier. Most notably, the saga waxes rhapsodic about the hero's desire to save the weak and protect those who can't protect themselves, and entire stanzas are written about the hero's kindness and generosity. It's possible that the hero wasn't just one Chosen, but rather a synthesis of those such as Rina Callista, the Ninth Prince, Xu Zhen, and more morally inclined cultivators. On the other hand, it could simply be mortals seeing some of Fang Tai's genuinely good qualities and adding additional ones on top of those, so as to fit the current cultural conception of a hero. Ultimately, there's no way to know for sure.

And lo did the hero set out upon his quest across the blasted plains, searching for the access gem that would allow him entrance into the bowels of hell. For the hero, while wise and courageous, was also canny and clever. He knew that to rush in unprepared was to be torn apart by legions of foul demons and their traitorous minions, for within the depths of hell were beings far more powerful than him.

Instead, our hero, dear listener, had a plan. The temple that contained the sacred gem was built into the cliff of a living mountain, one that shone with an inner light. The hero, it is said, meditated in front of the mountain for twenty days and twenty nights, until his soul was so perfectly attuned to the radiance of the edifice that it was unclear where the mountain ended and our hero began.

Armed with this new inner peace, the hero began to scale the mountain using nothing but his hands and his saber. Initially, the climb was slow and arduous, the mountain recognizing the hero as part of itself and wishing to absorb him into its heart. But, with wit and skill and a sharpened saber, the hero warded off the living boulders and earth spirits sent after him until he finally reached the top, claiming his prize and descending the mountain to continue his travels.

But this was no means the final stretch of his journey, my friends, and many more trials and tribulations await our erstwhile hero before his prize is reached.

Come back tomorrow night, and hear the next leg in this thrilling journey!

---

The following is taken from the babbled mutterings of a horrified member of the Great Blood Gem Sect, a minor demonic sect under the Noble Knowledge Clan's patronage. This Sect, whose only core formation elder was grievously wounded half a century prior to Fang Tai crossing their path, was located atop a living mountain that they'd enslaved with demonic runes and ruthless bindings, a monument to their power.

H-he…

He destroyed all of it.

The sect, the temple, all of our greatest experts…

All fell to his saber.

All of them… gone, just like that. I don- I don't think he even tried. Just, one, two, three swipes of that fucking saber and they all fell over.

I remember giggling a bit, because they looked like tenpins all knocked over in a row. How stupid is that! My Sectmates were dying an-

And-

Here the recollection is paused, as the speaker vomits violently onto the historian's shoes. Judging by the clearness of said expulsion, it's apparent that the speaker has been vomiting as a trauma response quite a lot.

…Sorry.

An-

And then he found the Grand Elder. And then we saw the Grand Elder was wounded and all our hopes just…

Crumbled.

It was barely a fight, the BLOOD GEM BROKE, the only time it even lo-looked even w-was when the Grand Elder st-star-started…

Started eating his disciples!

E-even that wasn't enough.

I don't know why he let me live. Maybe I wasn't a threat, maybe he just didn't care…

…Maybe he wanted someone to tell people what'd happened, so that everyone knew who'd murdered my entire sect in cold blood.

The speaker looks up at the historian with a dead eyed expression.

There. I've told you everything I know. Can I go now?

Naturally, the speaker was executed immediately. Demonic Path members are Demonic Path members after all, and if Fang Tai wanted this record of his deeds spread, we were far better positioned to do such a thing than a Qi Gathering Blood Path cultivator.

---

The following is taken from a casualty report delivered to a Noble Knowledge Core Formation Cultivator. The Core Formation Cultivator immediately binned the offending piece of writing due to its implausibility, executing the messenger who brought it to them on the spot. After all, casualty numbers such as those had to be exaggerations, used to cover up a disciple's own failings. Through a series of coincidences, namely a Chu Clan spy recovering the document alongside a pile of five thousand others in a deep cover mission, we are privileged to have it today.

Five thousand Qi Gathering cultivators dead, none recoverable. Two thousand Foundation Building cultivators dead or severely injured, 500 merely severely wounded, 250 permanently crippled.

Four of our minor cultivation aids have been permanently destroyed, another has been defiled by some sort of foreign qi. Testing is still ongoing to determine what type of weapon qi is present, projections have the research completed in three month's time.

Our spider pits in the sector have been slightly more than decimated, one in eight of the beasts killed. The trail of destruction appears to be leading towards the domiciles of some of our top Chosen, the nine Paragons and Jin Shufeng.

We of the Recording Hall await further instructions.

The passage, as with every other text from the Noble Knowledge Sect, was subject to five levels of destruction and scanned for any memetic hazards. Upon coming up clean, we were given permission to publish it.

A/N: A continuation of my earlier more 'found footage' style, this time taking an outside look in at everyone's favorite jerk with a heart of coal, Fang Tai. I hope you enjoy.

 

[Kaboomatic]

The easiest thing to do was to just stop caring. So, he did.

It wasn't easy, of course, carving out his emotions and his conscience with the metaphysical equivalent of a jagged spoon was both incredibly painful and supremely dangerous. But he was the Ninth Prince, and that sort of thing didn't really rate any true level of difficulty for him. All he needed was a few months to tweak the formulae, some help from the second consciousness hitching a ride on his soul – the Ninth Prince really did enjoy having an extra version of himself around, it made things like this far easier than they usually were – and about five gallons of pig fat, and the spiritual lobotomy went off without a hitch.

Well, he said spiritual lobotomy, but it was really more like a spiritual partition. The part of him that would've thrown himself at every suffering innocent within the Noble Knowledge Sect and burnt the place to ashes to save even a single mortal was still there, just a bit suppressed. Walled off for a while, just until his visit was done

There was no use getting himself killed by a mob of angry Cores for no reason after all. It was a tragedy of course, what they were doing to these innocent mortals, but in cases like these, one had to think about economies of scale, about practicality, about pragmatism. By making sure he survived, the Ninth Prince would be able to help far more people in the future than he would if he died here. Thus, the partition.

He'd say this much about the partition's effectiveness at least, it was definitely preventing him from murdering the cultivators guiding him through the Poison Maze.

'Hold. I don't enjoy it any more than you do, this sort of rabble being around us, but until such time as our goals are met here, we must bear this burden.'

And there was the Old Prince, right on cue. The Ninth Prince understood, he really did. Without these Foundation Building Experts to guide him, he would most likely have fallen to the confines of the maze. Not to the traps of course, he was a mind trained in the styles of the Fifth Sea, and such a labyrinth as this was unable to halt his advance. No, in this case it was the protective amulet around his wrist and the escort of Noble Knowledge Cultivators that lent credence to the snake-man's disguise and prevented him from being torn apart by a gaggle of Core Formation Cultivators.

The Ninth Prince's guards had learned quickly to not talk – either to themselves or their escort/captive. Even if his soul had been pruned of all of those unhelpful emotions and urges, they were still complete strangers, on opposing sides of a war at that. Any wrong move on their parts and the Noble Knowledge Disciples were sure to die. One already had, slain for suggesting that the Ninth Prince give knowledge to the Posion Maze and receive Qi in return.

Making a pact, transferring essence with something far more powerful than him and with unclear motives? If there were easier ways to die a messy and painful death, the Ninth Prince had no intentions of ever learning them.

And then of course, there were the Ninth Prince's contracted beasts. Ulo, Kha, Li, and Ya, and Raj had assumed their standard positions in the Super Serpent Formation – Raj on the Ninth Prince's head, Kha, Li, and Ya coiled around his arm, and Ulo's head being used as a platform and a mount. While the enormous tarp and note reading 'do not look – Jin Shufeng' was a bit restrictive, the serpents found ways to consume every lizard and spider and poisonous beast that they came across in the Poison Maze, despite both the Ninth Prince and Old Prince's half-hearted pleas to stop.

From a purely pragmatic perspective, it was a good way to reduce the Noble Knowledge Sect's power in a minor fashion without any complaint. From a pride perspective, both Anush Naags (Anushes Naag? They were still workshopping it) took quite a bit of satisfaction in affirming that their partners were the best Spirit Beasts around.

Very stressful for the guards though. It'd be a shame, or it would be if any of the Fifth Sea expatriates gave a solitary fuck about the five Noble Knowledge Cultivators' feelings.

Still, it was a relief for all parties involved when the first signs of finishing this torturously tedious travel were upon them. The air grew colder, a faint whisper that chilled souls along with bodies. Something heavy pressed down upon the air, the feeling of being watched, every move dissected, evaluated, and judged.

The guards darted back and forth, never staying in one position for too long. The Ninth Prince supposed he could see why; the gimlet eyes staring out of the shadows at them were a bit of a mood killer.

'This Jin Shufeng is such a dramatist.' The Old Prince said to him, smirking. 'I mean, hallucinogenic mist? So last century, even for these Virtuous Flipper fashions.'

'Exactly!' The Ninth Prince thought, trusting that his mental words would be carried to his older counterpart. 'I'll give him some credit for the shadow-beasts and the hanging vines though, those do add a touch of class.'

'I suppose. Very Dark Forest Chic. Not a fully terrible aesthetic, especially when paired up with the fate throughline he's quite obviously attempting. The red string webs, on the other hand, are a touch too ostentatious.'

'They need to be darker.'

'They need to be darker! As is, it draws the eye from the true threats, absolutely ruining the atmosphere that he's trying to create.'

'Effective though, especially as a tool of combat.'

'Yes… I can see how that would work, blinding enemies to the true threat at hand. Not a bad idea, but there must be a way to do it while preserving the aesthetic, no?'

'Of course, but you can see how he's already doing that, can't you? Especially as we get farther in, the bright red blends in with the vines, creating some stunni-Ah.'

'What do you mea- Ah.'

'Blood. Tortured corpses of mortals too. Can't say I'm a particularly large fan of that visual choice, but then again, it's certainly striking.'

'Too gauche for my tastes. Blood is overused, especially by the Demonic Path. Perhaps for something like the Bear Enslavement Sect. Chu Clan could do some interesting things with the aesthetic as well. I do suppose it's better than the Demonic Altar Sect or the Battle Blood Cannibals, but even still.'

'I'll concede that point. Ultimately, it's irrelevant. If our foes want to have tacky décor, we have no obligation to do anything but point and lau-'

The Ninth Prince was cut off from his little critique of the aesthetics surrounding Jin Shufeng's lair by a sharp nudge by Raj, thoroughly uninterested as he was. Kha, Li, and Ya on the other hand protested the interruption, though they were slapped down quickly enough by Ulo. Metaphorically, of course.

In any case, as the Ninth Prince looked around, the reason for such an abrupt cessation quickly became apparent.

Five corpses lay in various states of disarray and dismemberment around them. Some were sliced to ribbons, others were burnt nearly to ashes, and the final one had seemingly had her soul ripped out of her body.

The Ninth Prince blinked, vaguely surprised. Then he turned around, lunging forward in a lightning thrust of his spear.

Naturally, Jin Shufeng deflected it, spinning the essence of the woman he'd just killed into a paper-thin thread. The two Chosen watched detachedly as the cultivator's soul frayed and broke, forever barred from the cycle of reincarnation.

"Jin Shufeng." The Ninth Prince said, hand still on his spear. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but realistically I'd prefer to do so with my spear buried into your back."

"Anush Naag." Jin Shufeng smiled laconically, spreading his hands. "Your speech patterns are different." He said, ignoring the death threat with the practiced ease of one who received seven a day. "I'd assume some sort of soul preparation before entering the Poison Maze, but I can assure you that nothing like that will be needed."

"Forgive me if I don't trust your word." The Ninth Prince raised a single metallic eyebrow, striking position never dropping. "I know three things about the current situation. One: I'm deep within enemy lines. Two: I'm alone but for my contracted beasts. Three: I'm definitely being manipulated. Hopefully in a way that helps me, but most likely in a way that leads to you doing experiments on my soul."

"Don't be silly." Jin Shufeng said, and the Ninth Prince could see madness in those eyes. Oh, he hid it well. He'd had to, growing up in a place like this. But the Ninth Prince, for all his egoism and willful ignorance, was still a master at reading the minds of men and beasts. The signs were clear as day for one such as him. "As true humans, we have to stick together, even if you're far too stubborn about your beliefs in the valuations of these characters." indication.

Ignorant of the Ninth Prince's internal monologue, Jin Shufeng continued speaking as if his previous sentence wasn't one of the weirdest things imaginable. "Please, come in." He said, pointing not at the ostentatiously sinister palace in front of them but rather a small tunnel leading into a darkened cave. "We have much to talk about, and I presume you want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

The Ninth Prince side-eyed his older self (internally of course). Even though they'd come this far, did they really want to continue? Both knew in their hearts that if they stepped into that cave, there was no turning back.

'What choice do we have?' The Old Prince asked. 'The ends justify the discomfort, don't they?'

The Ninth Prince nodded, steeling his resolve. He'd already turned off his brain's moral center months ago. This wasn't any harder pill to swallow. So, with no further hesitation, Anush Naagh nodded to Jin Shufeng. "Alright. Let's get this over with then."

Then, step by step, he moved deeper into the shadow, until the darkness swallowed him whole.

A/N: And finally, we get to take a look at the actual hero of our story, the Ninth Prince! Complete with asshole-but-helpful older self/mentor and a far too cheery attitude for his current situation. Will it pay off? Only time will tell. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

 

[Kaboomatic]

'Hmmm. Homier than I expected.'

The Ninth Prince had to agree. When he first stepped into the blackness that was the entrance to Jin Shufeng's lair – and it most certainly was a lair, because people like Jin Shufeng didn't have homes or offices, they had lairs – he'd expected a horrific torture chamber, filled with experiments and screaming souls.

Instead, he'd gotten a library.

Sure, some of the books were certainly vile tomes, things with malign intelligences, with hungry maws and razor teeth, with locks that opened only when dripped with the hearts blood of children. But the vast majority of them were simple stories. Narratives of all sorts, from romance to drama to mystery. Some were penned by cultivators – a rare few had the mark of Old Bookbinder, the Nascent Soul who'd had a dao of authorship, who'd died centuries ago while observing the Demonic Altar for inspiration – but most were the works of mortals.

The Ninth Prince even recognized a few books he'd read, though the library encompassed far more than that. After all, most of his time was spent cultivating, not sitting around reading like a nerd. Though he definitely was one of those, with how much time he'd spent poring over theses and research papers.

Beyond the roughly heaped books that obscured every wall and most of the floor in disorganized piles, the only other thing in Jin Shufeng's lair was an enormous…

…Well, the Ninth Prince wasn't really sure what it was to be honest. An enormous board, the kind of planning map seen in war rooms, festooned with notes and papers. Attached to it by a series of colored pins were strings, some leading to novels, others leading to stacks of documents, yet others leading to even smaller boards, each with their own red strings.

His musings were cut off by Jin Shufeng. "Impressive, isn't it?" The diviner said, voice filled with pride.

Having absolutely zero clue what he was looking at, the Ninth Prince fell back on his oldest and greatest skill. Bullshitting.

"Mmn. Horrific is a better term for it." He said, outwardly unimpressed. "I mean really, couldn't you have a better organizational system than this? The color coding is a nice touch, I'll give you that much, but the rest?" He tutted. "I expected more from you."

'Passable work. Next time, throw in something about the Red Strings, they're obviously fate related.'

'I could have, sure, but we don't know what sort of fate they're related to. Best to keep it vague, yeah?'

'Fair point.'

While this mental banter was going on, Jin Shufeng was letting the criticism roll of his back. "The system works for me, and the added security on my fate web is worth the incomprehensibility. After all, I don't generally let outside observes in here unless I'm planning to kill them."

So that was what this was. A record of Jin Shufeng's predictions and divination, tangled and webbed as it were? Now that was a prize worth taking. Or… Copying was probably a better idea. "Fair enough." He said, seeming only vaguely interested in the idea. Too much disinterest was obviously fake, best to keep a small amount if intrigue in his voice. "Now, what can you give me regarding the Chosen you want me to kill? Let's get this over with."

Jin Shufeng chuckled, pulling out a series of jade slips and gesturing to a series of absurdly comfy looking chairs. "Everything you'd need to know about the Chosen you'll be facing is in here. Individually, they're powerful but not a match for you. If you pick them off one by one, while I lay in wait to deal with any unforeseen circumstances, they should be no trouble whatsoever."

The Ninth Prince nodded, carefully prodding each slip with his soul sense as he leaned back in one of the plush seats, the only thing stopping him from groaning in relief being his quite literal iron will. No traps. Unexpected but a welcome surprise for sure. "Does one of these jade slips have a way for us to communicate?"

Jin Shufeng nodded, pointing to an earring – carved out of jade and engraved with arcane symbols – amidst the pile of slips. "Put the earring on, and as long as you stay within the Poison Maze, we'll be able to speak as if we were right next to each other." The Diviner said, pointing to a matching earring that he was wearing.

Outwardly, the Ninth Prince nodded, inspecting the earring. Internally, however, he was speaking to the Old Prince. 'I've already done a scan on this thing, but I'd appreciate your aid too.'

The Old Prince nodded, mental projection furrowing his brows. After a moment, he nodded, clearly a little surprised. 'Nothing wrong, as far as I can tell. Jin Shufeng appears to be perfectly honest in his current dealings.'

'…That feels wrong, like some core law of the world is being violated. Well, more so than they normally are already.'

'It appears that he truly does see us as another human being instead of a narrative. Good, this makes our job quite a bit easier.'

'I suppose, but it's still horrible.'

'Mmn. Onto better news, I'm able to spoof the signal with ease. Whenever you want, I can switch the listening device onto a fake retelling of events, just in case something happens that we want to conceal.'

'Perfect. Allows us far more leeway in terms of what sabotage we'll be able to per-'

"You're speaking with someone." The Ninth Prince's internal banter was cut off by Jin Shufeng's pointed words. The Noble Knowledge Chosen had abandoned his easy lounging posture, instead straightening up and leaning forward, dissecting every aspect of their encounter. "Mentally, of course. My senses are excellent, I'd be able to tell if you were vocalizing."

"Not to your snakes…" Jin Shufeng said, mind seven heavens away, cutting off the Ninth Prince's point before he could make it. "If you were, they would also be reacting. Instead, the large one hasn't moved from his guard position since he arrived in my abode, the hydra's been pretending to bicker amongst itself while priming a volley of metallic acid, and the cobra's scanning for any hidden threats. They're well trained and quite intelligent, you should be proud." He smiled, sincerely giving the compliment.

The Ninth Prince had never forgotten that Jin Shufeng was one of the few cultivators on his level in terms of intelligence and foresight. That being said, he appeared to have forgotten the heights such a level were on.

'Ironic, how our failure in this regard has come from our humility.'

'Yep.' The Ninth Prince thought, popping the P. After all, there was no point in hiding it any farther, right? Jin Shufeng had already seen through their little deception.

Speaking of. "No Qi fluctuations either, any speech you're undergoing is entirely internal. I'd assume soul-based, what with how close your reaction times are to messages." Jin Shufeng sat up, inordinately pleased with himself. "Something's living in your soul, and you've been speaking with it for years at the very least."

"Congratulations." The Old Prince said, a Qi Construct vocalizing externally. Before the Ninth Prince could protest, his older self had partially manifested in the middle of Jin Shufeng's lair, a mental prod waving off all objections. "You would be correct. I am what you may know as a guardian spirit, a defending will against soul attacks. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'd prefer our visit to begin and end with my spear buried into your back."

The diviner's eyes narrowed, searching for any sign of falsehood. Well well well, it seemed like Jin Shufeng didn't fully trust him after all. Smart, the Ninth Prince certainly reciprocated the feeling. Still, after a few moments, the Noble Knowledge Chosen settled back down, waving the 'guardian spirit' off with an easy chuckle. "My my, why so hostile? I've been nothing but a perfect host, have I not?"

Here the Ninth Prince interjected, even as the Old Prince withdrew himself into his soul with a smug 'I told you so'. "Well, you are an amoral mass murderer, torturer, and war criminal. Not to mention we're on opposing sides."

To this, Jin Shufeng's smile only widened. "But beyond that?"

The Ninth Prince actually caught himself barking out a laugh. His ability to appreciate a witty comeback was morality-agnostic after all. "Fair enough, I suppose." The conversation paused awkwardly there, and the Ninth Prince took the ensuing minute of silence to get the fuck out of there.

"I'll be heading out then." He said, standing up from the surprisingly comfortable chairs that the two were sitting at. "Best to get this over with as quickly as possible so I can leave this atrocious place."

"It's no-" Jin Shufeng paused mid-laugh. "Well, I suppose it would be considered atrocious to someone such as you." His face turned grave, the Diviner abruptly becoming far more serious. "You have the dossiers, you have the benefit of everything I am able to give you. If you die now, this will be your fault, not mine."

By this point, the Ninth Prince was already out the door.

As he exited the shadowed cave and entered the blood-soaked forest, the heir to the Naag was interrupted by another mental prod from his older counterpart. 'I'll be going back to scout the area.' The Old Prince said, confident to the point of arrogance.

'That seems like a terrible idea.' The Ninth Prince rebutted, barely able to hide the shock in his voice. 'The traps alo-'

'The traps,' the Old Prince laughed, 'Won't be an issue. They all use fate-based methods of detection, pinging off of his unique constitution besides, and since we're both shielded from Jin Shufeng's divinatory gaze…'

The Ninth Prince nodded internally, finishing his older self's sentence. '…We'll be able to get around it! Genius!' Something occurred to him however, a dim spark in his mind that struggled to get out. 'What about Jin Shufeng himself? He's most certainly got other countermeasures lined up now that he knows we're alive, wouldn't he?'

The Old Prince just smiled, enigmatic and above it all. 'Don't worry about that. Jin Shufeng might have other detection techniques, but I have my own stealth techniques. Trust me, I'll be fine.'

After a moment's hesitation, the Ninth Prince nodded placidly. 'Fair enough. Alright, feel free to go for it.' Even as the Old Prince muttered that he most certainly didn't need his younger self's permission, the Ninth Prince continued walking, secure in his decision.

After all, if he couldn't trust himself, who could he trust?

A/N: Oooh, a bit ominous there! Who knows what's in store for everyone's favorite xianxia shonen protagonist? Well, except for maybe Rina. Or Wei Feng. Or Katha. Or Gai- Okay, Gaius is more of a Seinen protagonist but you get the idea. Even still, you'll just have to find out what's about to happen in the next installment! I hope you enjoy.

 

[Kaboomatic]

Recorded below is a transcript of the conversation between Jin Shufeng and the Old Prince after the spiritual construct intentionally triggered one of the Noble Knowledge Chosen's array of traps that did not indeed ping off of fate-based methods of detection.

The transcript was committed to memory, preserved perfectly, then enchanted with a heretical fate curse that would bring seven generations of misfortune upon a reader during the most pivotal moment of their life; this curse would later be the doom of a Great Drunkard Sect Chosen as his battle-wine was revealed to have been brewed improperly. The resulting explosion wiped out seventy Foundation Establishment cultivators, greatly wounded a Drunkard Core Elder, and allowed the Poison Maze to expand another 2 li in the south.

Jin Shufeng: Hello there. Said in a tone of feigned bemusement. You're the Ninth Prince's spirit puppet, yes? Jin Shufeng begins walking towards the Old Prince, currently encased in a prison of light.

The Old Prince: No, and I do believe you already knew that. The prison begins to crack as the Old Prince glows with a far greater incandescence. Jin Shufeng takes a step back.

Jin Shufeng, smiling soullessly: Why, there's no need for that, now is there? While you're indeed far too lively to be a puppet, that doesn't mean we must fight. Tell me, said in a dangerously casual tone, spinning a three-foot tall needle between his fingers, does the Ninth Prince know you've made this visit?

The Old Prince, whose grin is poisonous with malice: In part. The Light Prison explodes, showering Jin Shufeng with fragments of hardened solar Qi. The Diviner's needle halts for a moment, before poking out with preternatural awareness to skewer each fragment. Mmn. Acceptable. He knows of this expedition, though not perhaps its true nature.

Jin Shufeng, unamused: I highly doubt that one such as him would fail to notice this duplicity.

The Old Prince, even more smug than before: Not anymore.

Jin Shufeng, realization dawning: The soul preparations? A delighted smile, cold and cruel. You're his awareness, the severed parts of his temporary lobotomy. If you don't aid him, he's dulled and slow.

The Old Prince, somehow even more smug: Not quite. A good guess though, with the information you have at hand.

Jin Shufeng, metaphorically frothing at the mouth to learn this new piece of information but burying it under an ice-cold façade: Then what would the truth be?

The Old Prince, rapidly reaching the maximum levels of smugness possible for cultivator, beast, or spirit: You tie yourself into knots, trying to reveal the reason for the Ninth Prince's immunity to your narrative eyes. Your conclusion is that the boy is like you, untethered from the strings of fate.

Jin Shufeng, allowing the monologue to happen:

The Old Prince, appreciative of the respect: This is true, though only in part. No, the reason the Ninth Prince is unmoored from the grand story that makes up life in the Turtle World is myself.

Jin Shufeng, having suspected something like this, jaw still dropping in shock: …Elaborate. He says with narrowed eyes, barely managing to recompose himself.

The Old Prince, having broken through the bottleneck of mortal smugness and reached the Immortal Ascendent realm of self-superiority: Gladly. There are laws in this world, powerful things, that can free men from the shackles of fate. I used to be – and, in some ways still am – the most powerful cultivator in my Region, and using my supreme skill and enormous wellspring of power, I severed my destiny, gained awarenes-

Jin Shufeng, eyes narrowed but still smiling: My friend, he said, interrupting the monologue, this beggars belief. How were you able to do such a thing?

The Old Prince, quite peeved that his monologue was interrupted: It's simple really. Reaching the limits of spirit severing and pushing beyond. Nascent Souls are protected by Dao, and Spirit Severing can leave that barrier behind entirely, sever their tethers. There's a reason you've been unable to scry the Spirit Severing cultivators that enter the trials.

Jin Shufeng, rapidly accepting this perfectly reasonable extension of his own worldview but still incredibly suspicious: And why exactly are you telling me this?

The Old Prince, suddenly back to his previous levels of smugitude: Why, as incentive of course. He steps forward, floating closer to Jin Shufeng – though never within range of the cultivator's needle. After all, I'm the reason the boy is able to escape the vagaries of narrative causality.

Jin Shufeng, eyes wide: You severed his fate. And if you can do that to him…

The Old Prince, gleeful to find someone as smart as his host: I can do it to others, yes! Imagine, my friend, a world where you and my host are not the only true people in the Third Sea. A world where cultivators – or at least some of them – are unbound from their narrative shackles, where they're free to be interesting, be new. A lovely world, no?

Jin Shufeng, voice choked with an undiscernible emotion: What would be the price you ask for this? And, more importantly, why haven't you done so already?

The Old Prince, smug as ever: It's quite simple my dear accomplice. I don't have control of my host. The boy took in a legacy of an ancestor long long ago, and with the safeguards he's put in after I freed him from his fate of death, I'm unable to take him over myself. But your mastery of ritual and binding would allow you to do it for me. All I would need is your aid once your enemies are killed.

Jin Shufeng, smiling conspiratorially: A nine-point binding ritual shouldn't be too difficult to whip up, not for weakening a psyche to the point of suppression. A grimace, as the Noble Knowledge Chosen remembers a key point. This is the Ninth Prince, however. Even with his mind dulled, are you able to suppress him long enough to get caught in the ritual field?

The Old Prince, honestly offended at this measurement of his abilities: Of course I am. Such a thing, suppressing a Foundation Building brat, is well within my capabilities if I have the opportunity. All I need is for you to give me the opportunity, and I'll dull his senses until it's far too late.

Jin Shufeng, nodding thoughtfully: I'll take your word for it then. In that case, the terms of our agreement. He pulls out a sheet of leather made out of Core Formation skin and an inkpot filled with the hearts blood of the innocent. In exchange for granting you control of your body, you shall awaken as many cultivators of my choosing as I wi-

The Old Prince, harsh but firm: As many cultivators of my choosing as I am willing to awaken. The interruption is tinged with malice, though only partially. Both sides know and respect the dance of politics.

Jin Shufeng, politely rebutting this: As many cultivators of my choosing as you are able to awaken, a minimum limit of two hundred.

The Old Prince, leaning in close: Ten.

Jin Shufeng, breath hitching but narrowing his eyes: One hundred.

The Old Prince, leaning back, an unhappy expression on his face: Deal.

Jin Shufeng, finally getting the chance to be the smug one in this conversation: Wonderful. I'll put our agreement to paper then? Without waiting for a response, the Diviner outlines the contract with swift strokes of the brush, imbuing a measure of Qi into the paper. This, naturally, does nothing to bind beings at their level, but both parties appreciate the façade of enforceability, even as they rely on the mutual benefit at hand to hold the pact firm.

The Old Prince, reading the contract over: This is indeed acceptable. He takes the brush up himself, signing a symbol of the Fifth Sea onto the paper. Wonderful.

Jin Shufeng: With the pact struck-

The Old Prince: -The contract is approved.

Two dealmakers in the dark clasping hands, each convinced they've gotten the best of the other: We have an accord. Their smiles are poison hidden in wine.

A/N: And THERE'S THE STINGER FOLKS! Old Prince is a fucking bastard, as expected from someone who used to be best bros with Bhrigu before Bhrigu betrayed their brotherhood. Jin Shufeng is also a fucking bastard, but that's par for the course by this point. Still, for all their dickishness, they're both supreme geniuses, so I hope you're ready to figure out what schemes they're cooking up in those mad scientist brains of theirs! Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

 

[Kaboomatic]

This was easier than he was expecting.

A strange complaint to have, for sure, but the Ninth Prince expected more out of these so-called genii and Chosen. Weren't they supposed to be the cream of the crop of the Noble Knowledge Sect, the future Core Elders and Nascent Soul Potentiates? Realistically, these were the Wei Fengs, the Minervina Bardas, the Xiao Yingzis of this sect! Not Single Pillar Kings, of course – the Ninth Prince was still baffled by how his clan had more Kings than the rest of the Region combined, but he wasn't about to look a gift python in the mouth – but the ones who'd taken a more 'normal' cultivation path. Those with plenty of lucky chances and secret encounters, who'd accumulated a stash of potent treasures and techniques, the true rising stars of the Sect!

Or perhaps these were the rising stars of the Noble Knowledge Sect. That was almost depressing to think about. Almost. After all, the Ninth Prince was a member of the Golden Devil Clan, politically opposed to the Noble Devil Alliance. Such weakness in the Sect's top talents was only a boon for him.

'Consider this.' The Old Prince said from his soul-chamber, decorated with the regalia of a Maharaja of the Fifth Sea. 'Perhaps the reason for their weakness isn't their weakness at all, but rather our own strength.'

The Ninth Prince nodded appreciatively, even as his snakes began tearing apart the body of the Ghost Paragon of the Noble Knowledge Sect. "I like that." He said, and would have sounded mad indeed if any living foes were around to hear him. "I like that a lot."

Indeed, the first person on the Ninth Prince's list of targets to brutally murder had just died. For a necromancy expert, her skills weren't all there. Where were the hordes of revenant wills, the corpse puppets and the hungry ghosts? The Ninth Prince should have had his soul flensed from his body the moment he got in range of the cultivator's spirit sense, should have been thrown into a life-or-death battle with the Chosen currently draining her lifesblood into the grass. She should've thrown death curses at him, prepared an enormous summoning array and hooked it to a prepared pocket realm, where his contracted beasts could have done battle against her corpse puppets while their respective masters shot techniques and hexes at each other.

The Ninth Prince deserved a better fight than that!

'Instead', the Old Prince said, endlessly amused, 'we killed her within twelve moves.'

Indeed. Three spear-swings, four hexes, two snake-bites, five bindings of varying power, and to finish it off – because the Old Prince was surprisingly (well, 'surprisingly') adamant about styling on this poor mass murderer – a soul attack, severing her spirit from her body and destroying it utterly.

"Even still." The Ninth Prince complained, scooping up the head of his fallen foe and telling his snakes to destroy the Paragon's (feh, they were giving that title out too lightly nowadays) lair. No evidence meant no trail, even if the assault would be obvious to anyone who had two brain cells to rub together. Still, he was the Ninth Prince, and therefore free from suspicion. This was of course due to the simple fact that nobody with half a brain would ever consider him arriving into the Poison Maze without loudly announcing his presence. It was the least Princelike move to make in the circumstance.

And thus it was, as none of his enemies had realized yet, the most Princelike move he could make.

Honorable tactics were for cultivators he respected. And also for people without pesky things such as morals.

'I must say.' The Old Prince's voice rang out, self-satisfied as anything. 'I wasn't expecting this to work as well as it has. I'm certainly not complaining however.'

The Ninth Prince cocked his head, confused. "Why wouldn't it work as well as it has? After all, you were the one to come up with it, I was the one to enact it, and both of us are the Ninth Prince." He chuckled. "I'm not sure if it's escaped your notice, but we're quite smart, the two of us."

The Old Prince began to laugh. Well, the Ninth Prince didn't think he was that funny, but he certainly wasn't going to complain about his apparent wit. 'Indeed we are, my younger self.' Anush Naag (the elder) said, wiping the soul construct of a tear from his eye. 'Indeed we are'.

The Ninth Prince puzzled over the way the Old Prince said that for a moment, before shrugging and continuing onwards. "Remind me." He asked his soul-based counterpart, motioning his contracted beasts forward and into the Maze, disguises firmly secured. "Who's our next target?"

'Depends on what you'd prefer.' The Old Prince said, poring through the Spirit Jades. 'The Blood Paragon's a powerful fighter, but the Potion Paragon is one of the most dangerous with preparatory time. Of course, if you'd rather go a tad farther, the 'Fate Paragon'-' And here, both Princes had a sensible chuckle at the idea of anyone other than Jin Shufeng being the fate paragon.

"Hmmm. Blood Paragon it is. Noble Knowledge Blood Path isn't good for anyone, best to deal with that quicker than anything else." The Ninth Prince paused, tapping his jade earring to send a discordant explosion of static through the miniature transmission array.

A few moments later, Jin Shufeng's voice came clearly through the artifact, sounding perfectly calm. "Yes?"

"You're no fun, you know that?" The Ninth Prince didn't pout, but he did the 'powerful cultivator with dignity and wisdom' version of a pout. A half-sneer mixed with a grimace, in case anyone was wondering.

"I assume you'd like to know the quickest route to the Blood Paragon?" Jin Shufeng asked, ignoring the Ninth Prince's half-hearted attempt at banter.

The last heir of the Naag sighed despondently. "Yes." Was it really too much to ask for some quality banter? Apparently so.

"Five days through maze, junction Lu-30 over the orphan extraction pit. Avoid the Webs." The Diviner said, capitalizing the word. "Core Formation spiders. They'll tie you down too much, we need to-"

"Yes yes." The Ninth Prince waved his concerns off. "Hit them before they can react, lightning war, all that stuff. I'm not an idiot, you know." He was met with Jin Shufeng's quiet laughter, high and clear through the transmission. It was oddly similar to the Old Prince's own chuckles just moments before.

The Ninth Prince hated being on the outside of a joke. He worked his mind, trying to figure out the possible connection between his older self and one of his hated rivals-

Only to get cut off by said older self. 'Come on.' The Old Prince said, clearly impatient. 'The sooner we move on, the sooner we kill the next one. The sooner we kill the next one, the sooner we're done. The sooner we're done-'

'The sooner we can leave this wretched place, and get my memories back besides.' The Ninth Prince rolled his metal eyes, but heeded his former self's advice, urging his python onto the route Jin Shufeng recommended.

…He'd bet that this was all irrelevant anyways. The Blood Paragon's situation wasn't going to change in the few minutes that he'd spent resting. After all, what could even do something like that?

----

The Ninth Prince blinked as he beheld the site of carnage in front of him. Well then.

Within the recesses of his mind, the Old Prince could only nod in agreement.

The lair of the Blood Paragon was a charnel house. Blood painted the walls and the world was awash with the scent of the dead and the dying. The anguished moans of eviscerated cultivators mixed with the death screams of maddened berserkers to create a horrific melody.

All around the clearing, built in the style of an Old Imperial Pagoda – from when the Ma Clan was ascendant and its first Demonic Emperor ran rampant over the Verdant plains – gristle was used as décor, applied by painters who used their own intestines as brushes.

The Courtyard, originally tiled beautifully in tasteful oranges and greens, was washed over in a garish red, bodies haphazardly spread over the floor in the same manner that a child might peevishly scatter their toys across their bedroom. The Shishi statues, so regal and imposing, were fountains of blood, skulls nestled in their mouths as pools of vitae bled out under their feet.

All in all, it was a monstrous scene of death and destruction, perhaps one of the greatest desecrations of décor in the Noble Knowledge Sect. Truly, the Ninth Prince detachedly noted, it was an atrocity, one perpetrated by the fiendish mind of a Noble Knowledge Cultivator whose infernal ingenuity was turned to the field of Blood Path.

Except, it wasn't. No, the Blood Paragon hadn't done such a thing. In that case, who had? The answer became clear moments later, when the Ninth Prince's mind focused on the figure in the center of this brutal tableau.

A lone man, wearing nothing but baggy robes as pants, carrying nothing but a saber that rested on his shoulder, sat atop a mountain of corpses. The head of the Blood Paragon hung on a bandolier around his waist, along with seven other heads that each bore unique fluctuations.

As the Ninth Prince looked up at the cultivator, dread realization written across his face, he remembered an old adage. It was one spoken across the Virtuous Flipper Region when discussing the monstrous power of this generation of Chosen, one that held true despite countless attempts to topple the legend.

There, perhaps, were stronger cultivators. Certainly there were tougher. Some were faster. Many were more intelligent. Few rivalled him in terms of intuition, but those rivals still existed.

But no one, none at all, Righteous or Demonic, Blood Path or otherwise, could match Fang Tai in the field of slaughter.

{FANG TAI: SABER CALAMITY}

​

A/N: ENTER! FANG TAI! Fun fact, that was going to be the title for this particular omake, before I realized that'd give the game away wayyyyyy too quickly for my tastes. I hope the title card did what it was supposed to, this is my first time using something like this in a while. Either way, I hope you enjoy.