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

[occipitallobe]

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Omake Writer Instructions:

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[Sirrocco]

I get the feeling that at this rate we are headed straight for the Blood Path ending (went for the Cloud Demon Caves too many times?) and The Shadow needs some form of access to Manuel to avoid it and reach our own ending?
Either that, or the access mentioned here is Soup Chef's further interference again

Click to shrink...

My read was that "the prior probability space" was the "our victory" probability space, and that was why it was feeling hopeful.

Oh, huh - and I bet that the Shadow, and what Soup Chef knew about it, was probably a notable part of whatever plan Altar Lord had... but possibly not understanding the direct connection to Shadow that the Golden Devils had?

 

[no.]

Gaius Antonius 88 - He Who Gnaws Upon the Roots​

The north wind blew harshly that evening, carrying a deep chill that sunk beneath the flesh and seeped into the bones of those who felt it. It was this sort of wind, amongst the Gao Clan, which was said to herald troubled times. The fast, biting winter gales which froze men without shelter to death and carried cold fronts where they went were dangers themselves, vicious predators which sought to consume. This wind was not itself dangerous, but carried a fell omen.

As the sun dipped lower and lower and the sky began its transition from soft baby blue to the orange and yellow of dusk, this ill-omened wind blew through a canyon pass and crashed upon a fortress. Fort Darkhold, a rough-hewn callus of stone and iron, held firm and unflinching against the wind. Nonetheless, the cold air seeped through every crack, slipped under the bottom of the gate, and invaded through every window.

The first to feel the chill was a man who gazed out upon the pass his fortress was set to guard. It assailed him and he shivered, pulling the finely-embroidered cloak he wore tighter around his body.

Immediately, this man, Lord Meng Jinhai, scolded himself internally. He was deep into the second Great Realm of cultivation, and as such this wind would have to be at least sixty degrees lower to really threaten him. What kind of sissy was Jinhai, to lose his composure before such a meager discomfort? And so, even though no one was watching, the lord stood up straight and faced the cold wind without further complaint.

"Something is coming, is that what you're telling me?" Jinhai asked the wind, which only whistled softly through the window in return. His voice, a slightly scratchy tenor, was a fitting match for his face, which was well-proportioned but gaunt. He clasped his bony hands together behind his back, as if he were speaking to a diplomat. "What is it? Calamity? Great change? Or perhaps an opportunity?

A sharp knocking at the lord's door snapped him out of his musings. "My lord, the lookouts have spotted something approaching; we await your command." A soldier's voice called from the other side.

The news puzzled Jinhai, who had just been looking out at the pass with his Foundation Building eyes and hadn't seen a thing. Was his eyesight getting worse already, even though he was only three-hundred fifty two? That would be just perfect for him, wouldn't it? "What sort of something? An army, or an individual?" He answered curtly.

"Four people, my lord, but they can't make out any details yet."

Just four, that was a number that could mean anything. Travelers, adventurers, diplomats; all unusual visitors for a fortress like this, though perhaps they were merely moving through, and their destination lay beyond the pass. If they were diplomats, Jinhai would need to greet them himself, being the commanding officer here.

"Thank you for the forewarning, tell whoever sent you that I shall be out momentarily." Jinhai declared. He shrugged out of his nightclothes and opened his closet, picking out a sturdy blue robe more appropriate for greeting visitors.

He heard the clicking of boots and the swooshing of cloth that accompanied a salute on the other side. "Yes, my lord." He silently mouthed in mocking fashion as the soldier said the same, then departed.

Jinhai dressed himself, then turned to his full-length mirror, carefully fitting his long gray hair into a simple ponytail. He saw more or less the same feeble-looking man he did every day - a small frame, wrinkles fit for a man in his four-hundreds, sunken eyes, and a small, unmanly chin and jaw. He sighed, fitting himself with the stern expression of a general going out to war, and inspected himself again. He would never strike fear into the hearts of men, but this face could be made to look dignified when he projected the right sort of presence.

Alright, that was enough dallying. Jinhai slipped a pair of gold bracelets around his wrists and a ring with a large ruby onto his middle finger. Just one - if he looked like he was trying too hard, then what little dignity he could muster would crumble. The door to his chambers creaked softly as he opened it, and he made his way out toward the main entrance flanked by three guards.

Fort Darkhold, named both for the dark stone from which it was built and the metaphorical darkness it supposedly held at bay, was if nothing else very sturdy. It sported both an outer wall and an inner wall before the fort itself would be reached, and a large, heavy main gate after all of that. That meant three gates in total had to be breached before Darkhold could be taken, and any army large enough to do such a thing would have their mobility strangled by the narrow pass, making them easy targets for its weapon emplacements to slaughter. As Jinhai arrived, the first two gates were already ajar and the third was being opened, two men cranking a mechanism which caused massive chains to slowly pull the doors inward.

Another person of high standing was already there, a well-built, dark-eyed, black-haired woman in dark gray robes. Shi Lanying appeared to all the world like a living, breathing shadow, and was known to move like one as well, with a silence that belied her size. She greeted her lord stoically with a shallow bow, before turning back to the gates.

Jinhai had not always hated Shi Lanying, but he found that with each passing year, the feeling swelled up within him more and more. Here was a woman destined for great things, less than half Jinhai's age and already on the verge of matching him in cultivation. It was painfully clear in the second-in-command's demeanor too; where she once showed genuine respect and admiration, she now gave the bare minimum courtesy to a man who still outranked her, but not for long.

Five sturdy pillars hummed with strength in Meng Jinhai's breast - all the pillars he would ever have. His family's wealth had been sufficient to brute force this disappointment of a son this far despite his poor qi receptiveness, but to push him any farther would be ruinously expensive. No, this was a bottleneck Jinhai would never break. Hence, he had been sent to run this fort out in the hinterlands - a comfortable position, but one where he would likely never do anything truly important.

Shi Lanying had four pillars, and every year, her partially-constructed fifth grew in size. A clock, counting down to the day that the one bit of power Jinhai had ever had would be wrenched away from him.

"Just four, correct?" Jinhai stated in businesslike fashion, turning to face the pass. Slipping through the outermost gate were indeed four people, all wrapped in hooded, fur-lined cloaks which hid their features. "Quite a small delegation, isn't it?"

"Mm, it's suspicious." Shi Lanying confirmed with a nod, voice smooth and husky. "But they've got the proper paperwork of an ambassador, and they've invoked the Laws of Hospitality."

The Laws of Hospitality - a simple, binding agreement that ensured civilization could function in a land where people ate one another. The exact definition varied from one nation to the next, but boiled down to 'I will cause no trouble in your home, and in exchange you will not consume me.' They were laws with a strong metaphysical grounding, ones which inevitably brought terrible misfortune on anyone who broke them.

"I see. Well, we've got no choice then, do we?" Jinhai added, straightening his back. It did not slip his mind that Shi Lanying had given the order to open the gates before he had arrived. Whether it was an intentional slight against him or simply an error in judgment, the lord could not say, but scolding his subordinate in front of these guests would only make him look weak. His brother Meng Tingfeng and his sister Meng Xiaohui, so strong, so authoritative. Did their own servants go over their heads like this? Certainly not; a favored child would be treated properly by all they had authority over.

The guests arrived, and though they were bundled up against the cold, a few details could be gleaned. One was simply massive, a broad-shouldered man at least eight feet in height. Another carried a palpable air of ghostly energy; it strongly radiated from within her body and she did not bother to hide it, though she didn't feel bereft of life the way an undead would. Another wore a big hat with a brim that stuck out over a foot in all directions. And finally, the smallest member of the group had ashen and cracked skin, like he was made of dried clay.

The new guests all turned and bowed to Jinhai, who bowed back in turn. "It's real good to be inside again after all this time." The man in the hat said, prompting nods and statements of affirmation from the others. "Thank you for letting us inside, Lord Meng.

"It is no trouble, is there anything at all you need?" Jinhai asked, smiling pleasantly. "I am a gracious host, and you should rest before you continue to your destination."

"Oh, I don't think we'll be staying too long." Drawled the man at the front of the group, tipping his hat. "Probably just for the night. If you could just fix us up with dinner and breakfast, and let us sleep someplace warm for the night, we'd be ever so grateful."

"Well, that's no trouble at all." Jinhai answered, turning to a soldier. "Well, you heard them. Go tell the cook to prepare four servings." Then he turned back and looked at the huge man. "Make that six servings."

—-

Things went without incident, for a time. The four travelers conversed with the soldiers and gratefully took the food they were offered. As they told it, the man in the hat was an ambassador traveling from the Gao Clan to the Devil Bee Sect, and the other three were his bodyguards. When asked why they kept to such a large group, they simply explained that there was an urgent diplomatic matter and they needed to travel quickly.

The banquet hall was a little more lively than usual that day, as the travelers shared tales of the lands they had visited in the past and drank merrily alongside the soldiers and officers. Jinhai stayed relatively quiet, only chiming in from time to time from his position at the head of the table. The roasted pheasant was good, it really was, but it didn't bring him the same enjoyment as good food normally would. Perhaps he was simply in a bad mood today.

As the sun fully set and day became night, people began retiring to their beds bit by bit, their posts filled by the night watch. The little man amused himself playing card games and doing tricks with conjured clay, the woman with the ghostly aura boasted about various battles she had won, and the large man kept to himself and consumed huge quantities of beer.

As Jinhai prepared to retire to his own quarters, the man with the hat - now sans hat, actually - planted one hand flat on the table and leaned over to get his attention. "Lord Meng, I really must thank you for having us here, it's been a great time." He said, voice smooth as butter.

Jinhai recoiled just a little bit, not used to people so brazenly getting in his personal space. "Hm. Yes, well, it was only proper to do so. It was no trouble."

The ambassador smirked, stepping back. "Alright, alright, I can take a hint. You must be tired from all the excitement. I'll leave you be."

Something about that statement deeply irked Jinhai, even as he knew the feeling was irrational. Did this stranger really think so little of him? That he was so weak he needed to be put to bed precisely on time like a child? No, he couldn't himself leave that sort of impression.

"Would you care to join me then, good sir?" The lord said genially, throwing the ball back in his guest's court. "I would love to hear more of your stories."

This was fine, Jinhai thought as he led the strange visitor up the stairs and down the hall to his quarters. He would let the stranger prattle on for an hour, hopefully get a nice lay out of it, and then he could go to bed. In the morning, the four of them would depart and their secrets would be someone else's problem.

—-

When Jinhai and the ambassador reached his quarters, the lord allowed himself to relax ever so slightly. It was, after all, easier to curate one's appearance to an audience of one than to a crowd.

He broke out an old bottle of vintage wine, lit a fire and poured a glass for both him and the visitor. The two clinked their glasses together and pulled up a pair of fine, plush chairs before taking a seat. The whole time, the other man's expression remained as guarded and pleasant as Jinhai's own, ensuring the silence remained awkward. As they both relaxed into their seats, the lord prepared himself for some more vapid conversation.

"I was surprised that you let us in so easily. A lot of people are paranoid these days." The visitor mused, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag.

"Maybe they are, but I am an honorable man." Jinhai responded, crossing his legs and resting his head on his fist. "The Laws of Hospitality are sacred, and besides, we could use the company."

"Mm. Nice to see such kindness." The visitor replied. "The war's got everybody paranoid, and there's always some frightening myth going around too."

"Indeed. This time around it's the tale of the Wise Man." Jinhai sighed, fidgeting in place. Damnit, where was this inane conversation even going?

"That one's new to me, why don't you tell me about it?" The ambassador asked, that pleasant smile still plastered across his features. Jinhai couldn't help but wonder if he was being made fun of here. Was that a smug smile, or did this strange man actually like his company?

"Well, it's really not anything of merit." The lord said, pushing his gray ponytail back behind his shoulder. "A man wandering across the region dispensing 'wisdom' and looking for worthy vessels. Supposedly, no one has ever passed his muster, and he leaves behind victims with broken minds wherever he goes."

"Wise man, eh?" The tall man echoed thoughtfully, throwing some more branches into the guttering fire and picking up the ornate poker nearby. "Wisdom comes in many forms. What kinda wisdom is this fella spreading around, exactly?" He asked, prodding at the fire and causing it to flare back up. A pleasant warmth filled the room in response, and Jinhai sighed quietly in response.

"The rumors vary quite a bit." Jinhai responded, taking a sip of wine. "Some say it is a lost ancient cultivation method. Others, the secret to inner peace. The one constant is that he considers almost no one worthy."

"Is that so." The visitor said, gazing into the flames. It was not a question. "And what good is wisdom that hardly anyone can receive?"

"Well, I'd imagine it would be quite good for those who can, at least." Jinhai caught a glimpse of his warped reflection in his wine and scowled. "People are not created equal, that's simply the way of things."

"Ya seem troubled, Lord Meng." The visitor declared, turning to Jinhai with a soft, compassionate smile. He put down the fire poker and sauntered over to where the lord sat, circling around behind his chair and brushing one finger along an armrest. "Is something wrong?"

"Is something wrong?" Jinhai echoed, before pounding back the rest of his glass in an impulsive flash of anger. He set it down so hard, he was worried for a half second that the stem might break. "Is anything ever right?"

If he were sober, or perhaps in less of a black mood, Jinhai might have noticed the odd looseness he felt about himself. Not just in his body, but in his mind as well. All of the buried things, compressed tight into a massive tangle of negative emotions, were beginning to spill out. "It's never been right. I've never been right. It's not like I've been treated wrongfully, I just never measured up."

He distantly recalled all the time he spent as a boy, bedridden with sickness. He'd have died, were he not of nobility. Why, in this nation of man-eaters, had his mother and father done so much to keep their weak child alive? Sunk cost, perhaps - it was very hard for two Elders to reproduce, so even the leastt viable progeny had to be protected.

"But you are a lord, are you not?" Asked a second voice, this one a woman's. A pair of ghostly arms reached through the back of Jinhai's chair and embraced him. Some small part of him screamed to react, that this was an attack, but it was drowned beneath an ocean of utter exhaustion. "You have subjects, you have gold, you have strength few could hope for."

"Hardly did a thing to earn it." Jinhai muttered, slumping forward. His vision began to blur. "A real Meng child would be more than this. They're ashamed of me, I just know it. I'd bet you they laugh at me when I'm not around, and why wouldn't they?"

"What is it you really wish for?" The visitor asked. "What do you Seek?"

He couldn't see anything anymore, couldn't hear or feel either. "I wish I was dead. I wish everyone else was dead." He muttered, shaking.

"Is that really true?" The woman's voice asked, ghostly limbs embracing him tighter. The warmth of the fireplace was gone, replaced by the chill of the grave. "Is that what you truly wish for?"

Solid ground found Jinhai's feet. He was standing somewhere, looking at something.

"No, it's not, but I'm so tired, I'm so angry, I just want it all to stop."

"The Thanatos Urge is not a true ambition. What do YOU want?"

A hulking form sat before him, dressed in the robes of a judge, a meat tenderizer taking the place of a gavel. Jinhai looked up and up and up, but the judge's face was cloaked in shadow, too far away to make out. Golden rings sat heavy on his fingers and jewels glittered where they were sewn into his robes.

What did Jinhai want? What did he actually want? To be strong, he supposed, but so did everyone else in the world. To be good enough, to be loved? Again, that was nothing more than a universal desire, nothing he could call his own.

"Do you have anything at all?"

Smooth wood beneath his small, weathered hands. On either side, spectators watched, interchangeable and anonymous, staring at him like the pathetic spectacle he was. Merely ordinary, what a laugh. That was all he could ever hope to be.

Two siblings, both more talented than him. A sworn brother who had leapt into Core Formation and left him behind. A fort far from the frontlines, used only to receive and transport supplies to the real soldiers. A fitting punishment for merely being strong in this age, rather than exceptionally strong.

"Does it upset you?"

Perhaps it did, in the same way a monkey might be upset at its inability to fly. The fault lay entirely with his own inadequacy. Jinhai was simply not a person of real worth. Perhaps in some Righteous sect, he could wile away his days, content with a few scraps of power. He could write poetry and philosophy and gossip in the court of some ruler and pretend that his life had value. But among the Demonic sects, forward momentum was the key to prosperity. Those who couldn't keep growing would eventually be crushed by those behind them as they advanced.

"Then you are already condemned?"

Yes.

"Are you satisfied with this?"

Satisfied? Of course not. He wished more than anything to continue moving forever, to prove himself a great hero. But a good lord possessed the ability to face reality, and reality was looking grim for Meng Jinhai.

The courtroom dissolved back into reality, and Jinhai fell to his knees, gasping. Sweat poured down his face and his heart was beating like a battering ram. This wasn't what an Elder's pressure felt like, it was something entirely different. Something that he couldn't know for sure, but which was seeming more likely by the minute.

"An ordinary man, born into extraordinary expectations. Condemned to die as a failure and not satisfied with it, but not fierce enough to throw away what he's already got and take a chance." The ringleader muttered to himself as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So much resentment, so much despair… alright, I can work with that."

Despair? What a strange way to put it. Was the lord feeling despair? Right now he was, but what about before, in his day to day life? Such things felt so distant to him now, before all of this.

That nightmare in human shape paced around Jinhai leisurely, a far cry from his insensate captive. "Well, you're strong of mind to endure all of that, if nothing else. Ambitious too. And quite smart on top of that."

Jinhai tried to stand, to run, to do something, but found himself stopping short. Chains of fog wound around his wrists and held him fast to the floor, and no matter how hard he pulled, he could not break them.

The man's large hands clasped Jinhai's shoulders tightly, and his forehead split open once more to reveal his hidden third eye. "You are going to receive an exclusive gift, and it's going to change your life forever. In exchange, you'll be a pawn, driving history in the direction I need it to go."

"Finally, another pass." The Soul Artist said, sighing with relief. "Your standards really are high, Sir."

Despite the terror of this situation, Jinhai could not help but let an expression of disgust come over his face. A pawn in another, greater man's schemes, just like he'd been his whole life. Was this really all he could hope for, to be a game piece, wrenched from one master to the next? Without conscious thought, the prince found himself drawing a hidden dagger from his sleeve and lunging at his captor.

The blade stopped an inch from the man's throat as Jinhai reached the limits of his bonds, sending the leader stumbling back a few steps in shock. Blood trickled from a shallow cut on his neck, one which had stopped just shy of severing his carotid artery.

Before Jinhai could fully process that he had missed, the stranger's foot crashed into his midsection, fracturing several ribs and driving the air from his lungs - along with a not insubstantial trickle of blood. "Damn, I got too cocky!" the visitor laughed, clapping his hands loudly. "You really are a good vessel for what I've got to give."

"So the Wise Man is real, and it's you? Just kill me, you fucker…" Jinhai wheezed, stopping to cough up yet more blood. That man wasn't in Core Formation, so how did he kick so hard? "I'm sick of being a dog on a leash, so just take my life already."

"That's it!" The monster exclaimed joyfully. "Rage. Rage against me, against your enemies, against anyone who ever doubted you! All I need you to do is become great, with the help of this gift."

The Soul Artist stepped far, far away, retreating to the far corners of the room and covering her ears. Her leader embraced Jinhai with an inescapable iron grip, and whispered softly into his ear.

THE SECOND GIFT

耗

IS PASSED ON

All went quiet. The heavy, painful tears of a broken man poured down Jinhai's face. Something took hold of him then; a deep, heavy sadness, weighing him down like an iron ball. "Why would you give this to me?" He sobbed. "I'll never feel whole again…"

In this moment, he knew he had become more than he could have ever hoped to be. And yet, he now also understood just how much he was missing. It was as if a rodent had become a mentally disabled human. Objectively, the rodent was far more than it had ever been before, but in gaining so much, it understood just how much it fell short.

The wise man gave Jinhai a sad, sympathetic smile and patted him on the shoulder. "That's the idea. Throw anyone who gets in your way into that empty abyss inside of you, and what is theirs will be yours. The role of a ruler is to take. Take from your enemies everything they have - that's your right."

Before Jinhai could say another word, the wise man turned and walked away, and the Soul Artist left with him. He opened the door and peeked his head out, calling down the hall. "We're done here! Fall back!" He commanded.

"W… wait, please!" Jinhai stammered, reaching out to the wise man's back and managing a few stumbling steps. "Please, I have so many more questions. Who are you? Why do you know this word? How can I hear the rest?"

His words fell on deaf ears, as if they were never spoken. The other two henchmen, now battered, bloodied and out of breath, soon arrived, taking brief glances at the sorry old man their master had chosen before all three of them reached out and placed a hand on said master. The clattering of armored feet resounded through the halls as Jinhai's soldiers pursued them.

"Don't go, please don't go!" Jinhai cried out desperately, running toward the four of them. "You can't abandon me too!"

Before his outstretched, grasping fingers could take hold of the wise man's collar, he slipped under, all four of them falling through the floor surrounded in a shimmering glow. The lord felt their presence slip down through the floors of the fortress, then into the ground, and then rocket away faster than he could hope to follow.

"My lord! My lord, are you alright!?" A soldier cried out, helping Jinhai to his feet. "Those visitors, they cast some technique on you. We tried to reach you, but…"

"They're all Experts, milord. Powerful Experts, the two that blocked our way fought us all off on their own." Another soldier said, causing those around him to clam up. Jinhai appreciated brutal honesty; he would have to remember that man's face and reward him in some way.

"They broke the Laws of Hospitality…" Shi Lanying said, making Jinhai nearly jump out of his skin in surprise and bringing him out of his reverie. Damn that stealthy movement of hers! "They'll be dead soon, or else much weaker than before. What could they have been doing here that was worth that?"

"I'm not sure, Senior Sister." Another man said, some gormless Early Foundation Expert whose name wasn't worth remembering. All of his officers were like that, all losers like him, sent out here because they weren't good enough for the front lines. "I-I don't think they were of the Blood Path at all. There was no blood qi in any of their techniques."

"Then they played us like a fiddle…" Lanying growled, fist clenched in anger.

They weren't even looking at him. They were talking amongst each other like Jinhai wasn't even in the room. It had always been like this with his family too. The lord's doubts all melted away.

"Leave us." Jinhai spoke, voice thick with a violent swirl of conflicting emotions. "Everyone except Shi Lanying, return to your posts."

After a moment, the troops hesitantly obeyed, leaving the two of them and quietly murmuring amongst one another. Only once the door was shut did the lord turn his gaze upon his second-in-command, and he took a small amount of private enjoyment with what he saw.

Shi Lanying's normally pretty face had seen better days, and she walked slowly with a painful limp. Evidently, not even her prized Shadowstep had been enough to overcome those two servants of the Wise Man.

That Shadowstep… if Jinhai had it, he could have won more battles, attained more glory. It was wasted on an ungrateful, insubordinate servant like Shi Lanying. Jinhai's misfortune came about because he lacked that which he needed. Never before had the lord realized just how incomplete of a being he was.

"Change of plans, Shi Lanying. Big change." Jinhai declared, already drafting new ideas in his head, ideas he never could have implemented before with his meager potential.

The black-clad officer looked puzzled at the bleak, yet determined look on her master's face and furrowed his dark, well-groomed eyebrows. "Sir?"

This fortress was a dead end. It was a crib, to hold an infant. Jinhai could have something much greater, if only he reached for it. "We have to repair the damage, but first, treat the wounded and gather up the dead. Don't eat them yet, I wish to do an inspection." He commanded, growing more confident with each passing moment.

The muffled thumping of a gauntleted fist into an open palm preceded the deep, ashamed bow of a subordinate who had well and truly failed. "As you command, Sir."

—-

That night, Jinhai weakened Shi Lanying with a paralytic poison, then slit her throat. He then performed a cleansing technique to purge the poison from her corpse, and began the feast. It was an utterly anticlimactic end to one of his most hated people, made simple by Lanying's total lack of regard for him as a threat.

He ate Lanying's dantian, as well as one of her legs, and learned the principles behind the Shadowstep. He ate the fingers of a poison artist, nails discolored from a lifetime of working with chemicals, and expanded his understanding of the alchemical arts. He ate the eyeballs of a bow artist and felt his own sight grow keener, and his fingers grow defter. He ate the flank of a Body Artist and felt his muscles grow denser and tighter with greater physical strength. He ate the heart of a curse artist and felt his blood sing with degenerative, primordial hatred.

When training, the first step is to set a strong, solid foundation. A broad base of knowledge and capability, ensuring greater room to grow later in life. All the dead and crippled who could broaden their lord's foundation became his meal, and those who would be of no use to him were tossed to his subordinates. He no longer had any need of a large force to man a fort; Darkhold could lay empty, he was leaving this place.

An intelligent Cultivator does not spurn a gift out of pride alone, especially one with no apparent downsides. No matter the circumstances under which this gift had been given, Jinhai would be loath not to make use of its potential.

Become great? Sure, he would gladly do that. He needed no encouragement to elevate his station, and there was no fundamental difference between strength one was born with and strength acquired by chance later in life. He just needed a little bit of time to get fully acquainted with his gift, to fully grasp its scope and limitations. When that was done, though?

Meng Jinhai, son of Meng Yan, would join the war. He would feast upon his foes and attain from them all manner of mastery and strength, and ascend to unimaginable heights.

—-

"Legate, I don't doubt your judgment at all…" Nikolas trailed off, in a tone that indicated to Gaius that his judgment was being doubted. "But were we perhaps too stringent in our standards? Will just two people really make that big a difference? The war is so massive…"

"It don't need to make a huge difference. In fact, I hope it doesn't." Gaius replied calmly. "Just a bit. Just a little bit of leverage down the line, to keep the Demonic Powers in the game."

"They say the wings of a butterfly in the East can stir up a hurricane in the West." Albinus declared. "Too many butterflies at once, and the whole world will be blown away."

In the back of the group, Zenovia sighed wearily. "You know, when I signed up for the Stargazers, I didn't think I'd be serving under a man with the power to decide history and end the world."

"Aww, ya make it sound bigger than it really is, Zenovia." Gaius replied with a shrug. "I can't decide history, I can only push it in one direction. Deciding history, that part comes later."

Zenovia's eyebrow shot up at such a provocative statement. "How much later?"

"Long enough that you fuckers can't count on me to bail our whole civilization out of the wars in this Region." Said Gaius with a smirk. "Cultivation takes a while, even for me."

"Ah, so you're in that sort of mood today. It's one of my favorites~." Albinus cooed sweetly. He stepped a bit closer to his Legate, closer than what could be considered professional, but not quite close enough to slip an arm around Gaius' waist.

The other two Centurions scoffed and rolled their eyes at their colleague's brown-nosing, and Nikolas reached into his pack to pull out a map. "So, where to next, Sir?" He said just a little bit too loud, so as to make Albinus bug off.

"Back to Demonic Altar territory, might as well give it one more pass on the way home." The Empty King gazed off to the South, as if he could see the nation all the way from here.

Despite the jovial attitude, none of those present could help but wonder, just a little bit, how this sort of influence would play out.

—-

This omake is another thing I've been trying to figure out how to put together for a while. Gaius empowered two more people with the Word of Power this turn, and Meng Jinhai was the first of them. The Demonic Powers are about to get hammered, and we can't let this was up north end yet, so I'm giving them a little present to help them out in the coming battles - just enough to ensure they stay alive.

This chapter ended up having a strong ASoIaF vibe, though I wasn't intentionally trying to put in there. I guess it sort of fits the vibe of an old, bitter lord holed up in a fortress stewing in his anger. I feel like the overall quality of the prose isn't very consistent. I tried to really take things to the next level and I didn't quite get there this time around.

It didn't come out perfectly; this story would work best as like a 20k word short novel in its own right, but I didn't really have that in me, so this is a somewhat compressed version of that. Originally Gaius spent several days at the fortress corrupting the lord, but I simply couldn't manage that. Still, I feel like it did a pretty good job of introducing Meng Jinhai, which was the purpose. It also gave me the opportunity to further explore Gaius as a Satanic figure, an embodiment of ambition, pride and desire.

 

[TehChron]

Access could be improved. The inefficiencies in the current iteration could be smoothed out.

Click to shrink...

...oh dear

We may have misplayed slightly. Of the three options, this is the most worrying one.

Access to what?

 

[Garlak]

...oh dear

We may have misplayed slightly. Of the three options, this is the most worrying one.

Access to what?

Click to shrink...

Well, look on the bright side; it could be the other sentence that's worrying. "The inefficiencies in the current iteration could be smoothed out." Who is the current iteration? Manuel? Are the inefficiencies referring to his personality or mindset?

More likely though, I think it's referring to the Shadow Key that Manuel is holding. Right now, the Key isn't the most efficient thing. Perhaps this is a way of buffing it. Or giving the Key more options for using its power.

So maybe this option just buffs the "Meditate on the Shadow Key" option perhaps. And it gives more Shadow Key points per turn too.

A kind of boring action, in the sense that it "just" speeds up something that we already have instead of giving us something new like the Spring or the Maker action would.

But on the other hand, we don't even know what Shadow Points are useful for; we know we can unlock the Legacies with them which is neat. But what else can they do? Steal energy from Bhrigu's star, or lock his Key, or mess with the Iron Pillar's connection? Buff Manuel in a fight, serving to save his ass in a pinch? Unlock some kind of Endgame Win Condition with enough Shadow Points?

 

[MrRageQuit]

But on the other hand, we don't even know what Shadow Points are useful for; we know we can unlock the Legacies with them which is neat. But what else can they do? Steal energy from Bhrigu's star, or lock his Key, or mess with the Iron Pillar's connection? Buff Manuel in a fight, serving to save his ass in a pinch? Unlock some kind of Endgame Win Condition with enough Shadow Points?

Click to shrink...

It would make a very fitting counterpart to Bhrigu's Key, wouldn't it? It's not so easy when you lose your unearned cheat item, now is it big man?

 

[moon-llama]

[X] The Reversal of the Light

 

[Swordomatic]

[X] The Reversal of the Light

Just realised that I never actually voted.

 

[no.]

Iskander Pallikari

Backstory: When he was a little boy, Iskander lived in the town of Little Creek. When a swarm of wild Devil Bees attacked the town, it was saved by a passing wandering Cultivator. Iskander never got that person's name, but he was entranced by the looks on the faces of his neighbors when they were saved. On that day, the boy decided that he wanted to make people look like that, and got his wish a few years later when he was discovered to have the spark of cultivation within him.

Just one problem: with no wealth, no exceptional talent and no support structure, Iskander found himself graduating the Dawn Fortress academy firmly in the middle of his class and entering a life of drudgery as a Junior Aspirant. Day in and day out, he did chores and menial tasks at the behest of his betters, making just enough points to push his cultivation forward at a snail's pace. But after about a year of this, something changed.

When the Golden Devils took over the Jingshen Clan's land, they found a number of old battlefields that had been abandoned entirely. Devils, being deeply pragmatic folk, would not let such a thing slide, and to this day the scap from those battlefields is still being shipped back to the Dawn Fortress and melted down to sift out usable Spirit Steel. When working with a load of scrap, Iskander found among the junk something peculiar: an old, broken sword hilt that seemed to call out to him.

Iskander took the hilt back to his domicile and examined it, but found nothing of value. Later that night, a spirit appeared to him in his dream: the ghost of an ancient Nascent Soul named Lai Bohai, bound to the sorry remains of his signature weapon, the Wailing Conqueror. When he asked the Junior Aspirant why he had felt the urge to save the weapon, Iskander simply replied that it felt like someone was calling out for help. Now, he knew for certain, and he would rescue the ghost from his prison.

Lai Bohai was so thoroughly amused that a young man of no worth would make such a bold and arrogant proclamation, and so moved at the purity of the boy's intentions, that he agreed to help him in what tiny ways he could.

High Concept: An optimistic, straightforward and bullheaded young nobody who stumbled upon a possessed treasure of immense worth. Iskander approaches situations with a firm sense of honesty and desire to resolve situations in a way that helps out everyone. Can he keep that big heart in the face of cruel reality?

Cool Thing: The Hilt of the Wailing Conqueror. Once an immensely powerful enchanted sword, this wrecked, useless piece of scrap metal has only one special quality: it is the resting place for the Nascent Soul Lai Bohai, who was sealed inside upon being killed to prevent his reincarnation. Lai Bohai has greatly diminished over the thousands of years of imprisonment, and in his current state can only talk, and spends all but one day a month sleeping. Still, one tutoring session a month from a Nascent Soul can turn a weakling into a legend.

Age: 15

Cultivation: First Heavenstage

Impact: None

Cultivation Goals: Twelfth Heavenstage, then Eighth Pillar, then Twin Core

 

[no.]

Iskander Pallikari 1 - Fundamentals​

As the sun rose over the Organ Meat Desert, a boy of almost twenty cracked his eyelids open, looking around blearily. With a groan of effort, he rolled out of bed and tumbled to the floor. He was of average height with well-built muscles, a square jaw, a cleft chin and a mop of curly blonde hair - handsome, perhaps, but awkward. Still not quite done growing into the face and body of a man.

After slapping himself on the cheek a few times to wake himself up, the boy immediately lay down on his back and began to exercise. "Gotta get strong. Gotta get strong. Gotta get strong." Iskander repeated to himself over and over as he did his morning sit-ups. "Senior, are you awake? You said you'd be awake today, since it's my first hunting day."

Iskander looked expectantly to his desk, where an old sword hilt, bereft of its blade and tassel and badly cracked down the middle, was laid on a small pillow. This worthless scrap metal was all that remained of the once legendary sword, the Wailing Conqueror.

The hilt remained silent and motionless, which made the young Devil roll his eyes. "He tells me I can't oversleep, then he oversleeps himself. What a hypocritical Senior." He chided the still unresponsive object, though there was no real mockery to be found in his voice.

Even as the boy's muscles burned, he kept going; he couldn't get tired now, this was just his morning warm-up. The entire life of a Junior Aspirant, those lowly servants fresh out of the academy, was chores and training, until they either found themselves a benefactor or rose into the Third Heavenstage on their own merits.

The person in the opposite bed, a short woman with close-cropped hair and an array tattooed around her eye, sluggishly turned over and cracked her eyes open to look at Iskander. She stayed firmly nestled under the covers, poking only her head out like some sort of human-faced worm. "Today's the day, huh?" She mumbled. "Gonna start going at it hardcore from now on?"

"Damn right, Clotho." Iskander nodded, continuing to exercise without skipping a beat. "Hardcore, that's a good word; Iskander Pallikari is going hardcore now!"

"Just looking at you is exhausting." Clotho grumbled. "You're close to the Second Heavenstage after just a couple years. Don't you want to rest a little bit after you get there? Just lower your work-rate for a month?"

"Don't got time to rest, my buddy here's been sleeping for long enough." Iskander replied, gesturing at the sword hilt on his dresser. "I said I'd rescue him, so I'm gonna do it."

"Oughta worry about yourself before you save anyone else, kid." Clotho chuckled. "You've got fifteen years before the next Centennial Trial. You wanna be a savior? Get strong enough to survive that."

"That's why I gotta go hardcore. I already did the math. Well, not really, I'm bad at numbers; Senior did the math." Iskander stopped for a moment to point at the hilt of the Wailing Conqueror. "Anyway, he did that math, and he thinks I can make five times more from a shift at this new job than I do with chores; ain't that crazy?"

"Yeah, because it's not meant for Junior Aspirants!" Clotho said with a glare. "I like you, kid, I don't want you to hurt yourself - and if you do this as your regular gig, you'll just get yourself injured or killed."

"It's not a regular gig, I couldn't maintain that." Iskander clarified, finishing his crunches and getting to his feet. Immediately, he switched to squats. "Nah, I'm just doing this job one day a week, my regular chores five days a week, and taking off one day a week for nothing but training, cultivation and a fun night out. That adds up to uh…"

The young Devil cocked his head, already feeling a headache coming on. "Like… like twice as much? Thirteen or something? Wait…"

"Ten days' pay per week." Said the sword hilt, or rather, the entity within it. "Five plus five is ten, are you slow?"

"Kinda. Blood of Bronze makes Devils slowed than other Cultivators." Iskander said, not at all perturbed by the haunted hilt suddenly speaking up. He was used to abrupt starts and finishes to conversations at this point. "Good morning, Senior."

"Morning." Said Lai Bohai, casting his spiritual sense around the room. Clotho shivered under the attention of a Nascent Soul, even one as diminished as this one, but Iskander was no longer bothered by the weighty sensation. "And it's not just the extra pay that will help him cultivate faster; that extra training on his day off will help develop his fundamentals, and more leisure time will hone his mind. I recall having a similar routine when I was just starting out."

"See? It's totally normal." Iskander concluded, enjoying the vindication as Clotho scoffed, rolled over and went back to sleep.

Clotho Lenthulus, Iskander's roommate, wasn't a particularly hard worker. She was in the Fourth Heavenstage, and not in a major hurry to reach the Fifth, as the Fifth Heavenstage meant full Legionnaire status. However, being in the Fourth Heavenstage meant that her apartment was actually half-decent, as opposed to the small hovels handed out to Junior Aspirants.

The modest rent she charged ate into his desperately needed cultivation funds a bit, but Lai Bohai assured Iskander that proper rest and good food would be worth it in the long run. Rest and good food meant a healthy body, which meant he could do bigger jobs, which meant more money on the whole.

Once the warm-ups were done, Iskander immediately made his way to the pantry, pulled out some cheese and salted meat and began tearing into it. His energy felt bottomless today, a mixture of nervousness and excitement filling his body until he was bursting at the seams. Still, it wasn't quite time yet.

—-

"What the hell is this!? Do you even know a thing about swordplay!?" Lai Bohai shouted indignantly.

"I know enough, you fucker. Enough to have a good time!" Iskander roared, wailing on the straw dummy and continuing to gradually shred it to pieces.

"No no no, that's terrible, you won't get anywhere hacking away like that!" Lai Bohai shouted, which finally got Iskander to stop. "It's not just about hitting them hard and getting the sharp bit in! A formless style is fine, but only if you have more precision than this!"

"Goodness, aren't you passionate?" The Junior Aspirant sighed, slinging the practice saber over his shoulder. "Can we save the scientific stuff for later? Between eating, sleeping, cultivating and working, I don't have that much time left. I gotta build muscle!"

"It's not science, it's art! It is beauty itself!"

"Come on man, you're so strict!" Iskander yelled, bringing the saber back and holding it parallel to the ground. With a smooth motion, he chopped deep into the dummy's neck. "Look at that; a dull practice sword, and I can still cut it that deep!"

"A real swordsman could decapitate that dummy with no qi and a dull kitchen knife." The hilt said with a scoff. "I'm not being strict, you're taking this too lightly. Do you have any idea how much my advice is worth?"

It continued on like that for a while, until Iskander's allotted training time was done and he needed to get to work. For all that the two of them bickered back and forth, Iskander couldn't help but enjoy the old ghost's company. Perhaps it was simply because he spent comparatively little time awake; 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' and all that. Or maybe he simply took solace in having someone who truly took him seriously.

Iskander wasn't a pure Sword Artist like some who sought total mastery of combat were. He'd considered going down that path, but Lai Bohai had discouraged such a thing. According to the old ghost, totally or near-totally specializing in one area of expertise was only feasible for two types of people: geniuses good enough to 'defeat paper with rock', and people rich enough to have subordinates who will support their weaknesses. Iskander was neither of those things, and thus spent much of his time also studying basic Body Arts, both to enhance his baseline performance and to support him if he were ever disarmed.

When not practicing sword forms, chopping away at dummies or roping another Junior Heavenstage into sparring, he was doing a wide variety of exercises to build his strength, speed and endurance. The young Devil had heard of weightlifting, but some of this equipment baffled him; what was the difference between lifting an iron weight and lifting a bucket of sand? Why was squatting on one's toes different than squatting on flat feet? Back in his hometown, if a man wanted to get stronger he just ran, lifted rocks, did push-ups, stuff like that. What in the name of fuck were 'macros'!?

By the end of this training session, Iskander was sweaty and sore, albeit less so than most days. He'd gone easy this time around, since he would need to be in perfect condition in about six hours; today was the day he went hardcore, after all. And so, he trudged back to Clotho's apartment for a meal, a wash and some cultivation.

—-

Five and a half hours later, Iskander was feeling… really no closer to the Second Havenstage than before. "Cultivation is the work of a lifetime, of course you never feel different after one session." Lai Bohai had chided him. He was a little late, but more jogging-late than sprinting-late, which meant he could admire the buildings around him on his trip.

The Department of Sanitation commanded far more respect and awe than one would expect, with many towering offices and a large and well-stocked barracks for the two Legions they commanded. He'd never understood why the janitors were such a big deal, but any time he had asked a Senior, they had either chuckled knowingly or winced at a bad memory. One had simply informed him that the day he did some work for the Department was the day he would know.

After some time trying to figure out the difference between the Bureau of Sewage, the Sewer Management Office and the Sewer Corps. Headquarters, the boy finally found himself at what he was pretty sure was the correct location. Before him was a simple but well-constructed wooden desk, behind which sad an old, bored-looking Legionnaire.

His Qi Lake was like a bright star compared to the puddle that was Iskander's. Filling the entire Dantian with qi wasn't even the final obstacle to completing the first Great Realm of cultivation, but the midpoint. And yet, even that milestone seemed so very far away. The young Devil steeled himself - this was why he was here. He couldn't coast along, or that vast stretch of time would swallow him whole.

The man behind the desk sifting through the paperwork bore an expression that was the height of utter boredom, and barely looked at Iskander as he explained the job. "The deal is simple: you get paid for every spirit, spirit beast or large animal you kill and bring back. No proof of a kill, no pay. If the body's got any valuable components, you'll be paid extra. Understand?"

Iskander nodded; that sounded about right. "I do, Senior. And where do I drop the proof off?"

"Office of Spirit Beast Disposal." The record keeper said, seemingly by rote. "How you get it there is your business, but I'd get a Compression Pouch."

"Alright, then I'll just-"

"Wait!" He held up a hand, causing Iskander to freeze in place as he scanned the papers one more time. "Alright, everything seems good to go. Aspirant Iskander Pallikari, you're registered as a sewer hunter for the next year." The record keeper paused for a moment, before returning to the documents and reading them again. "Wait… Junior Aspirant? Is that a typo?"

"No Senior, I'm a Junior Aspirant. Here to start grinding and get those big payouts!" Iskander answered, flashing a grin.

The resource keeper seemed to strongly consider saying something for a moment, before sighing and giving up. "Well, I guess that's allowed… be very careful."

"Will do!" Iskander laughed, taking his token and setting off toward his destination.

Iskander knew that many Cultivators simply never made it past the Third Heavenstage, simply because the scarcity of the resources a Third Heavenstager could safely acquire, combined with the fairly limited scope of their powers, meant that one could easily be stuck in a loop of working every day just to make snail-like progress and not backslide. There were three ways one could avoid such a fate: first, have a family wealthy enough to brute force you to the Fifth Heavenstage in a decade, making you powerful enough to take higher-paying solo missions or work as a fully-fledged Legionnaire. The second was to be so innately talented that you continue to advance quickly despite doing the same bullshit as everybody else. The third was to get a little stupid and do things above your pay grade.

He didn't have much money and his talent was, as far as he could tell, nothing amazing, which meant the only option was to get stupid. Thankfully, Iskander had been practicing getting stupid every day of his life thus far.

—-

"You're a hard worker if nothing else, and that's very good." Lai Bohai chimed in as Iskander navigated through the dark, fetid tunnels beneath the Dawn Fortress. "Not just that, but a creatively hard worker; add in a bit of luck and all that hard work should pay off."

"My my my, you're being encouraging for once!" Iskander smiled, peeking around a corner and casting his torch around. The light didn't go quite as far as the boy would have liked, but it served to confirm once again that his immediate surroundings were safe.

"Good habits should be encouraged. You make me sound like a monster." Lai Bohai chuckled.

Iskander prepared to reply, only to hear an odd banging echoing in the distance. He crouched down in response, before remembering he was carrying a torch, and thus could not hide at all. Slowly, he got back to his feet and crept toward the sound. "Well, isn't that what they call Nascent Souls? Old Monsters?" He asked quietly, trying to keep the mood light.

"Monstrousness is a relative term that can mean many things - now focus!" The hilt commanded. Iskander nodded his assent, unsheathing the saber at his side and continuing to advance.

Iskander's spiritual sense was not exceptional, but they could hardly be called dull either. Lai Bohai had instructed him to work hard on honing it, since accurately judging the strength of an enemy - and thus whether it was wise to engage them - would be a crucial skill for the rest of his life. The creature up ahead, as far as he could tell, was in the Third Heavenstage; that was close enough for him to handle.

Feasting on the half-melted remains of some repulsive-looking worm creature was some sort of frog. That was the closest analogue Iskander could think of, at least, what with the slimy skin, toothless mouth and large, bulging eyes. That said, the ropey pink flesh, bulging throat and almost-human proportions(aside from the back legs, which bent backwards) made the beast that much more unnerving.

Was… was that another of its own kind the monster was chowing down on? Iskander suppressed the urge to throw up.

Still, it was too late to back out now - the wretched beast squinted in the light and let out an ear-piercing screech of warning, taking up a defensive posture over its meal. Without taking his eyes off the enemy, Iskander carefully and deliberately drew the saber at his hip. He circled around the monster, taking note of the foot-deep water and estimating how much it would inhibit his movements.

"A demon, albeit one of the lowest caliber. Formed from the buildup of impurities and possessed of a very rudimentary intelligence." Lai Bohai chimed in. "As opposed to humans and beasts corrupted by impurity, naturalborn demons can take all manner of forms. Weak, Qi Condensation-level ones are a common sight in cities with advanced sewer systems and many high-level Cultivators. Don't let your guard down."

As the clash began, Iskander recalled the lessons that Lai Bohai had started him off with; lessons the hilt claimed had been the foundation of his success as a warrior.

Lesson number zero: Everything in the universe has an end. Nothing is immortal, and anything can be vanquished with the right plan.

Iskander emptied his mind of fear and continued to advance. The beast's maw opened wide and a viscous, mucoid goo shot out. A First Heavenstager didn't have much of an advantage over a mortal, but they did boast a greater reaction time; he dodged to the side, letting the liquid splatter on the wall behind him. His heart was beating like one of those massive drums at the front of a parade, but he approached even closer.

On the one hand, he was in the melee range of an animal that could kill him. On the other hand, it was also in his. Time to party.

Lesson number one: Sword Art effectiveness = technique choice + power + weapon + speed. When everything lines up properly, an artist can bring out miracles, and enough of one component can, to a degree, compensate for a deficiency in another.

Iskander didn't have much speed; that would come with cultivation, and cultivation needed money, which was why he was in the sewer in the first place. His saber was a unadorned piece of ordinary spirit-steel. Hell, spirit-steel was too pricey for him to own at this point; the fucking thing was rented. Still, it was well-made enough. His physical strength was good for his Heavenstage, but certainly less than this demon's.

His choice of techniques was also limited, to say the least: All he had was a very simple Body Art which did little more than loosen up his muscles as if he had been stretching for ten minutes, and an extremely barebones Sword Art which spread a thin layer of qi over the edge of his sword. Another Body Art which put extra force behind an individual swing of his sword; he could use that about five times per day.

The beast lunged, and Iskander's blade rose in an upward slash to meet it, scoring a cut along his enemy's face and driving it back. He reversed his strike into a downward cut, but missed as the demon darted to the side. It jumped into the wall of the tunnel, then pounced toward the little human that dared hurt it.

Lesson number two: Sword Art power = strength + grip + timing + angle. Brute force and size matter, but they are ultimately just one part of a greater tapestry. A man who masters the mechanics of a strike will hit with the destructive capability of a man twice his size.

Stepping back and raising the saber above his head at the same time, Iskander let the beast land right where he had just been before bringing it down. The edge cleaved through the slimy skin and carved through its flank, spilling a cloud of red into the greenish-brown water at their feet.

Yes, Iskander didn't have speed, or an exceptional weapon, or much in the way of technique choice, but power? That he could bring to bear, if he played his cards right. He could cut through powerful enemies, so long as he cut them in the right way.

Lesson number three: Almost nothing in this world is uniformly strong; most can be divided into weak points and strong points. Striking the enemy's weak points will bring them down faster, and damaging the enemy's strong points will degrade their ability to fight.

This time, instead of dodging backward, Iskander dodged forward, stepping in at an angle to let its long, slippery fingers fly by him. There, the neck! With a snicker-snack, his blade bit into the monster's throat, sticking in deep. He made to pull the blade free and escape, but instead it held fast, and the amphibious beast pitched forward, knocking Iskander to the ground.

Filthy water splashed all around the pair as the monster hacked and wheezed, trying to spray poison out through its ruined throat. Shit, this was bad! Sword Arts to pull a blade free were a thing just about everyone learned, but not in the First Heavenstage!

Lesson number four: No real battle is ever clean. If the enemy is even remotely a threat, be prepared to take unorthodox measures, make imperfect strikes, and accept damage to deal greater damage in return.

Iskander stopped thrashing and calmed himself, despite the frantic situation. Even as the beast gave up on spitting poison in his face and instead pressed its forelimbs down upon his head and pushed it beneath the water, he didn't despair.

With one hand, he reached up and grabbed the demon's face. The gap in between their cultivation bases meant he lacked the strength to wrestle with this thing, especially from a disadvantageous position like this, but that was fine. He just needed to know by touch where its head was.

With his other hand, he extended his thumb and swung it as hard as he could, slamming into an oversized eyeball and popping it like an overripe grape. The throbbing pain Iskander felt in response told him that the digit would be sore and stiff for a couple of days, but it was worth it. The beast screeched, immediately jumping off of him and skittering backward.

Iskander sat up, gasping and coughing, to find his quarry fleeing the scene, and took off after it. The end result was anticlimactic; the demon bled out too much to run in just a couple of minutes, and he finished it off with a backup knife. And yet as undignified as the affair had been, this felt momentous. Iskander's first real battle, not a spar, was over, and he was the victor.

—-

Dragging the heavy corpse of the demon back out of the sewer, Iskander was filled with conflicting emotions that he didn't know how to describe. He'd won; actually succeeded in deadly combat against a true monster, and yet…

"I'm going to do things like that all the time, huh?" He sighed, looking off into the light of the sewer entrance in the distance.

"If you really want to get strong fast, you are." Lai Bohai replied curtly. "Only fighting things weaker than yourself unless you have to - that's how most people go through life. Rising from nothing to become a Nascent Soul takes far more than that."

"No, no, it's not that I'm scared, it's just…" Iskander screwed up his face, changing his grip on the demon to drag it more easily. "I dunno, monster slaying doesn't feel glorious, I guess."

The hilt remained silent for a moment, and Iskander worried it had gone back to sleep, but it soon spoke up again after formulating its thoughts. "Killing is killing. The sensation of slicing through living meat is the same regardless of whose meat you slice. Violence is nothing more than a tool of achieving one's objectives."

Iskander looked away and scratched the back of his head, voice coming out soft and weary. "That's a pretty cold way to look at it…"

Lai Bohai was thoroughly unamused by such indecisiveness, and made his displeasure clear. "The distribution of resources, the ordering of hierarchy, the dominance of one worldview over another, the borders of nations. These things can be decided through negotiation or through violence. When to use violence, and when to restrain it; that is one of many things I will teach you."

Then, without bothering to say goodnight, Lai Bohai went 'back to sleep' Or rather, the ancient ghost returned to the state of torpor in which he existed most of the time. That fact that he had retained his mind and most of his memories after so much time, even if only for one day a month or so, spoke volumes about the power the old Nascent had once possessed.

Shaking his head and sighing at his master's rudeness, Iskander turned a corner, prompting several Devils to jump or stumble back as an Aspirant dragging a fresh spirit beast corpse walked past them as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Hey, what was he supposed to do? Compression Pouches were too expensive.

—-

I totally, completely ran out of things to write for Gaius, or at least I have for the time being until my omake partners get back to me. However, I still have all this time at work that I can use to write. My solution: make a secondary character.

Some of you may remember that Iskander was a hypothetical "alternate character" that I had considered going with instead of Gaius. Well, I've decided that he's real now. I changed a couple of details, like making both his first and last names Greek instead of one being Roman and the other being Greek, changing Shen Zhihao to Lai Bohai because the latter felt better to say, and making it so Iskander doesn't know what his Dao will be yet. That last part hasn't been shown yet, but it's gonna be a thing, since that distinguishes him from Gaius.

This not only gives me a lens through which to interact with younger characters, it means I get to explore a character who is very different from Gaius. Iskander is a lot less cynical and a lot more kind than The Seeker, but at the same time he could also be said to have a somewhat inhuman way of thinking at times.

Another fun thing is that it's nice to go back to writing a character who doesn't have such a huge arsenal of overpowered abilities. Don't get me wrong, I like getting silly with it, but I also like more grounded combat, so having these two characters will let me do a bit of both.

 

[no.]

Iskander Pallikari 2 - He Laughed​

It had been about six years since he wasn't surrounded by buildings.

This thought hit Iskander out of nowhere as he trudged through the sand, bundled up tight against the chill of the desert night air. He hadn't really processed that, he supposed. There had been the occasional yearning for the wilderness, but he'd been so very busy training and cultivating day in and day out, first in the academy and then as a Junior Aspirant, that there just hadn't been enough time for frivolous thoughts.

The boy took a moment to just enjoy the silence and the fresh air, but it wasn't long before a familiar voice cut in.

"Hurry up, kid. The Dragonlines don't often resonate as strongly as they do tonight." Lai Bohai said from his hip. "And with Sword Qi too, that's a nice treat."

For the past six months, Iskander had been saving up 5% of the Contribution Points he made, while using the rest for his own cultivation. After all this time, he had saved up enough to purchase himself a five day vacation to Emporikipolis, where he was to go bar crawling with friends, cultivate for only eight hours a day instead of twelve, and buy himself some nice souvenirs with mortal money. And now of all times, in the middle of the night, that damn ghost had woken up, then woken him up, shouting that there was an opportunity out here which couldn't be missed.

"Alright, alright, I'm moving. I really hope this is worth it, Senior." Iskander sighed, picking the pace back up. Within the pack on his back, the rustling and clinking of dozens of low-grade spirit stones could be heard - every single stone in Iskander's possession, just as Lai Bohai had instructed him to bring.

"If you really are committed to 'rescuing me', then the least I can do is make you take advantage of opportunities like these." Lai Bohai insisted. "Don't know if it's possible for me to compensate you adequately, really…"

"Aww, what do you mean, Senior?" Iskander chuckled, patting the hilt like one might comfortingly pat a friend on the shoulder. "You've done so much for me already. I mean, who the hell gets private tutoring from an Old Monster once a month!?"

The ghost scoffed. "One, I told you not to call me that. Two, what that's worth is nothing next to the amount of trouble you're going to go through."

Something about that statement irked Iskander. Or rather, that statement was the last straw in a pile of similar cryptic statements. He stopped again, tossing his pack on the ground beside him and holding up the hilt of the Wailing Conqueror. "If that's really true, then just tell me already. What exactly am I going to be doing for you besides just cultivating?"

"It's nothing to concern yourself with." Lai Bohai snapped. "It won't be relevant to you for decades, and dwelling on it in the meantime will only sow doubt in your mind."

"I keep my promises, always have and always will." Iskander insisted, holding the hilt up to his face as if he were looking Lai Bohai in the eye. "Just tell me what it's gonna take, and I'll do it."

"Fine, if you're going to be so stubborn, then I'll be frank in turn and tell you what it will take." Lai Bohai sighed, as if even the prospect of explaining himself was making him weary. "Are you familiar with the Twin-Souled variant of the Nascent Soul stage?"

"Never heard of it." Iskander shrugged. "Wouldn't a person with two souls be two people?"

"Yes and no. I knew a Twin-Souled Nascent back home, and she did have two 'modes' depending on which one was currently dominant. The sword arm on her, let me tell you…" Lai Bohai trailed off into a nostalgic haze, before clearing his throat and continuing. "A-anyway, to become a Twin-Souled Nascent Soul, or just Twin Nascent Soul, one must ascend from a Twin Core. This involved cultivating to the limit of the Core Formation stage, then splitting one's Golden Core into two pieces. With enough mental strength, one can survive this ordeal, and the pieces will heal into two smaller Cores."

"Splitting your own Golden Core in half and living…" Iskander gulped. What kind of freak could possibly survive something like that.

"Insane, I know. The resulting Nascent Soul Tribulation would be twice as powerful, too. If you were to successfully become a Twin Nascent Soul and gift one of your souls to me, I could in theory transmigrate into an empty Nascent Soul body." Lai Bohai explained. As he did so, the possibility of Iskander fulfilling his promise seemed to be falling away from him, getting more and more distant.

As Iskander tried not to despair, the ancient ghost continued speaking. "Just one problem. Each Twin Core is obviously half the size of the original core, so each of the Twin Souls is only half the size of a normal Nascent Soul. Will either of us survive with such an underdeveloped soul? Will we be able to cultivate, or will we backslide until our bodies lack the qi to sustain us and we die?"

"I… I dunno, Senior." Iskander stammered. "I hope not. Is there a way to stop that?"

Lai Bihai chuckled cruelly at the despondent face of his only hope.. "Finally you understand the gravity of the situation. There is; in fact, there are two, and we'll be doing both. Completing the Twelfth Heavenstage strengthens the soul of a Cultivator when they enter the Nascent Soul stage, that will give us a better chance; we'll be weak Nascents, not crippled Nascents."

Well, that set a lot more of Iskander's future in stone, at least. The third of the famous Olympian Keystones, the Twelfth Heavenstage was said to take more than four times as long to reach as the Ninth did, and all but guaranteed that whoever made it there would be a Super Expert, towering over their peers.

Iskander sighed, lowering his head and taking a moment to absorb everything that had been dropped on him. After several moments of silence, he looked back up and once more raised the hilt to eye level. "And the other one?"

"The Eighth Pillar. I do believe one of your Clan's newer heroes famously achieved it a few decades back? What was her name, Mineral?" The ghost paused for a moment before giving up and continuing. "It will not strengthen us physically, but a deep well of positive karma will help us survive the risky procedure."

The Eighth Pillar, that mysterious achievement recently unearthed. If unorthodox stages were an ordeal in Qi Condensation, they were a true heroic labor in Foundation Building, where the gaps and the resource investment between small realms was so much larger. It was said that the gap between the Seventh and Eighth Pillars took as long to cross as it did to complete all four Olympian Keystones. Only true, genuine geniuses ever considered crossing that boundary.

Iskander furrowed his brow and began counting on his fingers. So he was to go from here to Ninth, then Ninth to Thirteenth, then build the normal Seven Pillars, then from Seventh to Eighth, then do whatever a Twin Core entailed. "So that means, uh… Lessee here, nine to ten is as much as one to nine, then ten to eleven is as much as one to ten, so that's like doing one to nine… six times? Or is it seven times? Then do twelve, which is as much as one to five, so that's like going from one to five… fifteen times? Er, wait, lemme go back…"

"Twice as long." Lai Bohai cut in. "The whole journey, from the First Heavenstage to the Twin Core stage, will take you exactly twice as long as going from the FIrst Heavenstage to the normal peak of Core Formation. And that is without factoring in the more powerful tribulations."

All went silent for a while. The wind whistled through the patches of dry scrub grass grass and the moon shone down, illuminating the pair in a mystical silver light.

"I'm telling you all of this because I need you to understand what your promise actually means." The ghost cut in after a while. "I am moved, I really am, which is why I don't want you to ruin your own chances by doing something you were not prepared for. At the end of all of this, you will be a weak Nascent Soul. In half that time, you could become a perfectly average Nascent Soul."

Iskander thought on that for a moment. A long moment, perhaps, but still just one moment. The First Heavenstager held the remains of a Late Nascent Soul in his hand silently. Then, he laughed. It was not a snicker or a chuckle, but the loud, almost violent belly-laugh of a person more amused than they had ever been in their entire life.

That was just the kind of luck he had, then? He was to be tossed about helplessly by fate from one extreme to the next, prevailing vibrantly and suffering deeply? All because he'd felt bad for a sorry old ghost and said 'I'll save you'?

Hilarious. Truly, deeply funny. His face turned red and tears poured from his eyes. He doubled over, laughing so hard he was worried he might pass out. Eventually, after a few minutes, it passed.

After he finished laughing, Iskander looked up at the sky and admired the constellations. "I mean, I get what you're saying, Senior. I really do. But the thing is, when I was little my mom took me by the hand. She looked me in the eye and said 'son, the worth of a man is his ability to some through for others. Always stand by your word, and when you make a promise, follow through."

When Lai Bohai next spoke, it was in a more haggard tone than Iskander was used to hearing from him. He sounded exhausted, spent, and unspeakably old. "Is that how it is? Then I suppose you won't be dissuaded. I dare say, if you betrayed yourself here, you'd be finished."

"Eh? Why's that?"

"Don't worry about it."

Iskander shrugged, then picked up his pack and continued his trek up the hill. As a Junior Aspirant, he wasn't even supposed to be this far out from the Dawn Fortress. Emporikipolis was an exception to that ironclad rule, with visits only permitted if one had the proper visa, and he was no longer within Emporikipolis' city limits. It wouldn't do to linger for longer than necessary. He'd do one twelve-hour cultivation session, then return to the Dawn Fortress before his visa expired.

Except when the young Devil approached the hilltop from which Lai Bohai had felt such a potent resonance of Sword Qi, he found it already occupied.

—-

"The moon's bright tonight." Xiuying murmured, her eye pointed towards the celestial object that hung in the night's sky. The moon held a kind of beauty that couldn't be matched by others. Beauty after all came in many different form. Even ugliness could result in a beauty of some kind. One could not compare the beauty of the moon to the beauty of a skilled cut after all. Pulling her eyes away from the moon, Xiuying turned her eyes to the horizon, her grip on her sword loose and unstrained in a way that only a fool would consider tender.

Xiuying had fought fought those who treat their sword like they would a lover, with both affection and detail. She killed them all without batting an eye. A sword was not a lover after all. A sword is but a tool for cutting, a tool for separating men from their vital fluids.

Tonight, Xiuying could not sleep, a common occurrence since she had formed her Core. The Dao of Sword Law was one that could not be walked without giving up certain things.

She did not hate noodles. Xiuying could still eat and appreciate a good bowl of noodle soup. But gone was her almost zealous reverence of the food. She no longer felt any real passion from cooking noodles nor did she felt the need to expound and demonstrate the wonders of noodles to those ignorant of the food. It was just food after all and as much as she liked eating and cooking it, it paled in comparison to what she felt when she cut.

It hadn't been easy to cut off her own love of noodles, to pare it down to something that no longer threatened to overwhelm her resolve to follow the path of Sword Law.

It had not been long since she had embarked on that mission with Minvera Barda for that garden project of hers. Infiltrating the Poison Maze had been an interesting experience and Xiuying had returned from that mission with new understanding of the sanctioned action that was to cut.

She had born witness to a droplet from the sleeping fangs of the great spider, the Mother of Poisons, cut a nearby Core Expert in half. It had been incomprehensible to her at the time and though she had meditated beneath the terrifying creature to try and understand what had happened. The idea had come to her after she had finished mediating and gathered the droplet of saliva that was able to cut.

Up till now, poisons were merely a slow and nasty way of killing to Xiuying yet discovering a poison that could cut had changed her mind. If there was a poison that was like a cut then would there not be a cut that was like a poison?

Thus, Xiuying was out here in the middle of night, swinging her sword and cutting down imaginary opponents, all while trying to figure out how to make her cut like a poison. To her annoyance, after cutting down the hundredth or so imagination opponent, her sword broke. Xiuying stared at the broken blade before shrugging her shoulders and continued cutting down her imaginary foes, ignoring the broken off blade as it joined several other much like it. Around her were the broken remains of the other half of others swords that hadn't been able to keep up with her strength.

These mortal made swords were simply incapable of handling her skills, regardless of how much she tried to keep them from breaking. For most of her life as a cultivator, Xiuying cared little for the swords that she wielded. What she sought after all was to master the art of Cutting and swords were nothing more than tool for cutting, expendable and replaceable, nothing worth getting all bothered about like she had seen with other swordsmen. She had to admit that she'll enjoyed the sight of young masters freaking out over an old simply made sword cutting through their incredibly valuable weapons that had dozens of high quality regents and material used in their creations.

That said, she was not yet at the same level of her master who could create breathtakingly beautiful Cuts with nothing but an old rusted blunt sword and Xiuying couldn't afford to keep having her weapon break beyond all use all the time, especially now that she was now a Core Formation expert with more responsibilities.

It was time to invest in some higher quality weapons, ones that could at least keep up with her cultivation.

Regardless of her sword's quality, Xiuying continued to swing her sword against an imagined opponent.

Each swing sung through the air, leaving behind trails of moonlight that reflected off the metal of the blade. Though the sword in Xiuying's hand may be broken, it still held a long and very sharp edge filled with Xiuying's Will.

—-

"Mm, not bad, not bad at all…" Lai Bohai mused appreciatively. "Pay close attention, boy. That one is going places."

The ghost need not have said anything, for Iskander didn't even hear him. His gaze remained utterly transfixed on the gorgeous motions of that woman's blade. She had to be an Elder, that much was certainly true. He'd seen Experts spar from time to time, and none of them had possessed this sort of profundity in their martial arts.

His brain seemed to speed up faster and faster as he studied the way this mysterious practitioner moved. The weapon in her hand didn't seem to have any meaning at all; it was simply the outlet through which her will and her martial arts were channeled. The fact that there was no wasted motion, of course, went without saying; every movement was without flaw and without doubt.

Little by little, other figures came into focus. Iskander saw the outlines of the foes this Elder was slaying. He saw the moonlight glinting off their imaginary weapons, and the arcs in which their imaginary blood flew as they were struck.

"This is what the way of the sword means, Iskander." Lai Bohai declared, as another opponent lost his head. "It carries not the might of the Body Arts, or the versatility of alchemy, or the destructive power of curses or elementalism. It is a unity of purpose, the perfection of combat."

The Twelfth Heavenstage, the Eighth Pillar and the Twin Core. That wasn't really so tough, was it? If his blade could sing so beautifully, then anything would be possible - Iskander could achieve all that and more. His determination, which had been threatening to crumble beneath his optimistic facade, rebuilt itself stronger than ever before in that moment, beneath the light of the moon.

Iskander didn't dare talk to that Elder, didn't dare ask her name, for to do so would mean she would stop practicing those beautiful forms. Instead he stood there patiently, and for the first time in his life, began to truly understand his own path.

—-

And there's Iskander's second omake. I'm gonna try and put out one more before the turn is fully over so he can go into his first fate roll with a wordcount of around 10,000 words. I'll aim for that number every turn from now on, since this guy is my low-maintenance secondary seed.

I was thinking on who to do a Trianing Juniors collab with, and found myself stumped for a bit. None of the current pool of experts were really clicking, but then I remembered Xiuying was around. I asked @shibosho if he wanted to do this and he graciously agreed. From there, I came up with an idea for how to frame the whole thing.

Iskander, as noted in the previous omake, is not a pure sword art specialist; his way of doing things is more flexible and scrappy, although still mostly focused on swordplay. Even so, seeing an expression of the Sword Arts so pure and profound that they cause the local Dragonlines to resonate with Sword Qi is the sort of thing that would have a major impact on any Sword Artist.

 

[shibosho]

Adding my link for the collab. I should do them more often.

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

Iskander Pallikari 2 - He Laughed It had been about six years since he wasn't surrounded by buildings. This thought hit Iskander out of nowhere as he trudged through the sand, bundled up tight against the chill of the desert night air. He hadn't really processed that, he supposed. There had...

forums.sufficientvelocity.com

 

[Simon_Jester]

I feel sorry for Xiuying and the noodles.

 

[no.]

Iskander Palikari 2 - Nostalgia Painted in Clouds​

Lai Bohai never got used to the air up here, no matter how much time passed. Twelve miles above the sea, the air got so thin that mortals simply could not survive at all, and those in Qi Condensation struggled to stay conscious. As a Nascent Soul, something like this did not actually affect his health, but it aggravated his lungs and made Lai Bohai yearn to return to the lowlands.

Looking out down from the seat of his power, he beheld a sea of clouds below, pierced here and there by similarly tall mountains. The winter brought an intense chill at this elevation which forced lesser Sect Members to bundle up in fur-lined robes had no effect on a Late Nascent Soul, and he had grown tired of pretending that it did. Thus, he wore only a pair of baggy pants and a loose-fitting robe more fit for the summertime.

Half a mile below, in a hollow opening in the mountaintop, lay The Crag, the fortress at the heart of the Unconquered Tiger Sect. All the way up here and protected on all sides, the heart of Lai Bohai's influence was impossible to besiege. The base was carved directly into the mountain itself and went down several sub-basements deep, then built up into the sky from that sturdy foundation. This whole organization was simply a means to an end, his way of rebelling against the status quo, and yet he could not deny feeling some muted sense of pride looking down upon it. That was why this particular spot at the highest point of the mountain offered the best view; not only could he see the things he had built, but the wildness of the outside world as well.

Picking up a loose stone, Lai Bohai tested the weight by tossing it up and down in his hand, before flinging it hard at one of the other mountain peaks. It sailed through the air before disappearing in the distance; a rather underwhelming result. That was foolish; obviously he wouldn't be able to see if it hit or not.

"But isn't that the point?" A woman's voice spoke up behind him. Every muscle in the old swordsman's body tensed up for an instant out of reflex, before he registered who it had come from.

The Green Sage, his old partner in crime, was as usual near-completely covered up. She wore a mask carved with abstract patterns, with a translucent veil over the mask and a hood over the veil. Her elaborate robes and gloves hid every inch of her body, and were, as the name suggested, mostly in green. She stood ramrod-straight, hands folded behind her back, and looked into the distance with eerie stillness.

"The point of what?" Lai Bohai asked, turning to face his second-in-command and tucking a long strand of hair behind his head.

"Life? Cultivation? All of this?" The Green Sage replied with a tilt of her head, her voice almost childlike in its friendly inquiry. "We cast stones out, and despite not being able to see where they fall, we aim for the right target."

"You're very good at pretending to be profound, friend." Lai Bohai sighed, though he couldn't help but let a small smile creep onto his face. "But why are you here? It's rare for neither of us to be cultivating at any given time."

The sage's tone lost any feeling of amusement as she got down to business. "Word has arrived from Greater Xing; the Imperial Army has put down their uprising."

Lai Bohai clicked his tongue and scowled. Greater Xing was a fairly large and wealthy province, thick with dense, humid jungles and craggy mountains alike. The rebellion he stirred up there should have held out much longer. "How in the world did they manage that?"

"Brute force, I'm afraid." His subordinate uttered disdainfully. "Four generals, two Late Nascents and two strong Mid Nascents, each with a few million soldiers. The emperor, it seems, wished to settle the matter quickly, rather than let that wound fester."

The Grand Elder muttered a curse under his breath. After all the attention he'd paid to Greater Xing, all the influence he had exerted for the past two centuries, he had expected them to stand for centuries in turn. "Did they at least put in a good showing?" He sighed.

At that question, the Green Sage nodded vigorously, some happiness quickly re-entering her voice. "Oh yes. Reports show that our revolutionaries killed three times their number. One Late Nascent and one Mid Nascent among them, and the other Mid Nascent was hurt quite badly."

Lai Bohai crossed his arms, mentally running through an endless list of economic calculations. "Then at least we got our money's worth. More, actually."

"That is all I have to report, Grand Elder. Shall I leave you to your quietude?" The sage concluded, having returned fully to that aggravatingly serene tone of hers. She punctuated her question with a bow.

"...no." He replied, after thinking on it for a moment. "I wasn't really doing anything anyway. Stay if you'd like."

The sage did indeed stay, but said relatively little from that point onward. She soon sat down to cultivate, and he did the same, and they passed a few months in quiet companionship in that way. There were very few people Lai Bohai trusted so much that he would fall into a deep trance right in front of them, but the Green Sage was one of the most dependable people he knew, and they had saved each other's lives more than once.

Only… this didn't quite feel right. Something was off, setting Lai Bohai's nerves a-jitter. A pervasive feeling of being ever so slowly crushed hung about the old sword master no matter how deep a trance he tried to enter. Finally, his eyes flew open and he shot up to his feet. The Green Sage quickly followed suit, no doubt worried that her superior had sensed some threat that she had missed.

Lai Bohai paced back and forth, drawing his sword and swinging it aimlessly. He must have looked like a madman in that moment, mumbling half-words under his breath and attacking nothing at all. He was burning up inside, too much energy trapped in a too-small vessel. He couldn't fucking breathe, the air up here was just too thin!

No, Lai Bohai realized, it wasn't just the thin air up here that aggravated his lungs. The air everywhere tasted more stale than it had in his youth. The power in the land was declining, and everyone could feel it. Some denied this phenomenon, believing it only a momentary cosmological downturn before the world returned to its natural state, but those with sense knew better. Already, only one Spirit Severing Cultivator remained in this Region.

Emperor Chang Guang held the Mantle of Heaven in these lands not through virtue or wisdom, but through might. As the only person in his empire to attain the fifth Great Realm, he was nearly unassailable, and any Great Circle Nascent who could potentially rise to challenge him was instead brought into the fold. Great Circles were flattered, they were given privilege, and they were provided any luxury they could imagine in the capital and its surrounding lands.

But that left the Great Cloud Empire's periphery weak. Chang Guang's fear of being overthrown ensured that only Late Nascents and below governed the vast majority of his territory, which meant an unusually strong Late Nascent like Lai Bohai could run rampant. So long as he did not cause such a huge fuss that the emperor himself left his throne unguarded to personally kill him, Lai Bohai could continue to amass strength, reach the Great Circle, and maybe even ascend to Spirit Severing himself.

"The higher you climb the more wrong it feels. The easier it is to know that it's all going to shit…" The Grand Elder muttered, slamming the Wailing Conqueror back into its sheath.

Suddenly, a hand pressed down on his shoulder, weighty and encouraging. "You must calm yourself, Grand Elder." Said the Green Sage, a soothing tone coming out from behind her impassive mask.

"If I knew how to do that, I'd have avoided so many mistakes." He scoffed in response, brushing off her silk-gloved hand.

It was too irritating; how could Lai Bohai possibly cultivate in one spot when his insides felt so dried out and each breath gave him not quite enough life? He had to move, had to exert himself, had to feel like a living being with blood in his veins again.

"I'm going out again, just for a few days." Said Lai Bohai, rubbing the pommel of his sword with his thumb. The edges of the inlaid jewels scraped against his calloused skin in a pleasing way, serving to calm his mind. "I need to cut something."

The Green Sage clicked her tongue disapprovingly "A Grand Elder shouldn't have so much bloodlust. It damages one's ability to lead."

Lai Bohai let out a bark of frustrated laughter at that remark. "What Grand Elder!? I sure don't see one around here!" He spread his arms theatrically. "We're just bandits with a political cause. You dress it all up too much."

"It is not important to dress things up?" The Green Sage asked, circling right back into her playful tone. "Is dressing up not the thing that makes men into more than beasts?"

"I was always bad at pretending to be human." The Grand Elder sighed, rubbing the pommel of his sword harder than before. "And nothing important is going on right now, nothing you would need my presence for."

Indeed, now that the Green Sage had recently elevated herself to Late Nascent, many things had been easier. Between the two of them and their Mid Nascent subordinate Zeng Pengfei, they were much more flexible in where they could go and what they could do. As such, Lai Bohai had grown anxious with seclusion more frequently than he used to.

The sage went silent for a moment, contemplating Lai Bohai's words. It wasn't just her hidden face that made her hard to figure out, but the way she moved as well. The sage was primarily a Soul Artist, but she was also an excellent practitioner of Body Arts. The flawless control she exerted over even the tiniest motions made her body language nearly unreadable.

Finally, she spoke again, shrugging her shoulders with a great heaving motion. "If taking a sabbatical will bring back the wise leader who has given us so many victories, then perhaps it is for the best. Be free for a while; should anything truly urgent occur, I shall send a signal."

"Thanks. I'll be seeing you." Lai Bohai bowed politely, then took to the air.

—-

It didn't take too long to find something to do. Exploring for a few hours a day and cultivating for the rest of it, Lai Bohai covered ground fast, moving in a spiral pattern around his Sect which gradually widened.

In the first year, he hunted a few Nascent-level Spirit Beasts, which provided some degree of entertainment. In the second, he discovered a deep canyon he had previously been unaware of, and went delving for secrets. There ultimately wasn't much down there that could be useful to him, but he sent a Thunder Hawk back to the sect to notify them of his discovery. It was not until the third year, however, that Lai Bohai truly found the kind of amusement he had been searching for.

Heading in the direction of the Heavenly Magnate Sect was a procession of wagons, each of them armored and carved in all manner of warding arrays. All in all, a very expensive production, probably worth more than whatever they were carrying. Well, that just wouldn't do at all.

The Unconquered Tiger Sect had been thorough in stopping any trade between the Heavenly Magnate Sect and the Imperial Capital, gradually weakening the group they had once seceeded from. It wasn't quite time for Lai Bohai to return to his old Sect and reconquer it - it would be wise to starve them for another century at least.

Crashing through the sound barrier and letting the shattering of the air announce his presence, the old sword master flew ahead of the procession and hovered above them in plain view. He surveyed them for a moment; A gaggle of Core Formation Elders, some with Foundation Building attendants, with a Mid Nascent at the front. Interestingly, he couldn't quite tell which was which - even this close, those wards were still greatly warping his senses.

Indeed, sending so many powerful Cultivators to guard a transport of supplies was obscene… were they not needed to power wards that would hide them from even the spiritual senses of a Late Nascent. "I have to say, this is a new trick. I only found you because I got lucky." Lai Bohai proclaimed, pointing one hand at the convoy to help direct his will. "Take that small victory to the grave."

The effect of the Soul Crush and its ability to instantly kill one's lessers varied between one Nascent to the next. The common consensus was that a Nascent could kill anyone less than or equal to exactly one Great Realm below them. Thus, Mid Nascents could crush up to Mid Core, and Late Nascents could crush up to Late Core. Lai Bohai was relatively unskilled with manipulation of the soul(though he was pretty damn good at cutting ghosts), so his Soul Crush was on the weak side.

As he brought his strength to bear, another's came to meet it. The two great wills clashed, formless and colorless but utterly immense in their magnitude. Anyone in Foundation immediately collapsed, as did a few of the weakest Cores, but the rest weathered it. Lai Bohai's attention shifted to the source of the resistance, a large man with a long beard almost entirely obscured by a thick, heavy cloak. There was the Nascent.

"I thought I smelled something funny around here." Lai Bohai chuckled, touching down in front of the other Nascent and flashing a savage smile. The subordinates quickly - and smartly - withdrew behind their superior. "The emperor really thought he could sneak this little convoy of yours right under my nose? Give the Heavenly Magnate Sect those much-needed supplies? That ain't how this works."

"You're the Vermillion Cloud Hunter, Lai Bohai?" The convoy leader asked, taking a deep breath and shrugging off his cloak to reveal a suit of heavy armor brimming with mighty enchantments. Immediately, the man's cultivation rocketed up into Late Nascent. Lai Bohai tensed up in response, immediately re-evaluating the situation. This wasn't the bullying he'd thought he was in for, it was a genuine rumble.

The other Nascent grinned, amused at Lai Bohai's reaction. "Really got one over on you, huh? I paid a lot for that trick." He laughed, carefully folding his cloak and handing it off to a subordinate. Tricks within tricks; no doubt the man's cultivation had been suppressed by that cloak to draw Lai Bohai in. "You're a lot smaller than I expected. A lot dumber too!"

The enemy drew a pair of large sabers from his hips, looking every bit as enthusiastic about this battle as Lai Bohai did. "My name is Tang Ying. The emperor promised me that if I killed you, he'd give me your Sect after it's conquered. Nothing personal."

The prospect of a fight to the death set his blood alight, long-suppressed energy boiling out of him. Lai Bohai drew his Wailing Conqueror in one quick motion, mist already swirling at his feet. "You're not the first person he's promised that to, you know. You won't be the last either."

This was exactly what he needed, exactly what he'd been missing for so long. A real slobberknocker of a battle, one that would test his limits once more. First he'd put this asshole away, then the Heavenly Mandate Sect, and then another chunk of the Cloud Empire after that. Lai Bohai keep his revolution going as long as he had any life left in him at all.

With a surge of preternatural power, his blade flashed–

—-

"Senior? Senior?" Iskander asked, tapping on the side of the Wailing Conqueror's hilt and making it wobble slightly. "Come on Senior, you said you'd make up today. I'm gonna stay down there longer today and get two kills. You said you'd be awake for that one."

The ghost's first few words came out so slurred, Iskander had no idea what was being said in the slightest. After a moment, Lai Bohai cleared his nonexistent throat, returning fully to the land of the living. "Right, right, I did say that, didn't I? Okay, I'm up."

Iskander picked up the hilt and made to fasten it to his side as he normally did, before pausing for a moment, then raising it up to eye level. "Senior, are you alright? You seem sad?"

"Sad? No, I wouldn't say that." The old ghost muttered. "Overthinking doesn't suit you, let's get going."

—-

This one is a little different; it's a flashback to Lai Bohai's life in the Great Cloud Empire. There's going to be plenty of these in the future, drip-feeding information to the audience as it becomes relevant. The version of events described in the original omake(the one which inspired Iskander's whole existence) is still broadly accurate but not completely, and there are many missing twists and details besides.

I ended up going with this because, to be frank, there isn't that much going on in a First Heavenstager's life. Iskander also doesn't have as much initial craziness going on in his life as Gaius did, meaning there aren't that many notable events to write about before his first Fate Roll.

This is fun because it gives me an opportunity to explore what it's like to be a Nascent Soul, particularly one who's not burdened by poor cultivation talent like Manuel is. Because of that, Lai Bohai has a bit more freedom than Manuel, who has to cultivate for an average of over 23 hours a day. It also helps that these flashbacks are set thousands of years in the past, when the qi was thicker, Spirit Severing was not quite as impossible, and more people became Nascent Souls.

Lai Bohai is also someone with a lot of depth who has lived long enough to be many different people at different points in that life. This omake takes place in what I call the Che Phase, where Lai Bohai is a rebel leader constantly working to undermine the Great Cloud Empire.

He's a lot less tired and mellow here than he is in the modern day. All those years being passed from one hand to another has long since worn down most of his pride and left him weary with the world.

 

[Quest]

Antonius Emmanuel Eleanora 80
[Turn 11]
[Yuan Realm 1: The Word of A King]​

"Yixuan Shan."

When Antonius Ambrosius whispered the name out loud, it was just air leaving his lips. The leviathanic Silver-Scaled Pipefish had long since passed on, the lake of salt formed from his presence now dried up. He sighed, feeling a little silly as he knelt down to touch the earth below. The only evidence of his existence was the silver scale around his neck, once a focus for his Wave-Summoning Art, now completely inert.

Still when he touched the silt, he imagined the scale warm for a moment. "You will never be completely gone." There was no answer of course, for the dead were dead but the ceremony was important for this. "Not while I live on." As he continued to speak, the River Styx roared within him, threatening to give weight to the weightless and forge an Oath out of his words.

Yet he wasn't deterred.

"You have always wished to know what happened to the woman you loved." He smiled slightly, remembering the memories the old pipefish had shared. "Then that shall be how I honor you - I swear to seek out the mystery of the Silver Maiden in your name and understand the final fate that your true self endured as you left to save her." The weight settled on his shoulders, the words and actions once released from the mind now became shackles to his soul - but he did not begrudge the responsibility.

It was the right thing to do.

Taking a breath, he turned away from the place where he had met Yixuan Shan. He was merely the first soul he needed to honor today, but by far it was the easiest one. The ancient creature had long since accepted his death. The weight from the oath was weak and easily fulfilled, but it was the ones to follow that would hang like a noose around his neck. Nevertheless, this was the only way he could think to honor those he had lost.

This done, he rose and held out a hand. Drops of water coalesced from the air, spinning together into a solid ball. Though this was possible even in the desert air, the rich qi of Yuan seemed to make the conjuration especially easier. Still, there was something more to it than there was before.

There was a resonance with his dao, as the water seemed to become heavier to his senses. It was drawing upon the strength of the River Styx, allowing the water to affect spiritual forces as if they were physical. It would hit harder and more easily break defenses, but that was all he could do at the moment.

The river in his mind represented the strength of traditions and ideals, the weight that mere mental constructs had simply because he gave them that strength. As he reinforced his dao pillar, he suspected would gain more control over that power to bind not just himself but others to oaths or otherwise manifest ideas as tangible forces but that was for later. Now, he simply used it as he originally had and dropped the ball of water to the ground.

It swelled until there was a large wave surging in place and stepped on top of it, its surface straining but not breaking and then he began to move forward in an exaggerated jog, hands and legs swinging in concert. As he kicked down with one leg, the wave would move forward and push the other leg up and so on it would go. He could manipulate it with his will alone of course, but accompanying it with motion let him be lost in the push and pull of it.

Then he reached his destination.

It was a flat ground, rare in the mountains of the Yuan Secret Realm. He could almost imagine the spars he'd here over a hundred years ago, but he didn't continue down that line of thought. Taking a breath, he shook his head and let the water underneath him fade. Then he bent down to touch the earth.

"Emmanuel Ambrosius." Had he ever spoken his father's name out loud before? He must have, yet it felt so strange in his mouth. "You will never be forgotten, this I swear to you. Your hopes and dreams shall not be lost - our house shall prosper among the clan and your father's name will echo through its annals." Styx wrapped around his throat as he spoke, but that was not the only river that reacted to what was happening now.

For a moment, he let himself be lost in the flow of Cocytus and from the river of human souls, water seemed to condense next to him. It was in the shape of a man in armor, given form through ghostly mist. As the hearty smile of his father looked back at him, Antonius almost stopped as the memories he was ignoring began to play out in his mind. Then like cold water splashing his face, he saw the last conscious moments of the man's life.

Nicomedes, the blood-path traitor who had poisoned both his parents in the guise of a friendly spar. He was still out there. Letting the image of his father fade, he began to speak once more.

"Eleanora..." He chuckled partially to clear his previous thoughts. "You know, despite being your son I never really knew your real name. I'd like to know that someday." He thought about that for a moment and then he smiled. "You never really had a family other than me but I remember the weight of your principles. In your name, I swear to hunt down the man who caused your demise. I think you would like that."

Once more, both Styx and Cocytus surged. This time, the misty reflection of his mother seemed far sturdier than his father's. This was the power of Cocytus, the river of human souls. He could summon reflections of those he was linked to by karma and have them fight by his side. The reflection of his father's soul was too weak but his mother had been an Expert and the imprint she had left upon the world was far greater.

Where his father was a being of barely coherent mist, the only thing that showed that his mother was a construct was the permeability of her body. No, there were more tells than that. Antonius realized after watching her. When he looked at her for a single moment, her mannerisms seemed almost real but they didn't flow like a real person. His ability replicated her as he'd remembered her, but all the things in between his memories were missing.

Nevertheless, they were with him.

Drawing upon his dao, he opened the gates to the Underworld. The previous trickle of Cocytus' power now poured out in its entirety, filling the area with icy mist. Next to his mother's form, the mist coalesced into his father while the rest flowed around them malevolently, surrounding him with the images of a hundred formless devils. The Styx protectively encircled all of them in a whirlpool and lent weight to his words.

Taking a deep breath, Antonius Emmanuel Eleanora spoke. "Thank you for everything, mother and father. Hear me as I say it here and now: I will rise to the greatest of heights and carry your name to the heavens. All shall know me and where I came from - This I swear."

As he said those words, the water of the Styx closed in on him. The misty figures around him drew into the whirlpool and for a moment, he could only see the images of his mother and father smiling at him. They nodded once, at his words and then were drawn into the flowing water, rushing towards him. As he fell to the ground, power utterly spent on his dao, the water rushed inside him and a weight settled into his mind.

The oath was done.

Now he just had to fulfill it.

 

[no.]

Iskander Palikari 3 - Riddles and Curiosity​

A pair of blades clashed again and again under the burning desert sun, their wielders unconcerned with the heat. Being Devils, they were used to it, or at least as used to the desert as any human ever could be.

Iskander's movements were sharp and purposeful, each strike carefully lined up and timed as a counter-hit. He never blocked straight on, instead deflecting incoming blows off to the side to open up his opponent. The body of a Third Heavenstager was a huge step up from one in the Second in its ability to process information, react to it and do so swiftly. To his previous self, moving this way would have felt dizzying and hard to control, but his body and brain could handle it without issue now.

Even so, the gulf between himself and his opponent was wide. His blows were batted aside, while hers were tough to budge. Inevitably, Iskander was forced back, disarmed, and knocked to the ground.

"The form you're using is pretty advanced for a beginner. You'd be better off starting with something simpler." Said Iskander's opponent, looming over him and offering a hand up which he gladly took. A tall woman with wild hair, Aurelia was a Legionnaire of the DCXXII Noble Fangs. She was one of a rotating circle of Seniors Iskander could occasionally rope into sparring with him.

Iskander bashfully looked away as he reached down to pick up his saber. "A, uh, a teacher of mine said the Saint of War Style suited me, and that if I stuck with it early on I'd master it sooner."

Aurellia rolled her eyes at Iskander's evasiveness. "Well, ask this teacher of yours if he'd like for you to keep both hands. You ought to pick up a simpler form, master that so your style is complete, then work on something advanced."

"I-I'll be sure to do that, Senior." He replied hesitantly. He shouldn't have brought up his teacher at all - the secret of the ghost who advised Iskander had thus far been kept under wraps not because of any particularly deft deception on the Aspirant's part so much as a relative lack of interest in his private life from anyone who would have had the power to pry into it.

The brief exchange of words over, the two got back to sparring, which consisted mainly of Iskander getting his ass kicked. He didn't mind in the slightest - losing fights was better practice than winning them, if you could keep yourself from getting too mad.

After a few rounds, though, the silence was soon broken again, this time by Iskander. "I wonder what kind of style Rina Callista uses. Is it true that she was super strong even as a baby?" He wondered aloud as he took a moment to catch his breath.

"Couldn't tell you." Aurelia shrugged. "I bet she masters any style she tries, that's how the drivers of history are."

"Drivers of history?" Iskander asked. "You mean like, national history? Isn't the way that history goes sorta… no one's decision?" At least, that was Lai Bohai's opinion on the topic, at least.

"Yeah well, anyone who says history is written by trends isn't seeing the whole picture." Aurelia explained, clinging her saber over his shoulder. "History is written by cheaters."

Iskander got to one knee, then slowly wobbled back up to both feet. "What kinda cheaters? Like, people who break the law?"

Auralia scoffed. "No, people who break common sense. People who can do things that ordinary people can't even dream of; people who look at life differently from you or me."

Iskander silently thought about that comment for a moment. Did he have something like that? He supposed Lai Bohai's advice counted as a unique advantage, but the old ghost couldn't actually help him do things. And while he only had his own viewpoint as a reference, the Aspirant wasn't sure he saw the world in a different way than most people did.

"They're cheaters because the things most people struggle with don't phase them, I suppose." The Legionnaire concluded with a shrug. "All people like us can do is try to survive in the wake they leave behind."

"But it can't be that simple, can it?" Iskander asked, taking up the stance of the Saint of War Style again and holding his saber at the ready.

The conversation was put on hold as the two of them went into another round of sparring. Inevitably, Iskander hit the ground again, but he took pride in the fact that as the rounds went on, he was lasting a little bit longer each time.

"If it was such a simple thing to overcome," Aurelia said between heavy breaths, kneeling down and holding out a hand to Iskander. "It wouldn't be called cheating. All we can do is hone ourselves and hope for the best."

Iskander took her hand and let himself be hauled up, already thinking about what he had just done wrong and how he could have rectified his mistakes. But even as he began yet another round, the words he had exchanged with his Senior Sister stuck around in his mind.

Xiao Yingzi, one of the greatest generals alive at just two hundred years of age, who some believed ought to be the Grand Elder someday despite not being of Devil heritage. Wei Feng, probably the most powerful Foundation Building Cultivator in the world, so much so he was already an Elder without being in Core Formation. The Invincible Idiots, a trio of Thirteenth Heavenstagers who all reached the stage before they turned one hundred and who intended to find the furthest possible limits of what cultivation could achieve. And that went without mentioning the Kings.

How would Iskander defeat a person like that, if he had to? He had his hands full enough just improving his sword skills and funding his cultivation. How could someone like him overcome someone who strolled through life with such wild success? As he was thrown to the ground again and again, he continued to ponder the riddle.

Eventually, the boy was too exhausted to properly maintain his form, and Aurelia commanded him to go do something else, as she had her own business to take care of. That day, Iskander's cultivation was unsteady, though he wasn't sensing any kind of physical bottleneck. Properly opening up each accupoint one by one and purging it of impurity was certainly more challenging than the much simpler cycling he'd been doing prior to the Third Heavenstage, but he had progressed at a decent pace thus far. No, he just wasn't working as efficiently as usual because his thoughts were still clouded.

The riddle soon followed Iskander to bed, where Iskander lay awake, questioning whether or not to bug his Senior and ask the old ghost's opinion. If Lai Bohai counted as a 'cheat', then it would only be smart to make the best use of him that he could, right? He reached toward the hilt, where it lay by his cot in a small cloth bag, then stopped.

He recalled an earlier lesson, where Lai Bohai had told him that one of the biggest risks for a Cultivator was the risk of becoming incurious. 'Curiosity,' he'd said, 'Can create danger, but it is also a Cultivator's greatest weapon against their own self. A mind with the capacity and willingness to grow is a mind more prepared to tangle with the intricacies of the great Dao.'

Curiosity, huh? It wouldn't be very curious to ask an old fart who'd lived twenty-eight hundred years as a human and five thousand more as a ghost. He'd approach this in his own way.

Iskander rolled out of bed and retrieved his Compression Pouch. Buying this had really made him wince, but Lai Bohai had insisted he get one so he wouldn't embarrass himself carrying around huge packs anymore. Pulling it open, he marveled at the way it swallowed up his hand, the way space distorted around his wrist when he plunged it in, and the oddly disconnected sensation of fumbling around in there.

After a solid minute of finangling, Iskander got a rectangular block of wood out of the pouch, followed by a large sheaf of parchment and a hunk of charcoal. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed, balanced the block on his legs and began to write.

Dear Little Creek,

I haven't written in a while. I'm sorry about that, it's just that not much has happened in a while either. Cultivators live really slow lives - you wait years for new things to happen, and the only way to get strong is to just train hard, be patient and keep at what you're doing. Though I guess it's not really that different from how mortals get good at stuff.

It paid off though, since I finally became an Aspirant; I reached the Third Heavenstage, which means I can leave the Dawn Fortress whenever I want. Well, I can technically do that, but since I need to keep making Contribution Points all the time so I can keep cultivating, it really just means that I can leave with one of the Legions. But I was getting sick of being in the Fortress, so I signed up for the Noble Fangs for the next five years, and now I do their chores. The work is harder than ever, but being around Legionnaires all the time means that sometimes, if they've got free time, they'll give you some training for free, and there's nothing I need more these days than free stuff.

I've been practicing my sword fighting every day, and I really do think I'm getting better at it. Recently I heard that it takes ten thousand hours to master a trade, so I tried to figure out how many hours I've been training for. I couldn't figure it out though; if there's a stage of cultivation that makes you better at math, I haven't reached it yet.

I'm writing because of something I've been thinking about today which has me stumped. My Senior Sister told me that some people are just plain better because they're cheaters. Not because cheating at a contest, but because they have things that make life a lot easier for them than for anybody else. I was wondering to myself; if I had to compete with someone like that, someone so far above me that they see the world in a different way, how could I do it? I'm pretty stumped so far, but I figure there's gotta be an answer.

I guess that's all I've got for you right now. I wish I could tell you that something amazing right out of a storybook happened to me, but it just hasn't. I'll keep at it, until I'm somebody who can make people smile the way that wanderer made us smile. So far though, I don't see many smiles like that from the Golden Devils. They'll laugh at jokes, they'll grin when they see something they like, and the mean ones will smirk at you, but they hardly ever share those genuine smiles from the heart. Maybe it's a Cultivator thing, or maybe it's just a Devil thing.

Much love,

• Iskander Palikari

Yeah, that seemed pretty good, right? Iskander wasn't much of a wordsmith, but that got across everything he was feeling pretty well.

The next morning, before running off to join the Noble Fangs on their next expedition, Iskander briefly put away all of his thoughts and worries to focus on the task at hand. This was a short and simple task, simply a scouting mission around the foothills of Turtlebone Mountain. The spirit beasts that dwelled on that ancient and massive mountain could grow very powerful, and every so often one or a few would wander down into the lowlands and cause trouble. The Noble Fangs were simply going to march around, have a look around and search for any signs of Core Formation or Nascent Soul level beasts approaching Golden Devil territory.

But of course, the details of the operation were something for the Legate and his Centurions to worry about, not an Aspirant like Iskander. No, the jobs of the lowest-ranked members of the Legion was simply to keep everything running on the ground level. They cleaned and polished the armor, they sharpened and mended the weapons, they prepared and cooked the food and, if they had the proper training and experience, they acted as assistants to the physicians of the Medical Corps. And of course, if they were not already busy with a task, an Aspirant could be ordered by a Legionnaire to perform any number of miscellaneous tasks.

The next night, as Iskander peeled his way through a giant pile of potatoes, he found himself thinking back to his riddle. What would he do against someone with a technique that could kill him in one hit? A sword could technically already kill him in one hit, right? So it wouldn't be that different. But what if they had an ability that attacked and defended, like… infinite super-hard sweat? How would Iskander deal with super-strong sweat?

Such thoughts continued through the next week, as Iskander performed menial tasks one after another, at the command of whichever Legionnaire currently needed him. An Aspirant's usual duties weren't really that different from a Junior Aspirant's. The main deviation was that they had both more and less freedom. When working as part of a Legion, they were to do as their superiors commanded rather than taking on chores voluntarily. The Legion needed a constant, unceasing stream of labor, which meant the Aspirants generally worked harder and for longer than they would in the Dawn Fortress, and so they made a lot more points than one would doing chores back home.

The other big change, of course, was that Aspirants had far more chances to get in over their head. When not acting as part of a Legion, an Aspirant could leave the Dawn Fortress whenever they wanted and take missions as they pleased. A mission asking for a single Legionnaire could usually be completed by a single Aspirant… usually. There was certainly some risk involved, and Iskander had thought long and hard about just jumping in before Lai Bohai talked him out of it. Better to be introduced to more advanced Cultivator combat as part of a group before trying it on his own, that had been the argument, and it wasn't one Iskander could beat.

The days stretched on, and soon the Legion completed their mission without anything out of the ordinary occuring. The only combat Iskander saw was when he accompanied a few different hunting parties. Even then, he didn't get to fight himself, as the Legionnaires who brought him along only needed the Aspirant as an assistant; a helping hand to harvest the kill, carry supplies and whatnot. When Iskander returned to the Dawn Fortress once more, he found himself bereft of both new experiences and answers to his conundrum.

How could the ordinary defeat the extraordinary? Was it as simple as pure skill, just honing normal abilities enough to overcome such gaps? But what if the enemy's 'cheat' was one that completely nullified the skill brought to bear? He supposed he'd have to outwit them into not using it, or using it in a way that couldn't stop him, as opposed to a way that could. But someone with a cheat would be more familiar with it than him, so surely they would see any manipulation coming. Every potential answer only raised more questions, and so Iskander abandoned the riddle temporarily, lest it consume him entirely.

While returning to Clotho's apartment to change his clothes and cultivate before heading out to his next mission, Iskander stopped by the post station and was handed a rolled-up piece of parchment, bound in simple, sturdy string and sealed with chunky wax. His face lighting up, he snatched up the parchment and ran home, kicking up dust as he ran.

As he entered, Iskander said only a few words of greeting to Clotho, who looked up from her breakfast to find him already dashing into the bedroom. As he closed the door, he caught her shrugging and returning to her meal. Thinking no more of his lethargic roommate, Iskander broke the seal off with the nail of his thumb - far easier to do than it was when he was a mortal - and began reading.

Dear Iskander Palikari,

This is Hu Jie, the current mayor of Little Creek. I am not entirely sure who you intended your letter to reach, as you merely addressed it to the town itself. You always did focus on grand, sweeping gestures and missed the smaller details. It is good to see that life as a Cultivator has not ground down your most charming traits. I would recommend that in the future you write to individual people, but I suppose it is expensive to send mail across such a long distance, and you have written in the past about your need to carefully budget.

It is good to hear of your success thus far; I have heard stories of people who went off to enter the world of cultivation, only to quit and return after decades, having achieved almost nothing. I can only surmise it is thanks to your own drive that you have found early progress, and all of us will continue to hope for your future.

As for your riddle, I was not sure myself what the answer might be, so I decided to have your letter passed around the town, and asked the residents to write their opinion on the riddle on the other side. Most of the answers were things like 'poison them before they have the chance to fight you' or 'negotiate with them if you have the chance', but I don't think such things got to the heart of the matter. However, Pan Ning, the wise old crone that she is, had something more substantive to offer.

She posited that the problem which you pose, of overcoming something inherently, fundamentally greater than oneself, is one that every Cultivator who ever lived has reckoned with. That looking up, beholding the majesty of the moon and the stars, that looking down and feeling the unfathomable mass of the world itself, seeds a deep frustration in the heart of humankind. Cultivation, she claimed, is the manifestation of that frustration, an attempt to overcome that feeling of smallness. Perhaps the answer to the riddle, then, is to understand why you really cultivate and who you really are in order to open the way toward victory.

As for bringing a smile from the heart to a Golden Devil's face, I don't know if I can do anything to help. They are a people who have been hurt many times, and hurt others many times in turn. Theirs is a blood-drenched history that has scarred their very culture, creating wounds that are passed down from parents to their children. I think they do smile that way in private, but I can imagine most of them are very reluctant to share such vulnerability openly.

I'm sorry, it seems that in the end, I have very little to offer you. It is said by some that the world of mortals is merely a cradle from which Cultivators must arise, and I can understand the sentiment. We do not live in the same world anymore, Iskander, but there is one thing I think will always be true: Do not lose sight of the feelings that brought you where you are today. Do what you know in your heart to be right, and don't let yourself be ruined by whatever power you may come to possess.

• Hu Jie, writing on behalf of Little Creek

Iskander scanned the letter several times, contemplating it intensely, before finally setting it down on the small desk he shared with Clotho. He didn't move, even though he ought to have already begun cultivating. Wasting time is a privilege of mortals, not something befitting a Cultivator - that was what his teachers had pressed into him at the academy, and while Lai Bohai was not as insistent as they, he was of a firm belief that time management was a cornerstone of a successful Cultivator's life.

But Iskander didn't begin cultivating yet, didn't do anything of consequence besides just… thinking. "To overcome a cheater, think about why you cultivate in the first place." He muttered softly, more mouthing the words than truly speaking them. Reaching into his Compression Pouch, he pulled out a spirit stone; it was oblong, about an inch long and half as wide, and glimmered in iridescent colors.

The stuff of creation, the essence of reality, between his fingers. On its own it held no meaning, it was simply energy. It was up to him to channel the qi inside, to give it meaning and make it a part of himself. "Why am I doing this?" He asked quietly. The stone said nothing at all.

—-

I ended up having more time to write than I knew what to do with, so Iskander got a fourth omake I guess. When I said I didn't know what else to do with him for now because a First Heavenstage has very little freedom, I forgot that, since I did Training Juniors, he's guaranteed to reach at least the Fifth Heavenstage this turn. Still, I want the fate rolls to play a big part in his development moving forward, so I don't want to set too many things in stone before his first turn.

Iskander is, as I've mentioned before, a very different character than Gaius. He's certainly a more heroic character, for one. I guess you could say that Gaius is a classical hero while Iskander is a modern hero, and that is the main source for their differences. Iskander is also a more flexible character, designed to be taken in any number of ways, whereas the broad strokes of Gaius' path have always been laid out before him, both in universe and out.

This omake is all about getting some balls rolling so that they can knock down pins down the line. How do you defeat someone with a totally paradigm-shifting advantage? Will Iskander be able to keep his innocence? What will his Dao become? Even so, they are broad, fairly open concepts, leaving this whole thing more about character-building than anything else.

 

[BungieONI]

Gabriel Pompeius 6 and Cerina Polya 12 - Lines and Circles

The piercing blue sky and blazing sun bathed the tiled roofs and crowded cobbled streets of Emporikipolis in a relentless heat even in the early morning. Many sat in shade with fresh water or juice from the produce of the Tall Wheat Fields, and many more braved the heat in a flowing crowd. Business was booming with goods from across the empire, and barely an eye was bat at the yellow cloaked figure hauling a house sized white bull on her shoulders.

Sure, it was an impressive sight, but this was a city rife with cultivators. The locals saw this kind of thing all the time, and paid no mind to Cerina. She paid them no mind either, except to announce her presence and encourage people to move by hollering variations on "Excuse me!" as traffic diverted around her.

The inhumanly tall girl peered over the crowds, looking for any sign of the tea shop she was supposed to meet her junior in. She was in the right neighborhood going by his last letter. Shifting the enormous bull carefully to get a better look around, she finally spotted the building she was looking for, an elegantly sloped red roof and the sign of a blue flower marking it out from the rest. With some more vigorous shouting and choice threats, she cleared a space to set down the bull, shaking the street with an immense thud. Pedestrian traffic parted around the sleeping bulk of the beast, like a river around a stone.

Making her way inside the tea shop, she was immediately met by a muscular doorman. The mortal bowed to her. "Welcome! How may I help you today, madam?"

Cerina addressed him, letting her voice carry from the depths of her face-obscuring hood. "I'm looking for a Junior of mine, Gabriel Pompeius? Is he here?"

The doorman shrugged nonchalantly. "There is only one of the great Clan in our establishment, madam. He did not give his name, but was heard to say he was expecting one of his seniors. So it is probably him who you are looking for."

"Perfect, take me to him," she commanded.

Amidst the sedate, refined atmosphere of the tea shop, the man in question sat at a side table, staring into his tea as if he could glimpse images in it. Which, in Gabriel's experiences, could well be a plausible event, but instead remained murky. A fitting metaphor perhaps, for his uncertainty about Cerina Polya and the meeting ahead.

A senior who regarded his quest as a worthy pursuit was one thing, but her exuberance, at least, as portrayed through her letter, took him a bit aback still. It was a feeling that didn't have a logical explanation to it. He grew up being told about the honor, dignity, and discipline of the Imperial Optimatoi and that created a certain picture. Now a Qi Condensation disciple, he knew the core of the picture remained true, but cultivators were cultivators and no more rigidly alike than the Blood of Bronze made them.

Even the Plainswalkers had ceased any whispers or comments once he'd returned from his blooding on the Great Battlefield. Maybe he'd sort through it eventually. Or maybe it just was that anticipation bred anxiety? The human heart contained many multitudes and mysteries in the end.

There was a shift in the atmosphere, heads briefly turning, fragmented pauses in conversation that followed after her as Cerina approached the side table where her junior stared into the depths of his tea. The doorman spoke up as they approached. "Here you are madam," he said with a wave of his hand. She took the brief split second gap between her arrival and Gabriel's attention on her to examine the man before her intently.

It wasn't that hard to see that to most people Gabriel Pompeius was a man of medium height and piercing blue eyes in an olive toned face. To her however, Gabriel Pompeius had the eyes of a painter. Which is to say, his blue eyes fixed on his tea briefly reminded her of her own expression when she stared up at the Golden Eye Array or the stars full of wonder. What disabused her of that notion was the frustration, the subtle micro-expression flicks of his gaze as he looked for something and didn't find it. What was he looking for? A path? A sign? That drive was interesting!

Despite his internal ruminations, Gabriel had not let that wholly distract him from his surroundings. He picked up on the shift in the behavior of the patrons of the establishment, and then registered the approach of the doorman and his hooded guest. He tilted his gaze up – even standing, the figure would have still towered over him – and then caught the hint of bronzed flesh beyond.

He promptly pulled himself up out of his seat and bowed, knowing intuitively this was Cerina Polya, and if by chance not, another Optimatoi deserving of respect. "Senior. It is an honor to meet you at last."

Cerina smiled, almost forgetting to not show off her teeth and pushed back her hood to reveal her white-blonde braid. At the upper left corner of her eye there grew a small sunflower-like blossom, in pale cream, and more of those flowers bloomed in her hair. She bowed with clasped hands. "Junior, it is an honor to meet you as well!" She straightened, gestured the doorman away, and nodded to the tea and table. "Would you like to sit and talk a little, or did you have something else in mind?" She asked.

She was definitely as described, the singular eye closed, the hint of sharp teeth quickly concealed, and her flowers. Gabriel shook his head. "There's no need for haste. Please, sit!" He nodded his head again in respect and returned to his seat along with her. Cerina happily sat at the table, throwing a quick glance towards the front windows to check on the bull and finding it still sleeping in the road to her relief.

Shaking out her robe's sleeves, she settled her hands in her lap. "So!" She began, about to blurt something out, then a better thought flicked through her head. "You've told me about some of your activities in our letters. Have you found any insights since the last exchange?" She asked. She wasn't quite sure how to talk to him, so maybe asking questions would be a good start - they didn't know each other very well at all.

"No," Gabriel admitted frankly, "aside from seeing a flock of birds, ten strong, singing cheerily not long after receiving your last letter. Which confirms my suspicions that the number ten is clearly important somehow, but doesn't really add any progress to my quest."

He paused, remembering something from said letter. "You wrote about how your life had 'been strongly influenced by seeking out the correct moments to act.' Would you be willing to elaborate on what you meant by that?" Maybe this way he could truly wrap his head around it if she explained.

Cerina leaned back and lounged, propping up her chin on her knuckles as her elbow rested on the armrest of the chair. Before she could answer, a server returned with a jasmine tea, and she took it, waving the mortal on. When the mortal was gone, she began. "The first time it happened, I had no idea it had happened. I was eight and needed to beat up some wolves to save my sheep. Had to get them all at once or one would leap around to hamstring me. I didn't die, when I probably should have."

She snorted. "Perhaps the more relevant example is my decision to cultivate at all. When I was ten witnessing the words of Heaven itself completely changed my life. I was at the age of looking for a future, something to do with myself, and those words were obvious enough."

She raised her hand as she kept speaking, gesturing at her face. "I only found my Eye, and helped defeat Swiftblood Hawk, earning rewards to take me to the 9th stage, because as I snuck through the town he was consuming I heard the cries of a mortal child, and acting to save the kid led to me surviving and escaping."

Her hand then started to trace out a circle. "It's a cycle of events that keeps repeating in my life, because I keep looking for it. I am walking a path looking for something, an action changes it at the most appropriate moment in time, and entirely new possibilities cascade from there."

She looked at Gabriel with her hidden gaze, sipping her tea and falling silent.

Gabriel furrowed his brow at her explanation. "Perhaps I'm not following correctly, but you search for…" He paused to consider an appropriate phrase. "Let's call them 'fateful moments.' You find them, they play out, and then the process begins all over again. It sounds as if you're traveling a constant loop without an end."

In counterpoint to her circle, his finger drew a line. "My quest for the Sephirot will undoubtedly be long. Even if it takes my whole life, I intend to find it, and then… Well, I don't know what comes next, but my path will come to an end, one way or another. But are you going to dedicate yours to one that has no resolution, senior Cerina?"

His senior seemed a little somber, a half-grin on her face. "Yeah. Realizing that was part of me reaching the 13th stage in Yuan. My path and my life have no discrete resolution." And here she shrugged a little, hands settling on the table clasping her cup. "It's… different when I'm the one stepping into someone else's life and doing something to change their path. For them they may experience a path with an actual end. That, though, is a question I'm still pondering as I prepare for Foundation Building. I don't think I want to consign people to an endless cycle like mine."

Gabriel offered a wan smile. "I agree that you shouldn't, unless they choose such of their own free will. When you think about it, we all alter each other's paths when we interact. It might change nothing meaningful, simply twist the road, or shift the destination altogether, but I suspect most people, mortal or cultivator, need to mark one out, even if it's not always distinctly established. Few can draw meaning and value from an endless cycle like you apparently do, particularly one so esoteric in nature."

He stopped and sipped his tea slowly, regarding Cerina thoughtfully. She giggled, setting her finished tea aside and propping her chin on her hands. "And there's nothing wrong with that, I guess. I hope your path isn't cut short any time soon. But, that all aside, I guess I'm curious about you as a person. I was a farmgirl and sheep herder, and frankly still am in a lot of ways. Where are your roots, Gabriel?"

"More privileged than yours, but not by that much." Gabriel murmured. "The Pompeius family can trace our lineage back to the Sea-Conquering Army, but if there's ever been any prominent Pompeius in the Imperial Optimatoi, records of any such illustrious ancestor must have been lost, as with so many other things. In other words, the kind of families that are ten a Spirit Stone within the Clan. For me, no words of Heaven were required, simply that I was a Pompeius and therefore I would one day become a member of the Optimatoi."

He shook his head. "I did, if not in the way they were expecting. At least with my legion's acceptance, my relatives aren't treating me as an embarrassment anymore. Part of me still is sensitive to how people regard my quest, though. I suppose in some ways I still am the Pompeius boy raised on stories and tradition."

Cerina frowned in sympathy. "Understandable, you would be sensitive. It's good your legion's got your back too. From my perspective, I'm following your lead and we're doing it your way. I'm just providing materials. But on that note do you have any more questions for me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Where is the Eightfold Cloudy Sunset Bull you acquired?" He vaguely gestured to the lack of the voluminous presence associated with an intact spiritual bull. "It's not like you could have carried it into the street, after all."

Cerina giggled, the corners of her eye creasing in cackling mirth. "Ah, but you see junior, that's exactly what I did," she said, flexing one arm and patting her bicep. "Can't really see it through the bad angle of the windows though."

Gabriel eyed her. "'Would' is the word I should have used, but I stand corrected regardless, senior. You should never meet my Uncle Marcus. I love him, but he would throw a fit at your 'lack of dignity.'"

Cerina cackled, restraining a snort. "Oh, oh dear. Pssh yeah I never learned any. That said! Shall we go see the bull?" She gestured towards the door, smiling brightly.

++++++++++

Cerina walked behind Gabriel, hefting the house sized and hog tied white bull in her hands, the pair of them walking through the streets of Emporikipolis towards its eastern gates. The street crowds parted before them and their immense cargo.

"How hard was it to bring down?" Gabriel asked conversationally, even as voices inevitably floated around them and Cerina's eye-catching burden.

Cerina shrugged, the bull shifting ominously. "Not too bad. They're not good fighters really. The biggest obstacle was that I had to find the dang thing." She smacked the leg that rested on her shoulder. "Then the fighting through an entire tribe of Spirit Mandrills. Throwing the lot of them off a cliff solved that."

The bull snorted heavily, one of its legs twitching as she secured her grip more firmly. "I'm also really happy the tranquilizers worked to keep this big guy sleeping. Katha wouldn't let me live it down if I let a giant Spirit Bull rampage through Emporikipolis."

The whispers of crowds around the pair followed after them.

"Look at the size of that steer!"
"Mommy, why aren't the cows I've seen that big?"
"Funny how the price of cattle is going through the ground."

"You're familiar with senior Theodoros?" Gabriel inquired. The bearer of the Blood of Iron had earned a notorious reputation, one he'd heard stories about more than once.

"Mhmm! We've gone on a mission together and I've helped train her niece, and a bunch of other stuff," Cerina said energetically. "I'm pretty sure her luck is cursed though with all the trouble she gets into. Doesn't keep her down for long though."

"Have you looked her up at all? She's pretty good with that sword of hers, though it's not a gladius of the Clan," she asked her junior.

Gabriel tilted his head and lowered his voice. Now that it'd been mentioned, this was a bit of an awkward bit. "No. Well, it's embarrassing to admit in general, but I've been overly focused on my quest. One of the things I concluded right after my initial vision was that I needed to purify myself thoroughly in order to better perceive the Sephirot. What that meant was that I've been doing little more than body cultivation, in a default sort of manner."

"I didn't expect to leap to the 10th in less than two decades. Only now, to realize I lack arts, or any training beyond the familial swordsmanship lessons." He added. "If there are any suggestions – further ones – you have to offer, this junior would be grateful for his senior's advice."

Cerina hummed in interest. "Just using Legion Basic and exercise, is what you mean? That kind of progress is pretty crazy to be honest. Could be that you have a lot of compatibility with it. There are three suggestions I can make from what I know - Find something you do like and meditate upon what parts of it you like, practice the spear due to your linear path and forming Dao, or find something you hate and meditate upon why then pick something else based on what you learned. Commit to one of those and use it to assess yourself, because you're in a position where you need to learn what actually resonates with your body, mind, and soul."

He reviewed the suggestions and nodded. "I'll consider the first and the last of those. It doesn't sound like enough reason to practice the spear, and truthfully, I'm comfortable with the sword even if I haven't focused on specializing in it." Another holdover, just like the gladius was – but even if he wasn't sure he had the aptitude to be a swordmaster, neither was it a block, and it served him well enough so far. Why fix what wasn't broken?

If an omen came along to point him in the right direction, that would be convenient, but the Sephirot wasn't going to coddle him. He wouldn't be worthy of finding it otherwise.

"Okay! Once you figure out a general idea, the next steps are up to you, but it kinda comes down to refinement. The Technique Palace could help you refine it further. As could fighting with the intent to find your limits." Cerina slowed, the crowd getting thicker in front of the pair. It looked like a roadblock caused by an irate vegetable seller arguing over a damaged stall with three broad shouldered and big men in fancy red jackets.

Annoyed, Cerina shouted. "Hey! You three in the red jackets, pick up that guy's stall and give him the money. You're blocking the road!"

The three mortal gangster looking fellows flinched and cowered, bowing and yelling apologies at the two cultivators as they rushed to comply. The crowd cleared immediately and progress continued. "I honestly need to go back to my own fundamentals so that I can incorporate my gains from Yuan properly." She shook her head. "Anyway. We're taking this big guy out of the city. Any intuitions on what kind of site we're looking for?" She asked her companion.

"Let's see once we're past the gate." He replied. "I think once I have a better view, something may occur to me." The city gate was a looming construction of formation-reinforced stone and metal, and whatever extravagance was present in this feature of the Golden Devil Clan's leading trade city always came secondary to its essential purpose, to ensure security no less than any of its walls, while travelers streamed in and out the portal.

Once the pair came through, Gabriel observed the expanse of land beyond. The plains near to Emporikipolis, he discarded at once. The black-purple shapes of the Indomitable Peaks took up a significant part of the horizon. He considered those, but dropped them. Mountaintop or hillside altars were symbolically appropriate, but the Peaks had their name for a reason. Finding a viable spot along their slopes would be a headache.

Then the light shifted, glinting in a welcoming fashion off the dunes in the distance. Gabriel wracked his memory from his trip to the city. Then it fell into place. There was a large sandstone ridge, with plenty of raised flat outcroppings. Yes, that would fit well enough. He smiled.

Cerina poked him in the shoulder, their backs to the city. "Ahah! You got an expression like You Know the Place…" She began, the pair swiftly moving towards their destination as she chattered.

++++++++++

The spot that Gabriel finally led the pair to was a red and yellow mottled ridge of sandstone weathered by thousands of years of winds, rising gracefully up out of the ground to a height of several miles - tall enough the two of them would need to be careful about tripping and falling as they moved around on the flat outcropping Gabriel had chosen. Their site stuck out like a narrow wedge from the cliffside, with the shadows under it deep and cool as the sun descended over the glinting bronze disk of Emporikipolis towards the Peaks. And to either side of the panorama, the tangled river of lights that was the Scorpion Road extended north and south, full to bursting with wealth and vibrant power.

Cerina set the beast down eagerly with a heavy thud, where it snorted and then twitched. The tranquilizers were probably starting to wear off. "Okay!" Keeping one hand on the bull, she looked around and passed her other hand through her hair, fingers rustling over the flowers growing there. "This is a pretty neat spot, thanks for showing it to me."

"It seemed right." Gabriel stated, examining the setup. "Now, I know very little about established practices for augury by animal sacrifice, so unless you discovered a full manual in your searching, I imagine we'll have to improvise here." The bull was on his back. Good, that would make the next steps much easier.

He drew out a small cutting knife, and a cloth, both things he'd brought in preparation for this experiment. Gabriel stepped over, holding the knife in one hand, and the cloth back in another. First, he drew the blade across the bull's throat in one brisk motion, cutting jugular and windpipes. "No reason it has to suffer through its own disembowelment."

Then, carefully stepping back to avoid the gush of blood that ran forth, he turned his attention to the bovine's belly. Gabriel cut through the fur and flesh beneath, a thorough incision that left the beast's guts well exposed to view. A gory sight, but it also raised the question of which organs to use.

"Did you happen to find something about recommended organs to use?"

"The texts I read had a number of options, the liver in particular, but also the heart less commonly," she tapped a finger on her chin. "And while the books didn't mention it, with it being a spirit beast, there's obviously the Beast Core."

"I guess we start digging around in there?" She said dubiously.

Gabriel nodded, and began the work. Some time later, the heart, the liver, and the Beast Core were all spread out on top of the cloth, itself resting on the stone. He decided to begin by inspecting the liver. It was smooth, shiny, and full, as befit a spirit beast. Gabriel rotated it and examined it from several angles. No, this just looked like a heap of viscera. Maybe if he more closely studied the impressions?

The way the grooves and line-ripples crossed and coiled across the upper half looked like a… a… nothing. Gabriel sighed, put it down, and then decided to try again with the heart. Five minutes later, he put that down as well with an exhalation of frustration. "The only premonition I'm getting is that I feel like a Blood Path cultivator right now." He grumbled with disgust.

Cerina's lips curled in a cringe and she shivered. "Ewwww." She was rooting around in the rest of the bull, yellow sleeves rolled up. She looked up at him. "I guess try the core? I'm going to start setting up a fire, to cook this thing after you're done. Promised you a meal after all." With that she started hauling away the remains of the corpse, dragging it around and then behind Gabriel. Reaching a suitable point she started to pull a large amount of firewood and kindling out from under her cloak to set up a cookfire.

Gabriel followed her suggestion, cleaning the thin coating of veins, flesh and tendon off the core. This one dimly glowed a pale light yellow, vaguely like the sun. But that didn't feel …providential. Whenever he'd encountered an omen before, he'd known, or sensed there was something to be taken from it, like a whisper–

"Funny how the price of cattle is going through the ground."

A trace comment from the crowd of mortals, bubbled up from the recesses of peripheral perception and short-term memory. Gabriel groaned audibly now. "Of course I'm not seeing any omens, I missed the one that told us this wasn't going to work out."

At Cerina's questioning look, he went on, "One of those onlookers made a remark about how low the price of cattle had plummeted. In other words: the cattle were of barely any value. We weren't going to get anything out of it, beyond the meal. And the core. Speaking of, do you want it, senior?"

"Sure! Though…" she trailed off for a second as he handed her the core, absentmindedly swallowing the fist sized object whole in a flash of snapping teeth and the sound of crunching stone.

"You'll probably want to develop skill with breath based and beast core cultivation styles, in that order, if you plan to travel a lot," she said, tone nostalgic as she set about lighting the fire and hauling the beast into the flames. Settling back she sighed contentedly and then turned to look at him with curiosity on her serene expression. "What do you want to do next out here? I still have another day or so."

He shrugged, expression somewhat nonchalant now that the principal purpose of their excursion had fizzled out. "The meal. And I suppose if you're willing to indulge me in an exchange of pointers, I'd be grateful, senior."

"Ooo, yes!" Cerina clapped, smiling brightly with very sharp teeth. "That does sound fun!" The older girl stood up, shuffling around the cookfire before reaching in to turn the whole carcass over, releasing a big burst of sparks. "This old boy will take a while to cook, so we can fight till he's done."

Shaking the ashes off her arms, she walked to a large flat area at the top of the ridge which was bounded by two tall rocks jutting up like broken pillars. She beckoned to Gabriel. "We're doing this to test you, so I'll limit myself to being a quarter step stronger and faster than you, and we'll work you up from there." Setting her feet, hidden by her yellow robe, and raising her hands she settled into a comfortable stance to receive his first attack.

Gabriel unsheathed his gladius. He took a breath, then exhaled to release tension from his form and make it more flexible. Then his knees bent, and he surged forward, leading off with a basic, classical move, stabbing at stomach height, though he had to adjust the level of the attack to match Cerina's huge form.

Cerina spun, pivoting around his sword at the last moment to end up right in front of him inside his guard. Arms held close to her she lashed out in a snap kick to his leading knee, aiming to knock him over.

His off-hand arm swung down to intercept her foot and divert its energy, and Gabriel used the transferred force to help him jump backward and clear room. Yet scarcely had his blocking arm moved away, before Gabriel's gladius snaked out, cutting at Cerina's kicking knee in turn.

Her leg was mid extension, her balance shifted out, and so his strike must connect. His cut slid through her robe and sparked against her shin as she pulled her leg back and reinforced it with qi to limit the power of the blow. She smiled as she felt the sting of scraping cuts. "Yes!" She yelled in excitement as her chambered high kick snapped out for his upper chest from a foot away.

Between the distance, and the reserved power behind her blow, Gabriel couldn't respond, not anywhere quick enough to make a difference, so he took the hit, likewise using qi to bolster his durability against the injury. He winced and smiled in acknowledgement. Even if Cerina was holding back, given her latent ability he expected it would still leave a clear bruise. He took a couple steps back, and shifted into a more defensive stance for the next exchange.

Cerina tapped the foot of her injured leg against the ground, nodding. It had already stopped bleeding openly, her bronze flecked blood speckling the sand. She did not immediately return to her stance, tapping her chin and tilting her head in thought, the petals in her hair rustling.

"Again," she said bluntly. And then she was upon him, crossing the few steps between them with speed just barely surpassing the Tenth Heavenstage. Knees bent and body low, one hand chopped for his wounded chest, while the other was held close in a guard.

Again, Gabriel used his weaponless arm to block the chop, and he hunched fractionally, thrusting upward at Cerina's armpit, aiming to disable her attacking limb, with a brief surge of at the right moment to boost his speed. He could have used the sword to parry her unarmed attack, but given her higher stage and slowly releasing restraint, the attempt to cripple her would make more sense in a real fight.

Gabriel's sword arm had to cross his body to thrust at her armpit, and two things happened very quickly. Her blocked hand snapped down on her very flexible joints and snagged his own blocking wrist. The other hand came up from below to catch his sword hand's wrist, crushing it tightly. With this grip and her rooted stance Cerina pulled him towards herself and lifted Gabriel clear over her shoulder, and slammed his back towards the ground!

Gabriel found himself launched forwards, and while his foot grazed Cerina's wrist, it failed to stop or even slow the throw. Once again, he channeled portions of qi to reinforce his body against the damage and tamp down on pain sensations. Thank goodness for the Body Purification stage, because even a 9th would probably receive a broken back from that move. He pushed back to kip up, and drive her off-balance with a quick slash.

She leaned back from the slash and as he rose she advanced relentlessly as well, throwing a flurry of straight punches at the shoulder of his weaponless arm. Every strike was aimed to harry, to strain his defense, and to bruise his upper arm and collarbone.

Gabriel was forced back purely on the defensive. He was able to parry or deflect all the attacks using his sword and free arm, but it now required a constant stream of qi, rather than intermittent pulses before. And slowly, his stamina became drained, sweat glistening on his forehead.

His defense did not slacken as he grew more fatigued. His defense cut and scraped and bruised her fists and forearms more than once, but the end came swiftly. Buried within the flurry, Cerina let loose a powerful chop to his weaponless side, the impact sending her junior stumbling to a knee. The exchange stopped there.

She gave him a nod of respect and held out a hand. "Come on, stand up! You've given a good showing." She had no intent to restart the fight immediately however.

Gabriel took the hand and came back up fully standing. After that, noticing her lack of fighting intent, he sheathed his sword and bowed to her. "Thank you, senior."

She smiled brightly and bowed in turn. "You're welcome! We can start again once you recover. Buuuuuuut," she dragged out the word as she led them over to rocks to sit on. The sun had set behind the mountains and painted that far horizon with colors like fire and blood, colors that glowed on their skin and hair. In its shadow, Emporikipolis shone with golden light.

"Your style is interesting, prioritizing defense with an empty hand. It's almost split in half, kinda. My immediate suggestion is that you may want to throw in grappling with the empty hand as part of your defense. If you'd grabbed my chopping arm, I probably could not have thrown you unless I'd pressed forward and grabbed your collar."

Gabriel nodded. "My training focused more on defense against other weapons and the off-hand is kept free – which is why my first reaction wasn't to block your strikes with my blade. You have a point about incorporating more grabs though. The style I've been taught doesn't use kicks either: legs are for dodging and supporting your form during attacks."

"Mhmm!" She pressed her hands together excitedly. "There's a truth there. Kicks carry some risks to attempt, at least at our level. If you want my help learning them, we can work on them tomorrow. But those are all details." She looked around, scanning the horizon and the distant city, her concealed gaze flicking up towards the starry sky. She leaned closer to him. "Do you want to learn a Secret, brother Gabriel?" The air weighed down with her Intent, her expression amused and full of daring.

Gabriel smiled back, equally amused and knowing. "What have I been searching for this whole time, if not a great Secret?" His intent semi-solidified, not so much as to resist hers but to mirror it. "I am all ears, sister Cerina."

She leaned forward more, her hand crossing the gap to wrap around one side of his head and pull him close. She placed her lips near his ear and whispered. "Vαι. Vαι, αλλά. Οχι. Οχι και επιπλέον." Her words were the Clan Tongue, pulled bloody from between her fanged teeth, and instantly understood by Gabriel. And then she let him go and curled up on her rock, blood dribbling from her lips. "Yes. Yes, But. No. No, and Furthermore. These are shapes that almost all fights follow."

She coughed and spat a speck of blood away, and seemed to recover. "Almost all of them." She stared at him, her expression serious and assessing for the first time.

Gabriel frowned back thoughtfully. "The key, I'm guessing, is to be the one defining the no and the furthermore?" When conditions and exceptions and clauses occurred in the framework of the fight, to name them was to control them.

She giggled, giving him her brightest smile yet. "Yep. It's a process, where you have to balance all of them. Now!" She shook out her arms, her cuts having sealed and scabbed over, and pointed at his gladius. "Fight me again, with this secret in mind. The exchange of blows, even the smallest conflicts, are shaped by this."

Gabriel slowly drew his gladius again, while trying to run through the advice. Yes, she was much stronger and faster than him. Yes, she was more experienced than him. But, she was trying to teach, not defeat him. No, she did not have any weapons. No, she didn't have any options beyond close range for the purposes of the fight. Furthermore, she injured herself every time he blocked one of her blows.

Reviewing these facts, he set up again in a defensive posture and awaited her assault. Cerina rose to meet him. The night had descended fully, their qi-enhanced eyes parting the darkness for the two cultivators. The fire-lit glint of her metallic fist rushing for his head heralded Cerina's attack. If there was a chance, now was the time for Gabriel to take it!

Gabriel waited, stretching a long moment, then latched onto her arm with his free hand and stabbed swiftly with his gladius, its glint off the flames forming a counterpoint. "That was, Yes!" She said as he caught her wrist and his blade bit into her side. They froze there for a second. "Yes, your defense worked!" Her tone was happy, happy that her student understood.

They split apart, copper and silvery-tin tinted blood dripping from the gash on her ribs and shining on Gabriel's blade. "The corollary. No, my attack failed. And furthermore, you hurt me." She rolled her shoulders and the doll-like joints in her fists creaked. "My next attack will be the most powerful I've thrown at you."

She appeared before him, moving almost like a blur to his eyes as her qi-infused kick cracked through the air towards his hip. Gabriel hastily sidestepped and pivoted, letting her momentum carry past rather than take it head on, then moved in when she had to land and recover. Her foot came down and nearly stomped on his instep, an open palm smacking hard against his wrist and sending pain up his sword arm.

Again, they broke apart.

She stood there and chuckled, arms spread loosely, her wounds still bleeding and staining her robe a muddy hue. "Very good! Come at me!"

Gabriel rolled his shoulders, and charged in. His blade remained poised, before flicking in a slash at her injured side. She tried to turn away from his blow, lowering her arm on the wounded side while raising the other to intercept. No, it was a feint, as the gladius returned as quickly as it came. Gabriel grabbed her blocking arm with his open hand.

Seeing the round turn against her so suddenly, Cerina pulled. Gabriel was yanked forward towards her rising uppercut. His prowess had grown during this fight, and she had one chance to solidly strike him before the possibility vanished. No, he tilted his head back, which by itself wouldn't have been enough, but he stabbed his gladius towards the shoulder of the restrained arm, in one more qi-powered surge that happened to intersect her wrist with the angled edge of his sword. Furthermore, the driving force cutting open her flesh was Cerina's.

Cerina's blow was defeated, forced to jerk back as her blood sprayed across the ground. Muscles clenched and the spurting ceased abruptly as she leapt back, cradling her wounded arm. Her entire right side was now injured. Happiness burbled in her heart. Amazing! "Good job!" She congratulated her junior. She bowed to him, giving him a Clan salute. "Excellent work junior!"

Gabriel pulled back, and smiled before flicking the blood off his sword, re-sheathing it and bowing to her. "I could not have achieved it without my senior's tutelage." He could feel the exhaustion, mental and physical, seeping through his body, and he'd feel the injuries even more tomorrow morning.

Cerina accepted the face given with a nod and waved him forward. "Come on, I think we can settle in and start our meal," she said, sounding tired herself. She started walking towards the firepit, which had burned low by this point. The smell of well seared meat and rich tasting qi filled the air.

Leaning down she huffed a breath and reached into the low flames, the heat unable to burn her flesh. Pulling the beast out was simple enough at that point. She sat down beside the back end and gestured. "Take a seat and start cutting off pieces. The stuff is rich in qi so take it slow to cycle it properly," she said.

Gabriel used the small knife to carefully carve slices out for her and him to consume. As the junior, he of course offered her the first choice of cuts. The one the big girl ended up choosing was some of the shoulder cuts, the muscle dense with qi for her Eat Them Whole cultivation art to process. Gabriel raised an eye at that, but turned to the lighter loin pieces for his share.

Cerina was restraining herself from making happy food noises. The bull was tasty. "Gosh. I need to hunt more of these things…" she muttered, before remembering that Gabriel was present. Looking up at him again she slowly ate and considered him. He was tired, but triumphant. A question burned in her mind.

"I'm thinking about what you said, in that tea shop," she began, parsing through the thoughts colliding in her head. "You'll need something to secure the foundation of your path. It gets more costly, both mentally and in funds, to advance. I have my Sublime cycles, and the ability to sustain myself on immensely powerful beasts. What will you build to sustain your quest, Gabriel?"

That was a very good question, and Gabriel's uneasy look demonstrated that he didn't have a good answer off hand. "The omens… Well, they showed me how to complete my first mission when under the circumstances it might have been impossible. They've helped guide me so far, on the whole. Mentally, that might be one thing. Resources – I don't have an answer for that, and I doubt I'm going to get clues that lead me to caches of spirit stones."

"You might! Weirder things have happened. You could help it along by learning dowsing or prospecting techniques." She shrugged, carving away more of the meat. She was letting Gabriel have most of the bull. There was other stuff she could hunt out in the desert. "Though… okay. You might be able to sell your omen reading services to the Storkblood Clans when you're not doing Legion work. They're obsessed with Luck."

She slurped down a big gulp of meat. "Make friends among your Legion too! They can help you weather the burdens of cultivating. That kind of thing is why I have friends and don't just squirrel myself away in a hole for a decade!" She had a goofy grin on her face. "Doing that's silly!"

"I can try your suggestions, but I suspect much of it requires my being able to summon omens, or visions with omens, rather than just awaiting them." Gabriel mused. "Though if I could figure it out, it would help greatly, particularly if our vassals are as fascinated as you say they are. I'll also have to reserve some Contribution Points for a visit to the Technique Palace."

"Yeaaaah, you'll be fine I think. You've got some goals to pursue at least!" She huffed and then flopped back into the sand, the bloodstains in her robe slowly cleaning themselves away. "We might as well camp out here and cultivate. When we wake up tomorrow we can practice your grabs and kicks a bit if you like."

"I would, thank you." Gabriel agreed.

++++++++++

Cerina yawned mightily, rubbing her loose tangle of hair as she sat upright. Their 'camp' was just beaten earth and bare rock with simple tents for the two of them, the remains of the firepit was all that was left of the bull. Rubbing her eye, she stuck her head out of the tent and sneezed in the sandy wind blowing over the top of the ridge.

Where was Gabriel?

As it turned out, persistently staring at a lone tree as if it was going to tell him something. "Couldn't sleep well," he explained to her. "The wind just kept whistling and then sounded like a yell or a scream. Eventually, I got up and followed the way it blew and the sound echoed. And that's here. I think it's a sign hinting to the Whirlwind Tree, does that sound right?"

Cerina almost blinked. "Oh! Uh. Well it ain't my omen but yeah?" She looked closer at the tree, clinging to the edge of the ridge. It was very scraggly and its limbs looped around each other. "Was that tree there yesterday?" She mused, slightly confused. Did she just miss it in the excitement?

"I don't recall." Gabriel smiled knowingly, as if at an old joke. "But then it wouldn't be the first tree I've found that looked far different the second time around." Was it specifically about the Tree itself, the Colossus Pass, or a general hint that the next step needed to be found in foreign lands?

"Wacky!" She clapped her hands. "I see the Sephirot is putting a crimp in my plans! Oh well! Shall we start walking back towards the City and see about getting you on your way?"

---

@Humbaba, collab omake for Cerina and Gabriel.

[Words: 7450] split in half.

 

[MrRageQuit]

Gabriel Pompeius 6: Gabriel Pompeius & Cerina Polya - Lines and Circles​

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

Gabriel Pompeius 6 and Cerina Polya 12 - Lines and Circles The piercing blue sky and blazing sun bathed the tiled roofs and crowded cobbled streets of Emporikipolis in a relentless heat even in the early morning. Many sat in shade with fresh water or juice from the produce of the Tall Wheat...

forums.sufficientvelocity.com

 

[Dream Logic]

I'd like to submit a Good Seed. If @Quest or any of the other collaborators would please add me to the Google Doc // spreadsheet I'd be greatly appreciative.

Good Seed: Palladia Mors
--------------------------
Name: Palladia Faber Mors
Age: 16
Cultivation: Qi Condensation Stage One
Health: Healthy
Goals: Stay Alive. Cultivate. Don't die. Practice Smithing.
Special Stuff: Death-Blossom Phylactery
Titles and nicknames: "Girl"

Spoiler: Image

High Concept: A Smith Cultivating into a Lich

Background: To be a mortal is to be weak. As such Palladia could be considered a mortal among mortals. Born sickly and weak the girl was unsuited to her life. Her father was a blacksmith and somewhat renowned within their small village. Strong and enduring, he would work for days at his forge without interruption. Meanwhile his daughter could barely lift a hammer much less withstand the fire's heat. So the days of her youth were spent. Sleeping, sick or slothful.

On her sixteenth birthday Palladia left her Father to seek the tutelage of the Golden Devils. The man had warned her what the path of Cultivation entailed. To court Heaven's wrath. To abandon one's humanity and home. That he too had walked that road and only for her mother's love had he abandoned it. Such would be the temptation of the powers which she sought. Still the girl would not be moved. So her Father gave to her three gifts.

Firstly the gravestone by which he would mourn her. Second, the Death-Blossom phylactery, a treasure which when buried in a grave would return it's owner to life. Finally she was given a hammer. So that if she saw sense she could destroy the phylactery and abandon Cultivation. Said hammer currently rests next to her bedside. It remains unused.
--------------------
Omakes and Links

(COMING SOON!)

 

[Alectai]

Rina Callista
Contemplations​

One would think that making arrangements for one's own retirement would be a joyous occasion. One who has given all that they have to give and has stepped down gracefully from a lofty position, perhaps to give guidance to the next generation? Maybe go back into teaching like she did last time she found herself stuck?

Rina blew a stray lock of hair out of the way as she leaned back back from her desk. She would have thought that her end would come from enemy action, or as a consequence of the terrible yoke that one suffered under simply by being one of the unapproved peoples of the Sea. Not… Well, this. A boobytrap from a disciple of the greatest mass murderer in remaining history, attempting to twist her Dao.

She could feel it even now, the Way Out. All she had to do was reach out and take her prize from the wicked—was it really so different from the other things she had overlooked so far? Was there not so much more she could do with the terrifying power that even now slumbered within her Pillar–sealed in a carefully controlled cycle of Essence to maintain her longevity–if not her might. Her path was a bloody one as it is—for the wicked have chosen their path and knew what they were getting into. All she needed to do was put into use the practices of the Clan—that nothing goes to waste.

She could understand somewhat at this point how easily one would fall to temptation. None seek to Cultivate simply for nothing. Maybe it was the expectations of the Clan, maybe it was a grudge, maybe it was simple greed. But everyone who walked the Path sought something from it–and when the choice was to continue on a new path or simply accept their fate had come to an end, who would merely step into the shadows without a word?

But it wasn't her way.

No matter how much the whispers sought to change her mind. No matter how much they suggested that it could be made acceptable No matter what anecdotes it could supply to justify the matter—even if they were each factually correct.

In the end, what was factually correct wasn't necessarily the right thing to do.

Once she got into the habit of including the gains of defeating specific foes to sustain her cultivation, her judgement would be clouded. There would always be the incentive to judge more harshly–and as her power grew, the need to make harsh judgements to continue her Path would grow greater and greater.

Sacrifice only counted when it was of the self, given willingly and without expectation of gain. To take it forcibly was no different from banditry, no matter how one dressed it up. That was why the instincts welling up within her were wrong, and why she would simply allow her cultivation base to decline. Why she was preparing herself for one final clash against malice and making arrangements for her Legion to make do. It was a time of unprecedented growth among the Optimatoi, there would be more Legates than available Legions soon enough–she was sure she could find a suitable successor from the crop of those who wouldn't be culled this time.

Because Aretaphilia had come up with a madcap scheme with the assistance of the Ninth Prince. A suitable stage for her to resolve a certain grudge.

She looked up from her desk, to the wall at the opposite side of her office. There it stood, a great polearm, formed of arcane wood and Celestial Bronze, bearing a power of resonance capable enough to withstand the power of her Dao. For the first time since entering the Single Pillar Realm, she had a suitable weapon.

She did, after all, have a certain surfeit of Points after relinquishing many of her remaining talismans and assets. Muqin Guo was sad to see her go… But the thinking cauldron no longer provided a great benefit at the level she fought on–and there was an up-and-coming new artisan who won the bid for the artefact. Hopefully he'd make better use of the cauldron and flame than she did.

The polearm before her was named in homage to a legendary weapon within the annals, discovered in one of her many dives since the onset of her new condition. A blade once used to slay a great monster, the Harpe. This Resonant Spear had been infused with her own bloodline and Dao, power enough to endure what she needed it for, and with the capacity to grow as she did.

With any luck, it would be enough to put the Heavenly Star off from striking at her Clan again.

Of course, that wasn't the only thing she had been up to lately. While the chilling of relations and the turmoil within the Sorrowful Blacksmiths had made communication more difficult than it should have been–the fact remained that she still had no small amount of cachet within the Blood Defiance Federation due to her connection with several notable heroes. She had sent a letter to Millet–the former scion of the Noble Knowledge Clan–with the information she had assembled and a request for what she might know. The playful witch could be trusted to keep silent about all of this at least–when the chips were down anyway–and the response had only just arrived today.

She had been woolgathering again, putting off what was almost certainly another bout of disappointment. But it wouldn't do to ignore an avenue like this—the Noble Knowledge Sect was a place that had forgotten more about the inner natures of reality than many powers had ever known in the first place, and her position as a potential inheritor before her defection meant that Millet had access to more of it than many, learned hand-in-hand with her divinatory techniques.

With a steadying breath to help settle her nerves, Rina thumbed the seal on the letter, and opened it up.

Rina

Short answer is, you're fucked

Rina shook her head wistfully. Typical of Millet to open up with the Point and only get to elaborating on it later.

Long answer is, you're probably fucked, but not necessarily.

My former Sect had actually made a study on Blood Path progression, measuring it bit by bit to determine how much you can actually afford to process before running afoul of the Curse. What it all boils down to is Qi, not the actual transmission of Blood itself. Of course, everything is made up of at least a little bit of Qi, so that only goes so far, but you get the point. The first cut-off point is roughly enough Blood-transmitted Qi to fully refuel your cultivation base over the course of your lifetime. At this point you experience a 10% reduction in assimilation of external Qi Sources–external being 'Any form of Qi that wasn't owned by a human immediately before you took it.' If a Beast were to hypothetically eat a human and devour their power, and then a Blood Path were to attack that very same Beast and consume them, they'd still find that power denied to them.

Anyway, that's the first cut-off point. You can probably sustain yourself as long as you're not, say, a Nascent Soul or something with that, but chances are slim that you'll ever manage to advance again without some really wild opportunities.

From then on, the inefficiency increases in a roughly linear fashion, as your level of Blood Path usage increases, you get less-and-less access to external forms of Qi. Concluding at the second cut-off point, where you've assimilated enough to advance a Small Realm over the course of your lifetime.

That's the point of no return, when it becomes impossible to assimilate external Qi. That's the point you're at courtesy of that intervention.

Which is to say. "All Qi under the dominion of the Heavens will reject you."

There lies the potential point of wiggle space. "All Qi under the Heavens." Mind you, that's essentially every source that's commonly available. Atmospheric, Spirit Stone, and Beast Qi are all considered to be in the Heavens' purview, leaving only what's available in other humans which–for some reason–doesn't count.

Of course, the obvious answer that might come to you is "Well, just take a little bit from a bunch of volunteers and go from there". Unfortunately, that's not going to work out, the Heavens are smarter than that–they can't interfere with the Qi itself–but they can interfere with the transmission of it. You'll never get quite as much from a single individual as they actually have–there's a minimum amount of draining that's required to have any significant benefits on your cultivation base–in replenishment or advancement–and that's well beyond what can be sustained in the long term.

At the end of the day, there's only two ways forward if you want to avoid going to Blood Path if you're past the second cut-off. Either find a replenishable source of Qi outside the purview of the Heavens…

Or you abandon Qi in its entirety, discarding your cultivation base and never attempting to reclaim it.

I'm sorry I don't have better answers for you, but you're a clever girl, I'm sure you might be able to pluck some insight from this somewhere.

And if not… Well, it was nice knowing you at least, I'll make sure nobody tries to make an evil ghost out of you! Least I can do.

–Millet"

Rina set the letter down, and steepled her hands together there. The details were far more extensive than she had hoped for, but the two paths forward were…

But then again…

There was that one entry in the deep archives.

'The Golden Legions marched upon the Nine Seas, our shields and spears scattering the barbaroi like fallen leaves in autumn. Yet not all found themselves to be primitive foes. The so-called 'Sword Immortals' utilised a strange form of cultivation, their strength impossible to measure, and their might enough to balk many of our Legates. So it was that the Archgetes descended in person to wage war upon them, such that the Seas might be pacified.'

Maybe there was more to that entry than she had first thought…

She'd need to do more research.

 

[Quest]

Antonius Emmanuel Eleanora 81
[Turn 11]
[Yuan Realm 2: The Egg of Fate]​

Hidden deep within the Yuan Secret Realm, Antonius found a graveyard cut into the side of a mountain. It was so high and small, that he would never have noticed it… yet he wasn't alone and his mother's echo stood beside him, her archer's sight able to spot even the slightest of differences from miles away. Once he had spotted it, getting up was an easy matter with his abilities and when he got there, he thought that perhaps it was fate for him to come here.

It was filled with hundreds of gravestones all arranged into paths pointing towards the center of the realm where a large mausoleum stood. The building was cut into giant stone steps, all leading up to a single giant throne where a corpse rested, it's desiccated head resting upon a palm as it stared at him in boredom. "What is this place?" The Bronze King asked, wondering if the entity would reply to him.

"My kingdom, such as it is." The corpse replied, leaning back and then he waved his hand twice. Antonius tensed as the yin qi in the air rose, but it didn't seem to be an attack. Moans filled the air as ghosts rose from the graves, bearing faces of misery that only those consigned to an eternity of servitude could bear. "Come, I sense you are worthy of my inheritance. Let us dine as fellow kings of the dead."

Antonius didn't reply, a frown forming on his face. "You brought a kingdom full of ghosts with you to your tomb?" He asked, looking around at the spirits around him. Most of them barely had the strength of mortals, meaning that they'd be qi condensation juniors in life. There were perhaps one or two with the aura of qi condensation - experts in life - but where they had the bearing of warriors, the others seemed nothing but servants.

"A king would have his household, of course." The corpse replied, staring back at Antonius curiously. His own aura that of an expert - so he had been a core formation elder in life. "When I decided to remain after my death, of course my loyal subjects followed me."

"All of these hundreds lingered?" He asked, casting a dubious glance at the ghosts around him. None of the servants dared to meet his gaze… though he wondered if they even could. There would be little enough of their former selves left beside the identity of 'servant'.

The corpse nodded at that, his parched lips turning into a smirk. "Of course, those who lacked that loyalty were… otherwise persuaded."

"You tortured them." Antonius translated, his frown schooled behind an impassive expression.It was the most reliable way to create a ghost, especially on such a scale. A river began to roar inside him, but he kept a tight grip upon its power. "How could you do that to so many people?"

The corpse frowned. "With how steeped you are in the arts of ghosts yourself, I had hoped you would not be so narrow-minded." He shook his head and gestured to the two warriors who served him. "But then you golden devils have always thought yourselves more righteous than heaven itself. Dispose of him."

With that he turned away, dismissing him and stared out into the Yuan Mountains in boredom. Antonius took a moment to study these warriors, two former-experts with qi condensation aura. They had no misery upon their ghostly faces, merely eagerness to carry out their instructions. "You two had been the ones to carry out the deed, weren't you?" He asked, not really expecting an answer. They were too weak to face him even if he were an ordinary expert, which meant that there had to be some trick involved.

Not that it mattered.

He pulled apart the gates of the underworld, letting out the river that pushed at its door. A swirling river of flames formed over his head, like volcanic magma that flowed like water. Looking into it gave the impression of faces in pain and just on the edge of perception, he could almost hear their screams. "I understand well the strength that grudges and emotion can have on the power of ghosts."
The warriors looked at him warily as they approached, while the corpse had turned his attention back on the King, staring at the river in shock. "I understand how even hate can be twisted into servitude," Antonius frowned at that last bit, but continued on. "However, I reserve that for the likes of you. Behold Phlegethon, the River of Fire, a furnace refined from the grudges and wills of sinners."

"What are you-" The corpse exclaimed, but before he could finish Antonius snapped his fingers. The two warriors burst into flames and were pulled into the river above him, joining its flow. For the first time since they had met, the creature regarded him with fear. "How did you do that?"

"There are incredible karmic debts upon your soul. Did you think your acts would leave you unmarked?" Antonius mused, turning to regard the corpse who had, without realizing it, leaned back fully against the throne to make more space between them. "As the King of the Dead, I can grasp them with my authority."

"You do not have the right to judge me, devil." The corpse replied, giving him a look of cold fury. "I am a king!" Antonius raised an open hand, drawing upon the weight of his existence. The former-elder froze, unable to speak as the Bronze King simply shut him up.

"No." He finally replied, closing his fingers into a fist. "I am a King." The corpse burst into flames without a scream, and then it also joined the river at his head. Waving a hand, Antonius dismissed it and the graveyard was once more bathed into natural light. He turned towards the ghosts of the servants, staring at him in awe.

Some were fading already, the anchor to their existence gone but others would remain still - perhaps even lesser shades of their former selves. He clasped his hands and bowed to them. "Allow me to send you off." With a gesture, he summoned another river. This one was as clear as glass, visible only by how it warped the world.

Lethe - the River of Oblivion.

If the Styx was the entrance to the underworld and the other three were its internal functions, then the Lethe was the way out. He gently guided it towards the ghosts, letting them fade away. Most did not recognise what he did, but a few were coherent enough to understand and bowed back. Antonius nodded at them as they faded. They weren't truly living beings, mere echoes of what once was but even echoes of suffering should not remain.

The dead should be remembered in joy and honor.

Antonius smiled as his mother's spirit materialized beside him. As her sharp eyes scanned the now empty room, she finally pointed towards the corpse's throne. In a single bound, Antonius moved up to it and saw a peculiar egg placed next to the throne. It was glossy black and there was glass at its top, allowing him to see some liquid inside. Shaking it experimentally, he raised an eye as words appeared inside the glass.

'Unclear, try again later'

He was enough of a Taurus to recognise a divination tool when he saw one, even if he didn't understand how it worked. To use them, he needed to have a clear purpose in mind or they would simply fail. Jumping to the edge of the graveyard which opened up to a sheer drop, he held the egg up and shook it experimentally. What is there in this direction?

'Increased Danger.'

Moving it in another direction, he tried again. Any danger here?

'No, there is no issue.'

That was more direct of an answer than he had expected. After a few more attempts, he realized that the egg gave him similarly direct but vague answers though they were consistent to the question. He glanced in the direction that was supposed to be dangerous. When it said that, how dangerous did it mean?

Shrugging, he leapt down.

Might as well go and see.

 

[no.]

Gaius Antonius 89 - One Trillion Tyrants​

The pen hovered over the page, suspended half an inch over the parchment. That half inch of empty air seemed impenetrable, the same as it had the last few times Gaius had tried to write. He had written something before the last Trial, hadn't he? It was harder to remember little things like that these days. Visions, fits, episodes, there were many words for it, but they all meant the same thing: the King was not as stable as he ought to be, mentally or spiritually. Little things sometimes slipped through the cracks.

Gaius sighed, putting the pen down and taking a sip from the teacup laid beside it. He'd drank a few cups' worth by now, but there was no worry of it running out. For him, creating more of a mundane tea like this took almost nothing. That was odd, wasn't it? Perhaps it was bad for Gaius, a man who occasionally struggled with reality, to attain this much control over it.

Three hours.

In three hours, Gaius Antonius would likely die. It was more than probability or common sense that told him this; whomever the Trial Hunters deemed their strongest member would no doubt be a monster, but he was quite the monster himself. No, for the past few years, the feeling of impending doom had only grown stronger and stronger in the Empty King's mind.

And so he had a thought: one last letter, a suicide note of sorts, before the end. Here Gaius sat, in a comfortable inn room in New Pleuron, a guest of honor, and he was sequestering himself away trying to write something meaningful. This wasn't some idle bit of poetry, or half-remembered accounts of a vision, it wasn't something that could be thrown out there carelessly. He had to write something beautiful and true, but what?

The Stargazers were long gone, deployed off to Yuan to help with the war effort. Nearly every friend from Gaius' youth was dead. Lipita was here, he supposed; perhaps he ought to talk to her and see if that could bring him the clarity to write. But no, her Single Pillar was too fresh, too vulnerable to being molded by outside influence. To expose his former pupil to excessive amounts of his own Dao Emanations would only hinder her future growth.

Amaranth, then? That was a healthy, well-formed Dao Pillar if he'd ever seen one, not in any danger of contamination. Maybe that old friend would have some guidance for him. Diomedes was around too, always a solid and dependable sort. Hell, he could even consult the Ninth Prince. Sure, he'd only ever had a few conversations with that strange sage, but they'd undoubtedly been fruitful ones.

No, the thought of any of those turned his stomach. It made Gaius angry, for reasons he couldn't begin to comprehend. He didn't want any one's advice; to take counsel from anyone right now would destroy him. He didn't even want to hear from Scylla, who was swimming around somewhere in the mountains but would hear him should he ever speak into his teleportation ring. Gaius had to settle this problem himself.

"This is a test." He said, to nothing and no one in particular but his own inner self. He scowled, staring at the ceiling and squinting. "I need to say something beautiful and true, right? Express how I really feel?"

How did he feel? That was a perilous question; more often for him it was 'how ought to I feel?' And yet, such shallow emotions would not resolve The Seeker's conundrum. And so, praying he would not unravel himself through doubt, Gaius pressed the pen down, and dug in deep

—-

Tho Those Who Would Seek

To those who walk the true path: embrace the fear that grips you as you stare into the expanse of infinity. Let the old times fall to ruin, as all things must. In the void of endless time, every love you felt will fade, every bond you had will break, and you will stand alone, mighty and sorrowful.

Mankind was not meant to live long lives, and so those who live long lives become less human and instead become something new. Each one of us, a new species, each circle of comrades, an ecosystem. The longer we live and the farther we go, the fewer people we know how to connect to anymore. This regimented military structure my Clan has built only holds up with enough force to press us together despite the endlessly growing differences which push us apart.

Should one wish to make Cultivators, those beasts of desire and possibility, into cogs as the Earl of Bronze did long ago, I suspect it works in twos. Whatever Great Realm the strongest member reaches, those two realms below can be pressed into neat little rows, but one realm below, they will always chafe. The Elders of the Golden Devil Clan are not regimented soldiers, they are individual supermen, as all men yearn to be as they grow old and strong.

The way the Elders live, free and individual, by a logic that only they can fully parse anymore, is more primitive than that of a true soldier, a true citizen. And yet, I find it is more truthful than the way of the Legionnaire or the Centurion, who is truly dominated by his own culture. That, as my end approaches, is what I have come to understand: that I do not respect civilization. I don't need a name on my grave; I need a fire in my heart and a defiant cry on my tongue until my final moments.

I dream of a world without boundary or law, where humankind is honest about their intentions. Where certainty becomes only probability, and impossibility becomes possibility. If I could, I would rip away the Orthodox Path and leave only the Single Pillar, birthing a cosmos which sails upon currents of wants and waves of dreams. I dream of a world of one trillion tyrants.

To whomever reads this document: seek strength. Seek hardship. Do not turn your head away from this world, but gaze deeply upon its frightful, beautiful features and decide what you see. Master yourself, then master the world.

—-

When Gaius' work was finished, he dropped his pen as if it were a rod of hot steel, as if the pathos he had just transcribed could cut him like a blade. Yes, this was it, this was lightning on the page, the force he'd needed to exert! With shaking, worshipful hands, he rolled up the parchment, tied it with string, and pressed it in was with the seal of House Quintia. Clutching the document carefully, Gaius stood, invigorated.

He tapped the side of his teleportation ring, speaking into it. "It's time, Sister. Rift opens in less than three hours, are you ready to rumble?" He asked, voice shot through with the grit of a challenger.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Brother." Scylla replied calmly, the sadistic cooing of a true predator echoing through his mind. "Just remember, I follow you, not the Golden Devil Clan. You owe me when this is done."

"Wish I could be so damn optimistic!" Gaius chuckled, conjuring a cigar between his fingers and chomping on it. "Fine, you're on. I'll give ya a big favor when it's all done."

Before sitting down to write today, Gaius had already bathed and groomed himself meticulously, picked out the perfect robes, jewelry and hat, and done some light training. Everything was in place. With all the confidence he could muster, the Empty King pushed open the door to his room and strode out. The sound of his boots against the floorboards as he walked to his end seared its way into his memory.

As Gaius descended the stairs, the innkeeper was there, as were many townsfolk. They raised their hands in salute as he went by, which made this whole production feel even more like a funeral. As he left the inn and strutted down the street, more people stopped and saluted as well. It was not the wild celebration of a few days ago, but the enthusiastic stoicism of a deeply military people.

Gaius stopped by a post station and handed his parcel to the courier with instructions to take it back to the Stargazers. They would be the first to read the document, then they would transcribe and distribute it across the Clan. With that matter settled, the King no longer had any reason to remain in New Pleuron.

The city's gates opened for The Seeker, and from there he saw his destination in the distance. Up on a hill stood the others; it seemed he was one of the last to arrive. Magnus Centennius, the demonic engineer, meticulously fiddled with his many gadgets, making sure it was all just so. Diomedes and Amaranth wrestled off to the side, both warming up and passing the time. Lipita, her ascended form resplendent before Gaius' spiritual sense, meditated calmly, though a deep well of energy bubbled like magma within.

With each step feeling heavier than the last, Gaius approached the group amongst whom he would meet his fate. Live. Die. Become something different from what he was now. Those were the pleasingly simple options before him.

"My oh my, it seems I'm unfashionably late." Gaius called out in a lazy drawl, tipping his hat as he strolled up the hill. He inhaled deeply from his cigar, which was now just a small fraction of its previous length, and blew out a small cloud of acrid smoke. "But still in time for the party."

—-

I'm not sure if this omake could be said to hold any narrative significance. It's more of a mood-setter, something I quickly slammed out after a certain mood took me. I guess you could call it everything falling into place; the last, last, truly last stop before the destination. There will be more omakes I post during this turn, but emotionally speaking, this one is turn 15's final note.

 

[Alectai]

Rina Callista & Gaius Antonius - This Took a While, Didn't It?​

New Pleuron was the city's name, and it lived up to the title - it felt new, in a way that only a city with less than a century to its name could. The residents stranded young, it was full of children, businesses started up and failed in an endless cycle of economic activity. To be in this fortified city, with its thick walls, elaborate temples and modern styles of architecture, was to be surrounded by the innocent vigor of childhood.

Night had fallen, but the city was far louder than it normally was at any time of day. After all, who in their right mind could possibly sleep at a time like this? In three days, history would change yet again, for in this city had gathered a fellowship of heroes, great warriors ready to sacrifice their lives to spare their people from tragedy. Just this once, after who knew how many hundreds of millenia, there would be no Centennial Trial, thanks to them.

The dancing and the singing were more than celebratory, they were rapturous. Gourmet food from all over the region, the kind that no commoner could ever expect to taste, was given out freely. Wine flowed endlessly, until the number of sober adults in New Pleuron could be counted on two hands, or perhaps even one. People pulled one another into inns for bouts of furious lovemaking, and when the inns were full, they hid in bushes or went behind houses. The smells of rare spices, strong drink, roasted meat and pungent sauces filled the air until it was thick enough to make one almost choke. It was the pure mania of a people who did not know how to process such immense joy.

The heroes themselves were of course the centerpiece. Anything they wished for, they were given. People offered up their sons and daughters as spouses, fine gifts of silk and gold and jade and gemstones were thrown at them until they glittered, they were treated to the greatest delicacies of every nation in the Region, all imported at great expense. To revel like this the day before their great sacrifice would hinder their performance the next day. Even to revel two days before would be a risk. And so a compromise was reached: they would surrender themselves to this bacchanalia three days before the event was set to occur.

Lanterns were strung between rooftops and hung over the city wall. Colorful flower petals were strewn about the streets and all over the dining tables. The atmosphere was the sort of thing the Golden Devil Clan were thought by many to shun. Those swarthy, metallic folk from another world were certainly no strangers to celebration, but such things were normally done in moderation, as excessive pleasure was thought to dull the mind of its rational faculties. Yes, a strange sight indeed.

Life could not stir Golden Devils to celebrate like this, certainly not. To a Devil, life was work. It was industry, it was war, it was the endless grind of civilization as they fought to live for one more day. It was not life, but death that moved them so; the death that would have fallen upon their people would instead be shouldered by a valiant few. To sacrifice one's life to protect their nation and their people was the greatest deed a Devil could perform, and rarely was a sacrifice ever this grand. Yes, this most ecstatic event was, in the end, a funeral.

A funeral that Rina Callista thought was entirely premature, her death had not yet been confirmed for all that the tales of her 'Crippling' were starting to leak out–as expected of course, you just can't keep a secret if you're a public figure. But even so, it was a frustrating state of affairs to be held up on a pedestal like this, as if the outcome of the upcoming debacle was a fixed point.

For all that things had been going well for the Optimatoi of late, it seemed inevitable that the expectation was for things to get worse. Rina supposed that everyone was just waiting for the other boot to fall at this point–surely, things couldn't keep getting better while the Ruthless Heavens continued to slaver for the lives of all those outsiders, even at the risk of letting other criminals go unpunished. She also supposed that while she had no intentions of dying, the upcoming contest that had been hashed out by Aretaphilia and the Ninth Prince in a fit of manic flailing was probably going to lower her odds of success further still–doubly so as that woman would likely be leading the charge, having had a century to rebuild her ego and enhance her power.

Rina didn't think she'd lose even with that, but it would leave little margin to work with afterwards. Her studies into the old records had proven fruitless–what scraps remained showed that the Optimatoi of the era had been utterly disinterested in studying what was a hypothetical genuine threat to their incursion, and had gone to great lengths to see the legacy destroyed even from their own records. Her contacts among the righteous powers knew a little more–the legacy of the Sword Immortals was one that many Sects aspired to match, but all still operated by the same paradigm. "Infuse Qi into your weapon and use it as a vessel for your will."

But that still produced power within the logic of the Realm. Core Formation Sword Cultivators fought as Core Formation Sword Cultivators, no more, no less–surely not a threat to the Sea Conquering Army in its height. Scraps of information gathered from other elites of this golden era suggested that the Sword Immortals were different in some sense. The Sword Law that Xiuying claimed to have been taught, the Spatial Slash and the Severing Strike she learned from an ancient expert that apparently was 'Sadly limited to her reserves as a Qi Cultivator'. Which seemed to coincide with the tales remaining in the annals.

The problem was that knowing a path was possible didn't suddenly make it something you could do, and even ordinary cultivators were often willing to take their secrets to the grave. So after several years of study and experimentation proving fruitless, here she was at a party, merely days away from what was becoming increasingly clear was her final battle.

Rina was never good at parties.

"You hide good, real damn good." Someone called out to Rina, interrupting her introspection. Slowly and clumsily, a tall man in dark green robes clambered up the side of the house she sat atop. From the way he moved, the man was clearly drunk already, and his efforts to stop his oversized hat from falling off only made the climb more difficult.

Eventually though, the intruder made it all the way up, before walking up to her unsteadily and sitting down cross-legged just a few feet away. "It's weird, a King with no Emanations at all; you really have sealed everything you've got deep down in there. Even I could hardly sense you." He chuckled, tilting up his hat to expose a third eye in the middle of his forehead.

Silence. Whatever it was the man had expected, he wasn't seeing it. After a few moments, he shrugged, and held out his hand. Loosely clutched in his long fingers was a ceramic jug of wine so rich in spiritual nutrients, it was practically shimmering. "Want some? I've been meanin' to talk to you for a long time. Ambrosian Wine; it's good stuff."

"I'm good." Rina waved it off. "I've got enough to worry about without adding nostalgia to the mix too." Yes, she could see why looking back to a happier past was a popular drink–but Rina had never been what you could call happy, she worried too much from even the start.

She had really been hoping she wouldn't have to talk with this person though.

"I was hoping this would start off a bit better. Sorry, I had it all planned out, but then the drinking started and…" The tall man scratched the back of his head and looked around bashfully.

He sighed, giving up on the small talk. "The name's Gaius Antonius, but I figure you probably know that already. I wanted to meet you just once, before the end." Another moment of awkward silence passed, scored by the constant background radiation of the party around them. "Er, not yours, I mean - mine. I'm probably gonna die. So we've got that in common."

As Gaius took a swig from his jar, Rina studied him. The depictions in artwork were fairly close to the genuine article, though a bit exaggerated. The Empty King was tall, but not as monstrously so as some sculptures would suggest, and he was actually somewhat thin. His aristocratic features were flushed from drunkenness, but despite how much he had put away, his eyes remained sharp and perceptive.

As Rina remained silent, Gaius seemed to grow more nervous. He tried to hide it, but couldn't seem to manage under the weight of whatever strange mood had taken hold of him. He looked up to the stars, out at the crowd, back to her, then back to the crowd before finally saying something. "You were my hero, you know. Long, long time ago, when I was just a kid, what you did meant a lot. You proved to all of us that miracles still happen. That's when I decided to become The Seeker. Figured I might meet you someday if I kept moving on up, but I guess we just never ran into each other."

"I'm not good with that hero worship thing, really." Rina shook her head. "I do what I do because it's what needs to be done, not because I'm looking for recognition. If it comes anyway, so be it, but it's… Awkward, you know? Ideally, nobody should have to be like me, but we don't exactly live in an ideal circumstance, and this is not an age which is kind to those who aren't exceptional."

"I get not liking the spotlight I really do. It's exhausting, jumpin' back in over and over, that's my worst addiction." Gaius nodded appreciatively. "But I chose this - I haven't allowed myself to regret any of it. I can't, or I'd be undone. Frankly, Senior Sister, I think the world would be better off if everyone tried to be like us… well, more like you." He paused to take another swig. "You seem like you haven't fucked up as much as me; I've always been exceptional at fuckin' up."

Gaius sighed again, and neither spoke. The countless paper lanterns created so much collective light, they overpowered the dimmer stars, rendering the night sky less vibrant than usual. Gaius' next words were tinged with a wistful sadness. "Sorry. Thought I'd have more to say at a time like this, but it's plain and simple, ain't it? Stand or break, live or die. Never been more dangerous. Never been bigger. We keep going and it gets bigger and bigger and bigger, 'til we hit a wall we can't break through."

"Nobody's exceptional at doing right or wrong, what matters most is doing the best you can and trying not to have any regrets." Rina mused. "If your path is causing you regrets, then your path needs to change, either how you walk it or where it's going. Even if your methods are fixed, we're still humans, with the ability to choose our fate." She scoffs at that. "That doesn't mean fate doesn't push back, but if fate says you can't achieve your dreams, then fate is wrong and needs to change too."
She groans then, and begins to rub the bridge of her nose. "Of course, in the end, the winner is the one who gets to be right. But I really don't want to lose, we've had enough of that by now. Just once, I want us to be the winner, the one who does things Properly and gets rewarded for it. I want us to surpass our history instead of being bound by it. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve still, but goodness gracious is this going to be tight. In a sense, a high intensity engagement is actually better for me, so there's that."

"Damn, that makes three things we've got in common!" Gaius replied with a smirk. "I'm the same way; the harder I'm pushed, the less room I have to breathe, the more dangerous I become. That's how it's always been, it's why I've gotta be the anchor in this contest."

Gaius quieted down again. The chill desert night caused his sweat to cool, making his robes cling to him uncomfortably. He doffed his hat entirely and set it down beside him, giving him a better look at Rina and vice versa. "It's not just stand or break, not really. Each and every one of us has always got a third way forward: death of the self, but not the whole. Becoming something totally different than you were goin' in. Something ya wouldn't have recognized as you the week before." Perhaps subconsciously, the eye in Gaius' forehead blinked a few times as he spoke. "Do you ever feel that way sometimes?"

"Nope." Rina shook her head. "I'm pretty sure I'm still the same person I was when I started. You know, barring the usual accumulation of experience that makes everyone slightly different in how they react to it. That's the point, even if that third way exists, I don't think it's an option for me, the whole point of my Path is to be an example, and that stops being true if I decide suddenly that I need to become a completely different person to keep walking it."

Her nose wrinkled in distaste then. "Truthfully, that's exactly why I'm having trouble right now, if Death of the Self was an option, I wouldn't be in such straits right now, but my Path doesn't permit that option, I will either stand or be broken, but I will not lessen myself simply because some arrogant ghost thinks he knows better than I do. I will not tarnish my Path simply because someone from thousands of years ago thinks they know better than me. They are not me, my Path is my own, I will walk it to the end until something stops me–but I won't let it be tainted, or it would defeat the entire purpose of starting in the first place. I may change direction, I may have priorities, but my core will not be blemished. Someone has to be better, or we'll always be stuck in this unending game of calculating gains and losses. If it's not me, it'll be someone else."

"Ghost, eh?" Gaius snorted, taking one last swig of wine and emptying the jar. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it away, and it dissipated into motes of light midair. "I dunno if I'd call that fucker a ghost. Seemed pretty damned fleshy when he talked to me. Ji Shin sure is generous in his own abominable way, ain't he?"

He looked away from Rina and off into the horizon, gaze hardening into a broad, unfocused hostility, as if he were casting some wordless hex on the monster. "He came to me three times down there in that cave, though I think he also left something for me before I ever saw his face. Guess that makes four. Each and every time he had a new gift, a new lesson. I'd be a happier man if he hadn't given me nothin'. Is that why you're in dire straits, Golden King? Did he give you gifts too?"

"He stole my ancestor's legacy and replaced it with a poisoned pill." Rina grimaced. "A beacon of hope to the Last Callista, and he plundered it, and in his great generosity, replaced it with a set of cursed shackles, intended to twist the Qi of the first person to unearth the legacy to his master's way." The space between the two rumbled, some unknowable force railing against Law.

"You know the funniest thing about it? I think you're right, I think he genuinely thought he was doing me a favor. That he knew better than I did. But he doesn't. He's Wrong. The means Matter, a savior born from the sacrifice of untold innocents is no different than a beast–a mechanical system that exists only to destroy. Even should it claim victory, no peace will be born in its wake. A tool that cannot achieve victory in its own right doesn't deserve to win, no matter how foul its foe is, because then you're just trading one monster for another."

Rina's conviction, so firm as to feel tangible, washed over the Hollow King. He took a moment to savor the feeling of it, like some exotic dish or fragrant flower. Then, he let it dissipate, leaving not a single stain upon him. Gaius rubbed his chin thoughtfully, sighing quietly before speaking up. "...yup. I was worried it'd be like this: I don't get it. Out of all the Kings in this Clan, you're the one I'm the least compatible with." He shrugged, and that momentary discomfort faded to the usual wry satisfaction. "Nothin' wrong with that though. All ambition is sacred - even if your drive don't mix well with mine, I must commend it nonetheless."

"Ji Shin didn't give me something from the Clan, but they were legacies. One of 'em is real private, but I'm gonna use another one in three days." Gaius smiled smugly at that and snapped his fingers, bringing forth a crimson flame that ever so slowly drained the warmth from his fingertips. "The Shadow is real, it lives in my blood. In my veins dwells an Anti-Heaven, and I've devised a technique to make use of it. A lance to kill the servants of Heaven."

"Hmm." Rina acknowledged the point grimly. "Good luck with that then, but I'd be wary about anything gifted by that man, I've little doubt that whatever good it may have for you, it'll benefit him even more."

"Eh, probably. I'll give it a good hard think - right after I'm done puttin' my foot up the ass of the strongest Hunter on the other team." Gaius grinned, walking to the corner of the rooftop and conjuring another jug of wine out of light - this one just regular wine. He drank deeply, indulgently, seemingly without a single worry. He drained the jug in one go, and turned it back into tiny stars like he had the last one. "And I'd better hear some cheers from the stands while I do that!" He laughed, pointing at Rina as he did a reverse swan dive off the roof.

…only to clumsily climb back up a few moments later. He seemed a bit bashful for once, scurrying over to pick up and dust off his oversized hat. "Uh… have a nice night." He muttered awkwardly, before re-doing his dramatic dive once more and actually leaving.

Rina watched Gaius' drunken antics continue, as he made his exit… Failed to do so, and then did so again with a little more success.

"Better than I feared, worse than I hoped." She muttered. "I really, really don't think I can get along with him though - was I lucky that he was drunk? I really can't afford to get in any screaming matches right now…" The King sighed, and turned her attention back down to the party.

Really though, this was not going to be a good few days…

 

[no.]

oh hey what's this

 

[Nordlending]

Meeting an Old Friend




Note:
Does Demetrius know what he has signed up for?
No, he does not. He has no idea what he talking about.

There are around 850 words in this strip. That wasn't supposed to happen when I started this thing.

 

[no.]

Iskander Pallikari 4 - Homework​

On the merits and demerits of various common weapons in Cultivator combat

This article isn't mine, I'm just writing down some stuff a friend is telling me. I'm not showing it to anybody, I'm just using it to study, so if you're reading this and you're not me, stop snooping through my stuff! Everything after this is his words, except for when a word is big and I don't know how to spell it; then I'm gonna ask him for another word. Okay go.

Weapon Arts, when taken as a whole, are the most common way for Cultivators to fight. The only real exception are some Body Artists who have refined their techniques enough to forgo weapons entirely, an approach to which there are advantages and drawbacks. Otherwise, any Cultivator, regardless of their specialty, will learn at least some basic Weapon Arts for the purpose of self-defense.

That naturally leads to a debate: which weapon is the best? An imbecilic question - there is no weapon which stands above all others, because there are many ways to end a life. What I intend to do here is simply a tutorial of sorts for new Cultivators who wish to specialize in the Weapon Arts. They say that the way you start your path will shape your future, so one must choose wisely.

Sword

There are three candidates for 'the king of weapons' which remain consistent in every culture: the sword, the bow and the spear. The sword for single combat, the spear for massed combat and the bow for long-range combat. That's not to say that other weapons cannot measure up to these three, but that they see the broadest use because of their broad and consistent capabilities.

The sword takes many forms, which determine how it is used: double edged or single edged, curved or straight, broad-bladed or thin-bladed, and so on. I personally prefer a nice double-edged straight sword with a sturdy guard, but my mastery is broad enough to adjust for any number of types. In most cases, a sword will be able to both slash and thrust, as well as bash with the pommel or guard, and these three types of attack make up sword fighting.

A Cultivator uses a sword much like a mortal would; parrying aside the opponent's blows and striking back in whichever way is most suitable. Superhuman strength and speed does not particularly alter the ways in which a sword is swung, with the exception of greatswords, which become more practical to use in one hand. The relative ease with which a sword can be carried on one's person and drawn when needed makes it a very popular sidearm for Cultivators not specialized in melee combat.

The appeal of the Sword Arts is in this versatility. Boosting one's attack power to the highest possible extent and having multiple ways of delivering that attack power, as well as a decent tool for defense, means that a Sword Artist is rarely without any effective tools to draw upon. That said, while a Sword Artist will have a somewhat broader range of capabilities, they will fall a bit short of the more focused, razor-sharp capabilities of more specialized weapons.

There is also, of course, the Flying Sword. Because a double-bladed sword is dangerous everywhere except the hilt, it makes a surprisingly effective ranged weapon… except for the fact it is not balanced for throwing at all. By acting as a vector for telekinesis, the Flying Sword eliminates that last issue, becoming a weapon which is dangerous both up close and at range. Some swords are even designed to be more aerodynamic, under the assumption that they will be used as Flying Swords.

The Flying Sword is a controversial weapon; while it does indeed add even more versatility to an already broadly useful weapon, some say that training in Flying Sword use alongside regular swordplay causes the artist to spread themselves thin. There is also the fact that using a Flying Sword for long periods of time can be draining for artists without robust qi reserves. On top of that, you're throwing your own weapon, leaving you empty-handed and thus weakening your defense. You could fight with a sword in hand and a Flying Sword(or even multiple!) at range at the same time, but now you're burning through qi even faster.

Some Sword Artists scoff at the Flying Sword as nothing more than a toy, while others fight with several at a time. Ultimately, it is another question of the generalist versus the specialist; broad applicability versus singular focus.

Spear

Another one of the 'kings of weapons', the spear is less varied than the sword in the number of attacks available. All spears are made to stab, and while some have heads designed to also slash, these slashes are inevitably more unwieldy than those of a sword. The haft can also be used to bash when the spear is held in both hands; a useful tool for when the enemy steps inside your range.

Speaking of range: that is the appeal of the spear, the ability to attack an enemy from far enough away that they cannot fight back. It is also prized for its ability to be used en masse with other spears - the thrusting of an entire row of spearmen is a truly fearsome thing. Finally, some spears can be thrown, though not all are balanced for throwing.

When used by a Cultivator, the spear suddenly becomes a more versatile weapon than before. Normally, only shorter spears are practical for throwing, but with the aid of a Cultivator's superhuman strength, even a pike can be thrown. Speaking of pikes, a strong enough Cultivator can even use very long spears one-handed, while also making use of agile moves that a mortal simply wouldn't be able to manage with a weapon that size.

The Spear Arts are focused primarily on the power of the thrust. Offensive power, focused into one point and maximized to the greatest possible extent. It would not be an exaggeration to say that, cultivation bases being equal, Spear Artists have the greatest sheer striking power of any Cultivator. There are also many techniques related to throwing the spear and calling it back, creating new spears after throwing them, or lengthening the spear. Finally, spears with heads designed for cutting can be utilized for some Sword Arts. Some Cultivators will use a glaive with a large blade, study both Sword and Spear Arts and use both at once.

If you plan to use pure spear arts focused just on thrusting, be careful. Having one vector through which you can attack will make you more predictable, and that could spell your doom.

Bow

The third of the 'kings of weapons', the bow is by far the most broadly-used type of ranged weapon. Weapons which rely on a type of propulsion other than the user's strength will fall off in effectiveness as the user themself grows more powerful, whereas those that do will remain relevant. The bow is also prized for the speed and efficiency for which it can be fired - by holding multiple arrows between their fingers, a masterful practitioner can fire them off one after another without delay, and their hand will not outspeed the string.

A bow does one thing: fire an arrow. There are many ways to make a bow, and it all comes down to a balance of range, accuracy and the ease of pulling the string. Every type of bow has a different balance, and no kind can said to be objectively better than another.

There is of course the other side of the coin: the arrow. The effectiveness of a projectile weapon depends upon the quality of the projectile as much as it does the weapon itself. There are as many types of arrows as there are stars in the sky, and they can be designed to carry all sorts of payloads and effects. This makes the bow the weapon of noblemen and soldiers, not commoners or lone operatives. The nobleman can buy as many arrows as he wants, and the soldier's arrows are provided to him, not bought with his own money.

The superhuman strength of a cultivator enhances the bow in numerous exciting ways. With superhuman strength, the string can be pulled far harder. With superhuman dexterity, multiple arrows can be shot at once with passable accuracy. With knowledge of Arrays, an Artist can craft their own ammunition and imbue it with all manner of enchantments. Cultivators almost never use compound bows(bows designed to make the string easier to pull) because they simply do not need any assistance. They will more commonly favor the longbow for maximum shooting power, or the shortbow for a blistering rate of fire.

The Bow Arts are a branch of Weapon Arts, but they could also be called a hybrid art of sorts, as working with enchanted ammunition is key to maximizing a bow's effectiveness. There are some pure specialists whose wealth means they can simply commission as many arrows as they want with whatever effects they want, but most Bow Artists must make concessions and learn how to make their own when necessary.

Bow Art techniques take many forms, such as boosting the velocity or penetrative power of a shot, granting homing capabilities or other unusual movement abilities to an arrow, creating arrows out of nothing or splitting one arrow into many. As expected, it is all built around ranged combat; the wise bowman will learn some Body Arts as well, for his incredibly strong fingers will make for effective claw attacks.

Axe

The axe is what happens when you take a sword and design it for cutting power until it stops being a sword. Coming in many forms, an axe is broadly categorized as a horizontal chopping head mounted on a haft, and the shape of an axe will change the way it is wielded. Nevertheless, the axe does not see combat as often as the sword because it is heavier and has fewer ways of striking, making it riskier to use.

The axe chops, chops and chops some more; that is all it does, but it performs the job with greater power than any sword. Some long-hafted axes are fitted with a point on the end and called poleaxes, allowing them to be used as both spear and axe, though the increased weight means it does not perform the job quite as well as either. Finally, small, single-headed axes can be thrown quite accurately. Some warriors will fight with small axes for the versatility this offers, though they lose out on the striking power of a larger specimen.

In some cultures, a one-handed axe is commonly paired with a moderately large shield, creating a good balance of defense and offense. The ability to bash with the shield compensates for the limited number of ways the axe can attack, and a timely parry can allow the warrior to land a devastating counterattack.

In the hands of a Cultivator, the name of the game is size: increasing the weight of the axehead directly increases the power of each strike, as does increasing the length of the haft. Throwing one's axe also becomes more practical, even if the axe is very large. Many Axe Artists also use some Body Arts to enhance their strength, swinging and throwing gargantuan weapons that can kill several men in one motion.

Axe Arts are designed as much to compensate for the downsizes of the axe as they are to enhance its strengths. They enhance chopping power of course, but also tend to include techniques which assist in throwing the axe and recalling it back. Those who wield poleaxes will of course use both Spear and Axe Arts in tandem, creating an arsenal that is both versatile and powerful.

Flying Axes are almost as common as Flying Swords, for obvious reasons; an axe is dominated by its head, which has a large, cutting edge, and many can be thrown. I've heard tales of a Golden Devil who resettled in another Sea and made great use of a Flying Axe.

Whip

The whip is not normally a weapon; not in mortal hands at least. Its primary purpose is more on the loud noise it produces and pain it causes and less on actually dealing heavy damage. Furthermore, an ordinary whip is laughably ineffective against armor. Just about the only advantages a whip can afford a mortal is range and unpredictability.

However, a Cultivator is far more versatile in the ways they can use a weapon. Through Weapon Arts, the path of a whip can be altered as it flies, and it can be manipulated to grab onto things. Furthermore, whips can be augmented with blades to produce an armament called an urumi. Most commonly used in the Fifth Sea, the urumi is extremely difficult to master and near-exclusively used by Cultivators, but in the hands of one who knows what they are doing, it can dance circles around conventional weapons.

Generally, a Cultivator will use a whip as part of a larger arsenal rather than their only weapon; useful for specific situations and pulled out when needed. However, there are many unconventional ways to use the weapon when aided by the techniques of other disciplines. Making the whip longer or shorter can improve the number of ways it can attack, and pairing a whip with a technique that applies an effect upon landing a hit will mitigate the weapon's downsides and play to its strengths.

Warhammer

Any description that applies to the axe can apply to the hammer to an even greater extent. Often wielded specifically to foil armored foes, warhammers come in all sorts of shapes. They often feature a sharply pointed beak, though sometimes they are simply blunt. The thing that differentiates a warhammer from another weapon, though, is its weight - even lighter warhammers will be heavier than other weapons, and while this weight gives it greater hitting power, it also makes it more cumbersome to use.

The benefit of wielding a hammer is its ability to destroy an opponent's defenses, creating an offense which cannot be denied. Bringing one of these things into battle means that the effectiveness of your attacks will always be about the same no matter what the other guy is bringing against you. The downside, of course, is that everyone knows what a hammer does, and there is no subtle way to use it, which means you will be predictable.

The superhuman strength of a Cultivator allows one to swing a hammer as easily as one would swing a sword, making it faster and less cumbersome than it would normally be. Of course, if one is willing to give that up, they can simply use an oversized hammer. There is no real limit to how large a warhammer wielded by a Cultivator can get aside from their own strength, and the large surface area of the head makes it a good surface for inscribing arrays.

What is there to say about Hammer Arts? They focus on striking. In particular, many techniques channeled through a hammer focus on striking the ground to produce various effects. The generation and manipulation of kinetic energy is what these arts focus on, and they can be more broad than you'd think. For example, I once knew an artist who would strike something with his hammer, then use a technique to manipulate the energy of his own strike. His hammerblows could cut like a sword, pierce like a spear or spread itself over an area a hundred times what it should have.

Meteor Hammer

No one uses the meteor hammer as their first weapon. If you remember using it as your first weapon, then you have brain damage from hitting yourself with your own meteor hammer. Difficult to learn, this abomination of metalworking might at first seem like an overcomplicated joke, but it ends up working surprisingly well.

Constructed from two round heads with a length of chain between them, this weapon is difficult to control, takes time to build momentum before a strike, and must be wielded carefully. The benefit, of course, is a weapon with the range of a spear and the defense-crushing power of a warhammer, plus the ability to attack from many angles. Not only that, but the chain can be used to wrap around targets. In essence, the weapon combines the best of all traits… if you can actually manage it. It is highly recommended that anyone bringing a meteor hammer into battle also carry a sidearm in case things go awry.

As stated before, Cultivators possess enough dexterity to render the weapon feasible for real combat instead of just demonstrations. A seven pound iron hammerhead swung with superhuman strength with the leverage of a ten foot chain will strike with obscene force, and many Cultivators use much heavier heads. In addition, due to the weapon's double-ended nature, some will put a different enchantment on each head, creating a weapon with two separate abilities.

Meteor Hammer Arts is a generous term, because the techniques used to optimize this exotic weapon are not numerous enough to consider their own form of Weapon Art. It is more like a combination of Hammer Arts with some techniques used through whips, plus some Body Arts to help control the weapon. The ability to wrap the chain around the target means the weapon also synergizes well with all manner of binding techniques.

Hook Sword

Distinct enough from the standard sword to be considered its own category of weapon, this–

—-

"Senioooooor!" Iskander whined, letting the little nub that had once been a large piece of charcoal fall from his weary fingers. "Come on, isn't this a bit much? Why do I gotta be the one to write all of this down?"

"Because I don't have hands to write it with, and you'll remember better if you write anyway." Lai Bohai said, unfazed. "Don't stop now, this is only the very basics."

"Is book-learning really gonna be any good for battlefield skills?" Iskander asked, stretching his sore wrist. "This is the kinda stuff you have to see and feel and do, isn't it?"

"Knowing things instinctually is good, but it will inevitably leave gaps. Academic understanding will fill the gaps." Lai Bohai replied immediately, unsympathetic to his pupil's exhaustion. "On the battlefield, the difference between life and death is miniscule. A great warrior stacks the deck in as many ways as possible."

Iskander shook his head in disbelief. How was the old codger this uptight about everything? Wouldn't all of that time being alive have gotten him to chill out a little? "Alright, fine, but can I at least let my hand rest? It feels terrible." He sighed.

"You've got two, don't you? Use the other one, it's good to build dexterity in the off-hand."

Iskander groaned, but did as the ghost commanded, picking up a new piece of charcoal and continuing to jot down his mentor's notes. He had to admit, writing it down as he heard it did help him remember it all better, but the sheer volume made his head hurt. There was no time to slow down, though; every day was a small step along an unthinkably long path, and each step made was a step that was over with and behind him.

—-

I threw this little thing together mainly because what Weapon Arts mean in this quest has been rather vague so far, and I wanted to try and codify them. It was fun speculating about how having superhuman strength would change the practicality of different weapons and approaches, but eventually I had to cut it off because it was getting too long for something this dry. I will probably make a part 2 though, so watch out for that if you're interested.

Some little notes: 1. The fact that Flying Swords aren't brought up often in this quest indicates to me that this is not a setting with a lot of Flying Sword spam, so I expounded on that topic a bit. 2. Some weapons are clearly more practical for mono-focus than others, which makes sense to me. Plus, Bai Lohai is trying to be unbiased here, but his own preferences are clearly sneaking through. 3. The idea of a character altering the kinetic energy of their own blows to change the shape of the impact they make is something I've wanted to write into a story for a long time but haven't found the place for yet. Might do that in the future.