Iskander Pallikari 6 - Flying
The bar known as the
Barking Boatman was a famously rowdy establishment. Built in Da Wan, an old city near the border between the Strength Purity Sect and the Sorrowful Blacksmith Sect, its walls were built of stone, as was much of the furniture. This had made it expensive to build and left it less comfortable than a wooden building. Indeed, sticking around in the cold dead of night in that poorly-insulated place was considered to be the mark of a true alcoholic, not a mere dabbler.
If you were to ask the establishment's owner why she would build a place like this in such an unorthodox way, she would give you a simple answer: it was made for Cultivators. Da Wan had no resources of its own, being mainly a manufacturing hub for materials mined in the mountains. Such materials would stop in Da Wan, be processed into goods, then shipped to the Strength Purity Sect, and so the city had a disproportionate number of Cultivator craftsmen. Mortals could be taught to work with Qi Condensation-level spiritual materials with some success, but to meet Strength Purity's massive demands, Cultivators were needed. This was not a place one commissioned for an incredible masterwork of craftsmanship, but one where you commissioned arms and armor for an entire army, or the tools to build an entire new town.
The uniting truth of all workmen is that they love a good drink after a hard day of fulfilling labor. The
Boatman, one of the most popular bars in the city, was therefore patronized by over a thousand rowdy Qi Condensation-level Cultivators every single day, and was constructed to withstand said rowdiness. In fact, the chaotic atmosphere was practically advertised as part of the appeal. Should you tell someone you were visiting, Da Wan, a wild night at the
Boatman would be one of the things they recommend you try.
The point being, Iskander had been well aware of the risks when he came to this place, accompanied by several comrades from the Plainswalkers. Granted a rare vacation after two years of difficult work, he'd intended to have as good a time as possible and refresh himself completely. Indeed, Iskander had been ready for things to get wild, or even slightly dangerous, because that was the entire point of coming to this kind of bar: to act like an animal.
What the young Legionnaire hadn't expected, though, was that it could get this bad.
In a far off corner of the bar, a large man beat on a smaller victim over and over, the violence mostly obscured behind his large frame. His blows were not the frenzied pace of a man fighting for his life or trying to win a contest of skill, but the slow and deliberate tempo of one delivering a punishment. Everyone else seemed to simply look away, making hushed conversation or just silently staring into their drinks, waiting for it to die down. Yes, bar fights happened in places like this, but that didn't look like a bar fight, it looked like a murder in progress - surely the owners would step in if it got this bad.
"Don't stare." A Legionnaire chided, knocking on the table to get Iskander's attention. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the strange incident. "I told you the
Boatman was bad news. Drink brings out your true self - barbarians get more barbaric."
"I think they're both Devils, actually." Said another, stealing a glance before turning away again and downing the rest of her cup. Iskander glanced again in turn - yes, the larger man did seem to have the skin and hair of a Golden Devil, and what little glances he caught of the smaller man showed the same. The bully's bulk and the horror of the situation in general had caused him to miss that at first.
"You think that's why they're not doing anything?" A third Legionnaire asked despondently, prompting a somber silence from all four of them.
That made an unfortunate amount of sense. The Golden Devils were in a politically precarious position at the moment; everyone knew that. Over and over again, they had assisted the Righteous Powers against the Demonic Alliance, to the point that it could be argued the Righteous Powers might not have had a chance to win the war by this point if it weren't for the many pivotal battles in which Devils had assisted them. And yet, a half-century ago, the Devils had used that good will to conquer the Jingshen Clan during a time in which the Righteous Alliance could not afford to intervene. With that business done, they had paid some small reparations to the Righteous Alliance and continued to offer assistance.
A blatant power play, alongside genuine help. Many in Strength Purity saw the Clan's continued status as an ally as a slap in the face. Many saw the Golden Devils as backstabbers, while many other saw the Jingshen as having been unworthy of the title of Righteous Sect in the first place and were glad to have them gone. At least the entire desert being under the control of a single power made things more efficient.
Not only were they controversial in a political sense, but they were also classed as a Demonic Clan. Their lives simply were not valued as much on average, and so, it was likely the owner of the bar felt an act of violence from one Devil to another was simply not something worth getting involved in one way or another. No one was going to do anything about this unless they absolutely had to.
Iskander sighed quietly, then got to his feet. "I'll do it." He said quietly.
This statement prompted looks of disbelief and concern from the others, who all stood in turn. "Don't do it, Iskander. It's not gonna go well." Said one.
"He was pounding them back earlier, he won't listen to reason." Said another.
"I'm not gonna just let him commit murder." Iskander shot back, shaking his head, before turning and striding across the stone floor toward the scene.
The man was not as brutish in appearance as Iskander had expected. He was large and muscular, sure, but his chiseled features and well-groomed beard didn't speak of the sort of dimwitted heavy drinker that he imagined he'd find, and the elaborate tattoos spiraling up and down his swollen arms only supported this notion. There was in fact a spark of intelligence in the man's eyes, if one that was drowning in booze a bit.
With his left hand, he held the smaller man up by his tunic and pounded his right fist into him over and over. The victim did his best to shield his face, but that didn't deter his attacker, who indiscriminately struck the chest, the flanks, the arms, and anything else he could reach. There wasn't any real strategy here, clearly. The big man simply wished to hurt this guy quite badly, and was doing so in a rather casual manner.
"Don't you think he's had enough?" Iskander asked, putting on as firm a voice as he could manage. The other Devil didn't acknowledge his voice, slamming a fist into his victim's gut which made one of his hands drop. Immediately, he struck the man's jaw, sending drops of blood flying out, two of which hit Iskander's face. "Come on, that's too much!" Iskander shouted, grabbing onto the big man's shoulder.
"Don't get involved." The man said in a smooth, deep voice. Iskander pulled, trying to get him to move, but he may as well have been trying to pick up a house. He realized immediately that it wasn't just down to size; this guy definitely had a higher cultivation base too. "He deserves it, so back off."
Unlike Iskander's own half-full Dantian, this man's was overflowing with energy. And yet, the stability Iskander was familiar with feeling from Ninth Heavenstagers wasn't there - that meant he was in the Eighth. Upon realizing this, he considered backing down as he'd been told. "You've already hurt him a lot, please stop this!" He shouted, prompting a scowl from the large man.
The patrons had been willing to ignore the commotion because none of them were willing to be the first to stand up for a Devil. Had it been a Righteous Cultivator being assaulted, they would have had more courage, but if the one being hurt was Demonic, then standing up for them just wasn't worth the risk to these people. Still, now that someone else had stepped into that unenviable position, they grew more bold, shouting at the big man to stop it and leave.
Veins began to stand out on the large man's head as he stewed with anger, and Iskander was scared he'd be swung at. After a moment, he let go of his victim, then whirled around to glare at the young swordsman instead. "I told you not to get involved, Junior. Now you've embarrassed me, and I can't let that slide!" He growled. "My name is Alexios Nikopoulos of the
Silverine Bracers, and as the aggrieved party I challenge you to a duel. Name the time and place."
"Wait, wait, wait. I didn't mean–" Iskander stuttered, noticing the sudden quiet, as well as the eyes of everyone in the bar upon him. Shit, he couldn't say no with everyone watching, could he? He couldn't even let himself look like he was
considering saying no. "Next mission is in seventeen days so, uh… t-two weeks? Yeah, two weeks!" He exclaimed, hoping he didn't look as freaked out as he looked.
Alexios crossed his tree trunk-like arms, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "And the place?"
Iskander wracked his brain for a location,
any location, he could remember in Da Wan, still not fully processing what he had just done. "I dunno, by the river? Yeah, by the river, at sunrise! A-and my name is Iskander Pallikari of the
Plainswalkers."
The giant nodded, his anger clear but contained, and left.
——
The following day, Iskander did everything he could to learn about the man he had so impulsively provoked. The Silverine Bracers kept their membership public for the most part, seemingly not having any secret elements to hide, which meant it wasn't too much trouble to simply look up information about Alexios on the Plainswalkers' portable Contribution Board terminal.
'Portable' was perhaps an exaggeration, considering the damn thing weighed five hundred pounds, but that was as small as anyone had managed to make one thus far. It had enough power to connect to the signal of the Contribution Board at the Dawn Fortress, but because of the distance, it took over several minutes to respond to a single command. This meant that the terminal was generally only accessed in urgent situations or to get paid. Good enough for Iskander, though, who would gladly spend an hour or two finangling this clunky hunk of glass and metal to learn about his opponent.
Alexios Nikopolous was an eighty-eight year old Legionnaire of the
Silverine Bracers. He had served in that Legion for the past fifty years, and was in the Eighth Heavenstage, where he had been for the past nineteen. An above-average Cultivator, but his difficulty in the stage of Dantian Expansion perhaps suggested poor meridian quality.
Iskander was surprised to learn that his opponent was in fact an alchemist working for the
Bracers' medical corps. A man that size, brewing pills? Maybe he did Body Arts and took his own medicine to bulk up. Still, if he was primarily a scholar of alchemy, that boded well, as his combat skills wouldn't be as polished as a frontline combatant's.
Still, he was eighty-eight, about three times Iskander's own age. At least, that sounded about right? Whatever, the guy had around six decades on him. Regardless of what his specialty was, the sheer difference in experience meant he would probably have
more combat techniques than Iskander did, not less.
Okay, that was bad, very bad. Still, it wasn't 'the sun is exploding' type bad, the sort of bad you just had to survive. No, this was the sort of bad that could be fought back against. Step one: he needed the right weapon.
——
Lai Bohai had been painfully clear in the past that Iskander was not to get himself any kind of special enchanted weapon until he had killed five people, and thus fully understood the gravity of taking a human life up close. He'd intended to follow through on that agreement, he really had… but this was no longer the time to prioritize impractical acts of virtue. He needed a more effective weapon, or he was gonna get his ass kicked. Thankfully, being in a Heavenly Blacksmith city, he'd had plenty of options. Even if Da Wan wasn't the sort of place you'd go to commission a masterpiece, Iskander couldn't afford a masterpiece anyway - he just needed something better than the standard issue. And so here he was, browsing.
Weapon shops all ultimately looked the same, though in a competitive environment like this, many would use marketing gimmicks or unique set dressing to stand out. Building after building, the walls lined with weapons of all kinds, stretched out before Iskander's eyes like marbled cuts of meat before a dog. Any Weapon Artist worth their salt eventually fell in love with all weapons, not just the ones they wielded, and Iskander had done so almost right away. Lai Bohai had said that this was a good sign - to love weapons was to have a keen eye for them, and nothing was more important on the battlefield than a keen eye.
Spears fit to pierce through a boulder. Swords so sharp, the wind itself seemed to part before their edges. Axes that could split the ground and hammers that could shatter it. Bows that could shoot a hundred leagues and arrows that would fly straight the whole way. Some weapons included exotic materials, others were made with techniques built into their arrays. Iskander could stop and stare all day, and he kind of wanted to, but there just wasn't enough time.
Eventually, Iskander found himself drawn to a particular shop. It couldn't be said to contain the highest-quality works in Da Wan, but Iskander couldn't afford the highest quality. In terms of his own price range, this seemed like the best he could hope for. The place was old, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots and the paint on the walls smelling a bit funny. It had two floors, but he soon discovered that the second merely housed the discount items which the owner felt weren't worth displaying, and the first had the best stuff. Iskander's gaze soon found itself drawn to the swords, which took up an entire wall in their own right.
The shopkeeper, an old blacksmith with a gray beard and a scarred face, walked up to him and looked alongside him. "Good stuff, right? What are you looking for today?" He asked with a voice that sounded like a rockslide.
"Not totally sure." Iskander admitted, looking this way and that. "Something that'll turn the tables. I've got a fight coming up, and I'm the underdog."
"Something that'll take down an enemy stronger than you? In other words, a strong offense?" Asked the smith, nodding along.
"Yeah. And if it's got an array built in, it's gotta be something that won't burn me out too fast." Iskander explained, going over various ideas in his head. What about a sword enchanted with lightning, or one that could summon mighty cyclones, or one that could cut through space!? No, he didn't have the reserves to use something that flashy. "Oh, screw it, just give me a Flying Sword."
The smith cracked up at his resigned expression, guffawing a few times. "It's a classic for a good reason. An uncreative victory is still a victory, isn't it?"
"Guess so." Iskander sighed. "That's all I've got, so what would you recommend?"
The smith stood there quietly stroking his beard for a moment, then raised his hand to point at one sword in particular near the left edge of the wall. Iskander followed his motion and saw a single-edged sword with an unusual curve. The hilt was decorated with gold accents, and an array was carved along the side of the blade, but on the whole it wasn't overly flashy. After a moment of inspection, Iskander realized what it was he was looking at.
Though the dao saber was the most commonly used model of curved sword among the
Optimatoi, some still swore by the kopis, a weapon of their own design. Rather than the curved backside of the dao saber, the kopis exhibited a straight backside and a curved front, which made it heavily weighted toward the farther-out half of the blade. This axe-like shape increased the chopping power of the weapon, but made it a little bit more fragile near the hilt than the dao saber, which meant Sword Artists often dismissed it in favor of a more low-maintenance weapon.
Iskander was the same, generally preferring to use the dao saber, and Lai Bohai had, in his life, favored straight-bladed longswords, though he told his pupil to use whichever model suited him the best, as the Saint of War Style worked fine with most kinds of swords. Thus, he would have let his gave pass over this kopis, if not for the fact that it was hung alongside several other Flying Swords, all of which were straight-bladed. "Why's this one curved?" He asked curiously.
"That type's becoming more popular these days." the smith explained, carefully removing the sword from the rack and presenting it Iskander, turning it this way and that to display every part of it. "The conduit arrays aren't aligned symmetrically, but that's the point. When you throw the sword, it spins, and the energy you put into it makes it spin faster, until it becomes like one giant circular edge. If the orthodox Flying Sword is a balance of attack and defense, then this is an attack-oriented Flying Sword."
An offensive Flying Sword? That could be just what he was looking for. He looked at the weapon more closely, observing its details and dimensions. It lacked the curved handle of the traditional kopis, which wrapped around the pinky and ring fingers. The weapon on the whole was also a bit under-sized, measuring two and a half feet in total length with a blade a couple inches short of two feet. "It's a bit small, and the hilt is straight." Iskander said. "Is that to help with throwing?"
The smith nodded appreciatively. "You've got a good eye for these things, kid. Yeah, the hilt's designed for throwing. Apparently, this model was thought up when its inventor realized that a kopis and a curved throwing knife have similar shapes. If it were any larger, it would be cumbersome to throw, regardless of the wielder's strength."
Iskander looked some more, imagining himself swinging the thing. How it would move, how it would cut, how it would rebound if it struck something hard. The first eight inches of the blade, he realized, were thicker and sturdier-looking than the standard kopis. Rather than a guard followed by a narrower stretch of blade, the guard was absent entirely, allowing the blade to start off broader. "Looks tough too. It could take a pretty good beating." He nodded appreciatively.
"You're damn right kiddo." The smith replied with grim satisfaction. "The guard's useless when the sword is in flight, so it's been done away with entirely to make the blade sturdier. A Flying Sword can't be fragile, since it's gonna crash into all sorts of stuff. On the other hand, not having a guard means it can't block as well; high risk, high reward."
A spinning Flying Sword, designed for offense and able to be thrown even if no qi was put in. On top of that, it could chop with power almost equal to an axe, while still allowing for thrusting attacks. This was exactly the trump card Iskander needed. He smiled giddily, the dread of his current situation beginning to melt away. "Alright, how much for this one?"
—-
"Last time I was awake, I had a student who didn't cause trouble, worked diligently, and was smart with his money." Lai Bohai mused, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
"Now I wake up and I have a student who starts fights, disobeys my orders, and spends years' worth of savings on fancy toys. Iskander, have I transmigrated to a different timeline, or did you hit your head and lose half your brain?"
Iskander endured the tongue-lashing because, to be honest, he basically deserved it, and tried instead to focus his mind on the task before him. He stood, bare chested and covered in sweat, beneath a large mulberry tree, leaves glistening with moisture. It had rained less than an hour ago, and droplets frequently fell from the branches above him. Each time one fell, he attempted to cut it with his sword.
Though it could be interpreted as a cooldown exercise of sorts, since the swordsman had endured hours of grueling exercise before walking under the tree, this training was every bit as difficult as the rest of it, if not moreso. It was a traditional training exercise for the Saint of War style; striking the droplets as they fell honed a practitioner's ability to put their blade precisely where it was needed at precisely the right time. Mastering it was the key to developing both a perfectly unflappable defense and an irresistible counterattack.
The Saint of War Style didn't require large blades, only fairly sharp ones, and in fact was best served by a single one handed sword and a free offhand. The purpose was, in a word, efficiency: defending against powerful attacks while putting in only a fraction of the qi the opponent did. By concentrating the qi coating into one spot at the moment of impact, then releasing it in an outward burst, the practitioner could parry aside just about anything. They would stride across the battlefield like a saint, performing martial miracles with an unearthly calm.
Though the style focused on defense, the fact that it allowed the practitioner to turn away any weapon with just a one-handed sword meant that speedy counterattacks could be launched immediately after defending, quickly turning the momentum of a battle in their favor. Finally, the need to rapidly move around the qi coating their sword meant that simply training in the style promoted good qi control.
In that sense, Iskander was well equipped to face an opponent stronger than him, so long as he could read said opponent's moves well enough to intercept his attacks. The Eighth Heavenstage was twice as strong as the Fifth(not to mention the obvious gap in baseline strength between Iskander and Alexios), but enough precision could remove such an advantage. Alexios wasn't even a combat specialist: he was a crafter and an alchemist! However small it was, Iskander had a chance.
Finally, a droplet fell, in front of Iskander and to the right. He reacted with a horizontal forehand slash that landed right on target and felt immensely satisfying. "It's not great, I know. But will you please give me some encouragement here, Senior? Or maybe a secret technique that can bail me out?" He asked contritely.
"Secret techniques? None you could learn in two weeks, boy." Lai Bohai laughed. "
And speaking of two weeks, it seems I won't be awake to see the duel. I'll cram in all the advice I can think of today, then. But first: why?"
"Why'd I pick a fight with Alexios?" Iskander asked, missing a droplet by just a hair. Reacting immediately, he quickly crouched down to intercept it lower on its descent. This time, he successfully hit it, then returned to a neutral stance. "I didn't, he forced me into the duel. I couldn't run away with everybody staring at me like that."
Lai Bohai's tone seemed completely unimpressed with that answer.
"Why couldn't you? He's in the Eighth Heavenstage; it wouldn't be like turning down a challenge by an equal. You would lose a little bit of face, but so would he, for challenging someone three small realms below him."
Iskander was about to answer the ghost's question, only to see another droplet falling. He cut off his train of thought, focusing his entire mind on delivering an ascending diagonal slash. It landed, and the swordsman allowed himself a momentary feeling of triumph. "Okay, I guess I didn't
want to run away. I was mad, I wanted him to leave that guy alone, I…"
He stopped again to take aim at another droplet, but swung too early, causing it to land on his wrist. If that was an enemy's sword, Iskander would have lost his right hand. "I don't have any one reason, Senior, it just felt right to fight." He sighed glumly.
"I'm sure you understand the difference between the Fifth Heavenstage and Eighth Heavenstage in an academic sense, but the reality isn't something you're prepared for." The ghost noted grimly, losing any sort of amused tone he had previously.
"He has twice as much strength as you; twice. Although given how you describe the man, it's likely a lot more than twice. If you could bench press one ton, in the Fifth Heavenstage, you could bench two tons in the Eighth, and this motherfucker can probably bench four tons. Do you know what kind of difference that makes in a fight? He's faster too, and has deeper qi reserves..."
"Shouldn't you be encouraging your pupil right now?" Iskander grumbled.
Lai Bohai let out a bark of bark of haughty, sarcastic laughter. "
Strategy comes first, encouragement second. You need to fully understand that gap you're trying to cross. Do you?"
"Well, I'm hoping you can help with that." Iskander shrugged.
"Hmph, I suppose I ought to. Well, good news: the strength and speed disadvantage you'll be facing is oppressive, but not impossible to overcome." The ghost explained, and boy did that slight amount of reassurance put some warmth back in Iskander's chest.
"The gap in experience is what I'm more worried about. You won't be able to overcome his greater strength with pure skill alone. You'll need wit too."
And then it was gone again. "Well, I did pick up something that might be useful. Like I told you, I bought a new sword; it's sturdier than a standard issue Legionnaire weapon - more like something a Decanus would use." The young swordsman rambled on, hoping he might somehow convince himself to not be so nervous. "So I know I'll be able to hurt him at least?"
"Yes, yes, the new sword. Soon enough you'll be another mediocre swordsman obsessed with getting the highest quality blade possible." Lai Bohai replied dismissively.
"Negating his toughness is indeed an important advantage. What does the new sword do?"
Iskander gulped, then spoke hesitantly. "Well, you see, it's sort of a… an enhanced sword that can attack at different sorts of angles? It–"
"You bought a Flying Sword, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
"After I specifically told you not to."
"Yeah."
"Without consulting me."
"You see, if I had consulted you, you would have said no."
"Because Flying Swords are shit!" Lai Bohai shouted, suddenly breaking out of the calm he had maintained thus far.
"They're shit weapons for shit swordsmen! It's not even swordplay, you're just moving some shit around from a mile away, it… gah, whatever! What's done is done. Just don't get too reliant on it."
"Can you please just give me some advice?" Iskander groaned, before turning to slash another droplet.
"I'm just glad I stopped you from picking one up when you were an Aspirant." Muttered Lai Bohai, who was decidedly not done rambling and not ready to get to the advice yet.
"The Flying Sword isn't practical at all before the Fourth Heavenstage; you just don't have enough qi or qi control before then to make one worth using. An actual telekinesis specialist could perhaps make use of one at the Third, but those are very rare."
"You ever know one of those, Senior?" Iskander asked, trying to cut two nearly-simultaneous droplets one after the other and only managing to get one..
The ghost hemmed and hawed for a bit, fumbling around through millennia of memories as if his mind were a disorganized bag.
"A few, I suppose. They were potent in the right circumstances, but never amounted to much. It's too narrow a field of focus. I want to avoid that sort of thing with your training. It's been an hour, by the way. Three minute break, then it's time for speed training."
Finally done with this latest drill, Iskander walked out from under the tree and tossed his sword into the air. To pass the time, he tried doing some tricks with the spinning weapon, making it move in an elaborate pattern. When that was done, he almost tried catching it without looking, but found that he didn't yet have the nerve to do so. Instead, he slowly brought the sword to a halt a few feet from him, then reached out and grabbed it. "But weren't you pretty focused on the sword, Senior? You said you were a specialist." He asked.
"Mm, I was, but the sword can do a lot of things. You'll be a sword specialist too, but less so than me." Said Lai Bohai.
Iskander stopped, sheathing his Flying Sword and picking up the Wailing Conqueror from where it sat on a nearby rock to look it right in the… well, to look right at it. "What do you mean exactly, Senior? You said you would make me a sword master. Are you saying I can't do it?"
"You will be a sword master, just not a 'pure' one. I wasn't only
a swordsman either, you know. You're not an insect, you're a human." Lai Bohai scoffed.
"A man ought to have lots of skills, a Cultivator moreso. Besides, when it comes to your inherent instinct for sword fighting, you don't measure up to me."
A pit opened up in Iskander's stomach, and he went silent. After a moment, he slumped over and sat against the trunk of the mulberry tree, looking down at his hands. They'd grown quite rough in recent years from all the time they spent gripping swords or weights; were these not the hands of a Sword Artist?
"Eh? What are you doing, kid? It's time to start the speed training!" Lai Bohai asked incredulously.
"I feel like I'm putting my foot in my mouth here. Even after eight thousand years, there are some things I just never pick up."
"Nah, you're right." Iskander sighed. "You were a Nascent Soul, and I'm really not anything special. It's blasphemy to compare myself to you. I just hoped… I dunno, I was just hoping that with your help, I could become pretty cool too."
Iskander had nothing that made him actually special; he had never been under any illusions to the contrary. Lai Bohai had latched onto him as his last hope, and it was for that reason alone that he was the old ghost's student. Most likely, he wouldn't even make it to the Eleventh Heavenstage, let alone anything in Foundation building, because he ultimately just didn't stand out. Even so, despite these things being obvious, hearing the words directly had stung in a way that caught Iskander completely off guard.
Lai Bohai made the sort of conflicted noise that Iskander had only ever seen old men make. As far as he could tell, that particular grunt translated to 'this young person is saying nonsense, but it's probably meaningful to them.'
"Oh, come off it, boy. No one is 'cool' in Qi Condensation, you're just throwing around tiny sparks of qi. Really, Qi Condensation Cultivators are just mortals who have the potential to become more; no kind of spiritual center yet."
Iskander shook his head vigorously. "No, it's not that. I mean that… well, you said it yourself, right?" He sighed. "I don't got the kind of raw talent you have, the kind that makes a Nascent Soul."
"When did I ever say you didn't have talent, you nimrod!?" Lai Bohai shouted, shocking Iskander out of his momentary despair.
"Raw talent this, inborn trait that, natural genius this, heaven-defying ability that, nobody ever shuts the fuck up about so-called talent! It's not real!"
"Not… real?" Iskander cocked his head, baffled. "What do you mean talent isn't real? A person with eyes is more talented at seeing than a person without eyes, aren't they?"
"That's not talent, it's a biological advantage! 'Talent' covers a thousand different factors, most of which can be manipulated in your favor. Your brain isn't as hard-wired for sword fighting as mine, so you will put more focus on secondary skills than I did. You're bigger and stronger than I was, so you'll use more Body Arts. I had a strong affinity for Water and Metal, but your best elements are Fire and Wood, so your foundational techniques will only get more different than mine." As Lai Bohai ranted on, he got faster and faster, until Iskander could barely keep up.
"All of these things must be accounted for, but all you wanna hear about is 'raw talent'. I fought prodigies who understood the sword better than I did plenty of times in my life, and you know what I did? I beat them because I was smarter, because I figured out their weaknesses, because I cheated, because I had more experience, and on and on! Is Alexios gonna put his foot up your ass because he's 'talented', or because he's got a foot, a hundred pounds and three Heavenstages on you?"
Iskander stood up, backing away from the sword hilt as if it were about to start smacking him upside the head. "Okay, okay, I'll stop talking about talent, I'm sorry!"
"Don't be sorry! It's not your fault; how could a child like you know any better, when that meaningless word is all anyone in this world wants to talk about?" Something in the air seemed to change as the ghost finally paused his rant for a moment, and though the Wailing Conqueror had no eyes, Iskander knew for sure that Lai Bohai was looking at him in a way he rarely ever did.
"If you try to become a copy of me, you'll be an inferior version. If that means you're 'untalented', then the thing you're untalented at is 'being Lai Bohai'. I'm not here to make you a shitty version of Lai Bohai, I'm here to make you the best version of Iskander Pallikari. Work your ass off, follow my teachings, and never say the words 'raw talent' to me again, and you'll succeed in the end. Do you understand?"
Iskander felt a blazing determination spark in his chest. If someone as great as his teacher could believe in him that much, then he had nothing to fear at all. "Yes, Senior!" He shouted, getting back to his feet and slashing through another droplet without even turning to look.
—-
This was supposed to be a single chapter, but the length quickly got away from me and work got very, very busy. So, since I don't know when the rest of this is going to be ready to post, I decided to instead split the little story into two parts.
This… I guess it's a mini-arc, now, not a chapter. But either way, it technically serves two purposes. The first is to set up something down the line which previously was up to the whims of Iskander's fate roll. I've now laid enough narrative groundwork that I can transition into that plot more easily under most potential fates. The second was to try and solidify, both for myself and for the audience, how Iskander fights.
As I've stated before, Iskander is the opposite of Gaius in many ways, and one of those ways is that he himself is not inherently super gifted at anything. Gaius, on the other hand, is a character who can excel at most things because he is metaphysically cheating via a superhumanly strong, artificially enhanced will and an extremely deep connection to his Dao. Iskander's narrative is one that is far more skeptical of the idea of inherent gifts. As Lai Bohai states, the word "talent" covers so many different things that it is effectively useless.
Iskander is, in a sense, an underdog in a way that Gaius will never be. His style is one built on careful strategy, calculated risk-taking and unorthodox moves. If pure swordplay won't get him the win then he'll throw all sorts of random bullshit at you until something works. There is a sort of Joseph Joestar energy to him in that sense - the roguish hero who booby-traps the battlefield ahead of time and isn't afraid to look like a clown as long as it gets him the W.
Man, I sure keep stumbling into more things to write after running out of things I can write, don't I? Thank god for the Teaching Juniors bonus, if there was no indication that Iskander would even make it out of Junior Aspirant there'd be hardly anything at all to explore.
