Lindon, History's Strongest Unsouled
Authors Notes: I came across the Cradle series just a little over a month ago and fell in love with it. I read clean through an entire night and the following day; I was captured by the story. I'll admit that there are qualities about the main character I don't like, but his journey remedies those flaws in a realistic approach that makes the entire journey worth it.
So, this idea popped into my head, what if Lindon had trained like Kenichi was by the masters of Ryozanpaku. How different would he be, how much stronger would that make him in a world ruled by spiritual strength? I highly recommend that if you haven't read the Cradle series, then you should. It only cost me like 54 bucks for the 10 books outright, and I'm dying for the next one's release. I also recommend picking up the audiobooks too, right now they only cost 2 dollars apiece and the narration is great.
This first chapter is much longer than I thought and largely cannon, except for the training the MC gets and how he fights-plus having more of a spine. This chapter was so long due to the little bit of action that there is in this chapter and how cannon it is. It will start getting different as Lindon starts advancing in the story and growing in power and connections. The powers that control events in this world are beyond the MC for a long time, but things will be different: who he fights, results of said fights, character deaths, and the MC all around-kind of mixing Kenichi into him.
Edited Jun 17, 2022
Chapter 1: The Path of Ryozanpaku
Wei Shi Lindon was sulking through the woods; a bit farther than he was typically allowed at his tender age of ten. The white and purple of his clans' sacred artists robes blended well enough with the purple leaved orus trees of the woods, his black hair standing out in contrast. A soft wooden, smooth six-sided medallion badge is dangling around his neck.
Every sacred artist in Sacred Valley has one, though as they advance in the arts their badges are replaced. From the foundation's wooden badge to cooper as the first real step into the sacred arts, gaining the sight to see vital aura; cooper to iron as a sacred artist forges their body into a true vessel of the sacred arts, gaining near superhuman strength and physical abilities by infusing madra throughout their body; then from iron to jade, opening their senses to madra and aura. Jade is the pinnacle of the sacred arts and anyone who reaches that level in the Valley are respected all over.
Lindon, like most sacred artists of Sacred Valley, dreamed of one day reaching Jade. But that is nothing but a pipedream for little Lindon. Most sacred artists that reach Jade tend to do so in old age, the youngest being in their late twenties and they tend to be called geniuses. Lindon on the other hand is an Unsouled and his badge reflects that fact with the word of the old language, that his mother taught him, meaning 'empty.'
Every badge, no matter the advancement, has a symbol on it based off of the response of the madra in a bowl when a child places their hand inside: the water clings, or it retreats, or it rises, or it freezes. Shields for Enforcers, who protect the clan from its enemies with strength of arms. Arrows for Strikers, who attack their rivals from a distance. Scepters for Rulers, who bend the powers of heaven and earth. And hammers for Forgers, whose techniques create weapons and wealth for the clan. All things in Sacred Valley can be divided in four.
Lindon had always wanted the Hammer badge so he could become a Forger like his mother. But the heavens chose to shame him, and by extension his family, by making him empty, Unsouled. Based on the repeated test he has taken, the madra never reacting, he has no affinity to his spirit. He is empty. Unsouled. He tried tricking the test twice, being performed every six months, but failed both times. The second time he tried using a script to shake the water in the bowl, but the bowl also shook. Thus, the First Elder found his script, having expected as much, and gave Lindon his new wooden badge. Unsouled. Four more attempts at the test, no more tricks, just hoping that the heavens would grant him mercy. Four more failures.
He'll never be allowed to follow a Path and become a sacred artist as an Unsouled. The clan will only allow him to use the most basic cycling technique every foundation child is taught. No one will teach him his clan's Path of the White Fox, not even his parents, for that'd be a waste of clan resources. They won't even let him study a Path manual on his own. That'd be taking away from someone of value to the clan. Lindon's whole life was laid out in front of him. As an Unsouled he'll never go beyond the foundation stage to serve his clan, not even being allowed to try. He can't marry, not wanting his deficiency to pass along to his children.
Tears are welling up in Lindon's eyes as he aimlessly wanders around the woods. Sniffling every now and again to try and stem the tears. Most children his age wouldn't be allowed to leave the safety of the Clan's compound alone, but he is Unsouled. Who cares what happens to him? Maybe his mother and sister would, but that'd be just about it. Out of the hundred-thousand inhabitants of the Wei clan, they'd be the only ones to shed a tear over him.
He refused to accept his fate but it's still crushing to this ten-year-old child. His father barely looks at him, putting his focus solely on his older sister who was rewarded her Ruler badge. She's the only hope of the Shi family gaining any honor in the Wei clan. At least his mother said she'll still allow him to help her with her soulsmithing work, but only the basic grunt work. She is not allowed teach him anything about soulsmithing and he simply won't be able to do it anyway. No point in wasting her time on teaching the unteachable. No. No point in teaching an Unsouled.
Young Lindon was so absent minded, lost in the cruel hand fate had given him, to notice his own footing. A vine snared his foot, tripping him to the ground with a thump. His chin slammed into the ground, sending pain shooting through his jaw. Slowly, he moved to sit up while one hand started rubbing his chin, trying to get the burning pain to stop. "Ow. What tripped me?" Looking over his shoulder to see the torn vine near his foot, he realized his own stupidity.
Just as he crawled to his knees, wiping away the dirt and tears from his face, a rumbling sound echoed out. Lindon quickly stampers to his feet in panic. His head swiveling around as he frantically searched his surroundings. Dreadful thoughts start rushing through his head. Why had he come out here alone? Getting away from the pity, shame, and disgust filled stares seemed like a good idea at the time. But it was actually very, very stupid to go this far out in Wei territory by himself. A Remnant or sacred beast could attack him, to feed on his madra and flesh. Or worse yet, a rival clan could show up and kill him.
Lindon started heaving in air, losing his cycling technique as fear sunk into him. The rumblings have gotten louder and the sounds of cracking rock and shifting soil join in. Where is it coming from? Can he hide before whatever it is finds him? The bushes and trees have never seemed so threating before in his entire life. The slight rustling leaves and twigs snapping sound like glass shattering to him. The world seems to be tilting as his heart hammered in his chest.
Wait. That's not his imagination. He's slowly tiling to his right as his foot feels tight. Looking down at his feet, Lindon sees his feet being sucked into the dirt as the ground gives way. He's able to get out a single terrified screech before falling into a black hole in the ground. Dirt and pebbles falling down with him before he hits the ground and blacks out.
Deep underground in a pitch-black cavern, Lindon laid, groaning on a hard stone floor. Fortunately, he managed to not land on one of the numerous sharp stalagmites jutting up from the ground. Dirt, grass, and rocks are splayed on and around him. The throbbing pain in his head and the mercury taste in his mouth tells Lindon that he must have smacked his head into something on the way down. Only sheer luck spared him from dying from the fall, that and a few very thick vines and roots that broke his fall on the way down. Not that Lindon could see any of the torn pieces of nature that saved him. Not even sun light from the hole he fell in is reaching the depths of this carven.
Lindon spent nearly an hour of just sitting there, afraid that moving would further agitate his injures, screaming out for help the whole time. With no response, no sound, not even a gust of wind, Lindon fears that he's dead. Thinking along those lines, he realizes that the pain has numbed away to nothing. With no light and no sound surrounding the numbness of his body, unrelenting dread seeped into him. He died. Alone. In the dark. As an Unsouled. He accomplished nothing and died as nothing.
His mother and sister might look for him for a while, but eventually they'll write him off as dead and move on with their lives. No one else will even care. Hell. Several will be pleased that the shame of the Wei clan did something as useful as dying. Now the Unsouled can't shame them in front of the other clans and schools in the Seven-Years Festival, five years from now.
As Lindon's eyes begin to close, as he started accepting his death, a burning hot feeling from his core lights up. Not his madra or actual core, they're still as pitiful as always, but the anger and... what's this feeling...desire? Want? No. Hunger...Yeah that's it. Rage and hunger for power, for more fill his spirit. Lindon wanted to be more than an Unsouled ever since the First Elder declared him as such. A desperate plea to be given an affinity so he could start his path in the sacred arts. For his family to look at him with pride, not pity and shame. Lindon wants MORE than what fate had given him. He'll fight for it. He'll suffer for it. Tear his own soul apart just for the chance to be more.
This can't be where he dies. How he dies. Lindon wants more, more, more, more, more, more, MORE. His eyes blaze from his passion but are quickly forced shut as an overwhelming light filled the carven. At that moment Lindon fears he insulted the heavens for asking for more than what they chose to give him, and now they are going to smite his very soul for it. Snapping up as quick as he can, pain shooting through him from the sudden movement, he pressed his fists together and bowed as low as he could, "This one begs for your forgiveness. This one should know his place. Please show mercy upon this unworthy mortal."
He trembled in a mix of fear and pain, his eyes slammed shut, waiting for the heavens' answer. After several painstaking minutes, Lindon opened his eyes to see a brightly lit hallway. Shifting his gaze around, not seeing anyone, Lindon finally notices the glowing scripts all along the stone walls. "Huh? Scripts?" Moving closer to the lines of glowing scripts etched in the stone walls, each character as large as his torso, he thought.
His mother had shown him basic scripts and he had taken to studying them, seeing as his weak pure madra can only power scripts. Yet not a single one is familiar to him. Which isn't all that surprising really. He's not allowed access to most script manuals, the only kind he's allowed to look at are only the most basic and non-combat types. The aching pain and sudden excitement at the sacred arts in front of him bugger the fact that he must be alive. You're not supposed to feel pain when you're dead and why would the heavens need something as mundane as mortal script.
Lindon straightened up, looked to his right and left, seeing the scripted stone tunnels stretching out farther than he can see. "Which way is out?" he wondered. No not out. He can worry about getting out later. This place, whatever it is, is powered by massive scripts and madra. He doesn't have Copper sight to see it, or Jade senses to feel the madra, but every child knows that madra powers scripts. Where there is scripted madra, there must be information on the sacred arts. Ancient knowledge of the sacred arts could be sealed away inside this stone cavern. His heart started pounding in excitement as his mind conjures all the hidden secrets and power waiting for him to discover. And if he's lucky, maybe some spirit-fruit or elixirs that can strengthen his madra.
The only question is which direction should he head? Taking a moment to think, looking from one side to the other, he noticed a slope to both directions. One was slopping upward, most likely the exit, and the other headed further down. A moment of a fear entered Lindon as he looked towards the downward hallway. What's down there? What if there are blood thirsty monsters waiting to eat him down there? He turned his head to look at the possible exit, he wandered if he should go home and get his mother first. Surely an Iron Forger like her would be better equipped for something like this. And even if she told the clan elders about his find, they'll surely let him have a few things for his advancement. Right? Possibly allow him to take up a Path.
No. They won't give him anything but a half-hearted thanks. Going on about bringing honor to clan and how he should be glad just for that. To see reason in that wasting this great find on him would be bad for the clan. That those with the actual potential to advance need it over some Unsouled that can never have a Path. To simply be happy that even as an Unsouled he got to help the clan. Possibly giving him some extra half-silver chips for his efforts.
This was his only chance to improve. To prove his worth and gain a Path. He'll get all that he can here before telling anyone about this place. He'll fill his hunger for the sacred arts, to his satisfaction, first and foremost. Several of his peers are nearing Copper while his madra core hasn't change even in the slightest. This is the only way he can catch up. So, without another thought, Lindon headed down deeper.
It's hard to tell how long it had been without sun light, but Lindon would swear that he had been walking for at least an hour. His body still throbbed from his fall, but luck must be on his side, seeing as he doesn't seem to have broken anything. He was tender, bloody, and bruised, but that's it. Maybe a bit thirsty and weak. He never had much madra, thus he couldn't really afford to strengthen himself with it. It'd help restore his strength and lessen the slight pain in his body, but if he tapped himself out of madra, he'll lose consciousness and need days to recover. He was just going to have to bear through it for now.
As he treaded along, Lindon noticed the scripts were starting to dim, and after seeing cracks through the stone walls, he can guess why. Some scripts have cracks as large as his hand cutting through them, disrupting the madra flow. Some flickered on and off as though they were desperately trying to keep the connection. Several sections of stone wall had gone dark from the severity of the cracks. It looks like an earthquake must have damaged the structure or something.
A few more minutes in, the scripts started rapidly going out from behind him, the way he came darkened. He tried moving faster to stay ahead of the failing scripts, going into a jog as darkness swept by him. Slowly, he returned to a slow-paced walk. Already covered in pitch black darkness, wishing he had his light construct on him, he decided running was not just pointless, but dangerous. In the future he'll make sure to always have a pack filled with anything and everything he could ever need when going out. The better prepared you are, the better off you are. He could really use some water right about now.
Lindon used the stone wall, the only light source left, to guide his progress, hoping there wasn't any traps or hidden monsters as he continued on down the slopped tunnel. Luckily, after another half hour or so, Lindon saw a purple light shining at what must be the end of the tunnel. He quickened his pace at the sign of his prize. Lindon was sweaty, dirty, and panting when he reached a purple barrier blocking a doorway. Taking a few moments to catch his breath, he eyed the half circle baring his path forward. Having been told about boundary fields by his mother, even seeing a few from some of his clansmen, he decided to take things a bit slower. He'd hate to activate a lethal trap that drains him of all his madra or traps him in place until he dies.
With some light coming from the barrier, Lindon saw chunks of rocks and pebbles scattered across the floor. Bending down, he winced in pain from his bruised ribs, he picked up a few rocks. Then he tossed one at the barrier, expecting it to bounce back or dissolve, but he was surprised that the little rock flew right through. Lindon threw a few more just to be sure, and getting the same lack of response, he tried tapping it with the tips of his shoes. This time he felt a slight force stopping his foot, but no more than pressing against some thick mud. Before committing to letting his foot push through, he backed off quickly. It's only reasonable that if it takes more force for him than a rock, then the barrier must react to living beings.
Getting right next to the barrier, Lindon tested his theory by lightly tapping the purple light with his fingers. Just like with his foot it felt like sinking into mud, but with the added sensation that something was entering his madra channels. He snapped back his hand and took several steps back. Lindon pondered the meaning behind the sensations. It was a boundary field, but for what purpose. It didn't feel threatening or painful. Clearly it was only meant to react with living beings with madra. But was it a security measure or some sort of containment field for persevering madra. Unattended madra will disperse and certain objects forged from madra would need scripts to keep them from falling apart without human maintenance.
More and more theories spun around in Lindon's head until he started wondering if he really should go get his mother. She might be able to read the script, or her drudge could identify the barrier's composition. But then all the cons of such an action hit him all over again. This was his only chance. He can't be too afraid to reach out and take it. What does he have to lose? Being an Unsouled for the rest of his life.
Then again, that boundary field could kill him and he'd rather live. Maybe he can find another way inside or look for something else to help him catch up in the future...NO. Lindon shook the doubts from his head. He has endured just two years of being an Unsouled, and couldn't stand it. He wanted MORE. With steeled resolve, Lindon rushed through the barrier with the rash foolishness of a child.
The very moment he passed into the sluggish purple field; Lindon felt a foreign madra running through his entire body. Every single ounce of his being was thoroughly scanned by this strange madra. It felt like cold ice water was filling him up, measuring him before coming to a decision. In that frigid moment, Lindon realized he made a dire mistake. Why should he risk his life when he was only ten winters old? There was still plenty of time to figure something else out. Why'd he let his hunger for power take him? A flash of his family's faces every time he failed the affinity test. The shame that washed over him every single time. It'd hurt less if someone stabbed him to death.
That's right. He wanted more. More power. More strength. More honor. More courage. More. And more than anything, he wanted his family to look at him as more than useless.
[Accepted,] an emotional-less voice echoed through Lindon's head before letting him in.
Lindon gasped deep breaths, cycling as fast as he could when he passed through the barrier, his knees hitting the stone ground. His eyes are closed shut as he focuses on checking his core and madra channels, looking for damage. A sigh of relief escaped his lips once finding everything to be as it was. An unusual feeling for him, seeing as he had always been depressed by his pathetic madra. Opening his eyes to scour the treasures awaiting him, only to be completely disappointed. It was a massive room that could fit the entire Wei clan housing district, with room to spare, but it was completely empty.
There were more lit scripts all over the walls, ceiling, and floor filling the massive room with light. More than that, there was a purple haze everywhere. It was almost too thick to see through. "Is this dream aura?" Lindon has seen numerous members of his clan using dream madra mixed with light madra as a part of the Path of the White Fox. Bending light and affecting minds to create illusions and foxfire, but he's not a Copper. It should be impossible for him to see the purple dream aura without Copper sight. How?
"This is a processed and purified dream madra condensed into the air. Not aura. Even those without copper sight can see it clearly. That is how potent the dream madra is in here, but it's not the only kind of madra funneled into this place." A calm soothing voice of a man echoed out.
Lindon's head started swiveling around for the source of the voice, "W-who's there?", the thick purple madra starts converging in into a single point of swirling mist. Soon a figure formed, starting out as glowing outlines like a Remnant, becoming more and more solid until forming a complete human being. The man was wearing wide long pants, what looks like a white training robe top, strange sandals, and he has pupil-less white eyes with thin zig-zag eyebrows, and a thin mustache. (Akisame Koestuii from Kenichi: The Mightest Disciple)
The newly formed man replied, "Hello there, Wei Shi Lindon. I am Akisame Koestuii. The master of jujitsu."
Before Lindon could respond to the man that literally came out of thin air, five more swirling patterns of purple madra started forming around him.
A man shorter than him, in a green sacred artist robe, a round black hat, and with a longer and thicker mustache than the first man materialized on his left. "Welcome young man. I'm Kensei Ma. The master of Kenpo." letting out a disappointed sigh, "Why couldn't it have been a beautiful young woman to have found this place."
On Akisame's right the next form revealed a shirtless behemoth of a man with dark skin, white spiky hair, a red hairband tied around his head, red shorts, and wraps around his hands and feet. Shadowing over them, the tan giant raises his right hand and happily states, "Hi Lindon. I'm Apachai Hopachai and you're going to be my first disciple in Muay Thai. The best martial art for killing your opponents." His accent is thick and unfamiliar, and he was far too cheery for what he just said.
To the left of the small Ma the next figure formed, revealing a man nearly as big as the tan giant wearing pants, an open button-up shirt that was straining and tearing at the biceps, a scar going across his noise, straight black hair with a large cowlick, wraps around his forearms, and a wine bottle in his hand. "Hey there, brat. The name is Shio Sakaki. The 100th Dan Brawling Karate master." That one was the most frightening looking of the bunch so far.
To the right of the tan giant, a lither form formed, clearly a woman with curves to die for, wearing a far too short pink artists' robe with chainmail underneath, a cloth collar around her neck, cold deadly eyes, long black hair pulled into a ponytail and bangs framed her face, a mouse on her shoulder, and a long thin black sword on her back with white cloth tied around the handle. Her voice was low, cold and slow, "Shigure Kosaka. Master...of Weapons."
Behind them all, the last figure formed, bigger than all the others, wearing a full length light green artist robe with a black belt, open toed sandals, wraps around his caves, armored hand gauntlet of red, long and full beard and mustache, and long yellow hair down to his lower back with one massive cowlick sticking up. "And I youngster, am Hayato Furinji. The Elder and headmaster of the Ryozanpaku Sect. Congratulations on passing the selection process.", a large grin broke across the imposing man's face. "It certainly took a long time for someone worthy to come along."
Lindon felt like a little insect being looked down upon by massive beasts of power. It was hard for him to explain the sensation that flowed through his tiny body-in comparison to these warriors, he actually got a sturdy broad body from his parents and was an inch taller than everyone is own age. He can't sense or see madra at the foundation level, yet he felt power rolling off these masters of their arts...arts he's never heard of before. Are they ancient Sacred Artist Paths long forgotten?
Akisame looked at Lindon's shuttering form, "Looks like the little bug is too stunned to reply Elder."
The Elder laughed joyfully, "That's not much of a surprise Akisame. I remember many his age twitching and shivering even worse than that when they sought tutelage of a Master. Considering that there are six masters here, he's holding up rather well."
"He looks scrawny to me. He'll be lucky to survive three days of our training." Shio grunts out irritably before guzzling the wine bottle's contents. Wiping his mouth of the excess, "Let alone inheriting all our techniques and styles."
The smallest and least muscled one, Ma, states, "I doubt anyone could learn everything we all know. Let's just focus on pounding all the basics into him for now. If he survives that, then we can look towards cramming in more advanced techniques." The small man in the hat was saying all this while trying to look under the woman's robes. She was stabbing at him in a blinding speed that Lindon couldn't even begin to track, he couldn't even see the blade. Just as amazing, the man was dodging all the stabs and slashes with ease and a disturbing grin on his face.
The woman comments simply, a bored expression on her face, "I don't see...the shadow of death upon him yet."
The giant cheered happily about having a disciple while Akisame stared into Lindon's eyes, "Are you willing to learn from us young man? I won't lie. It will be painful, long, and there is a real chance you might die along the way."
Lindon swallowed hard, gathering up all the strength and courage he had, "Uh. Excuse my-I mean this one's ignorance, but what's going on? Are you all real? Is this an illusion? And this one thought a person could only have one Path in the sacred arts?" All the masters went quiet and turned serious gazes on him. Just as quickly Lindon bowed so low his head dug into the stone, "Forgive this one's impudence. This one didn't mean to be so rude to such esteemed masters. This one is just confused. Forgiveness." Hoping that these powerful, whatever they were, don't kill him for showing disrespect. Elders should always be treated with the upmost respect at all times.
The Elder looked at the boy with a sorrow filled expression before he explained. "We're not Sacred Artists Lindon." His voice was kind and soft, like a grandfather talking to his grandchild, but that statement got Lindon to snap his head up and look into the Elder's eyes in confusion. Seeing the massive stream of questions wanting to come out the youngster's mouth, he held a hand up and explained. "I want you to sit up in a comfortable position and listen carefully. I will answer every question you have in the story of my life. Can you do that for me Wei Shi Lindon?"
Lindon slowly nodded his head before sitting in his cycling position to listen to the Elder's story. Wondering how they knew his name; he never gave it. The Elder smiled before joining him on the ground in a cross-legged sitting position. The others faded away into purple madra mist, shocking Lindon for a moment. But seeing as that was how they formed it shouldn't be that surprising. Turning his attention back to the Elder, Lindon apologized "Forgiveness honored Elder. You have my full attention."
Said Elder smiled again, before he started. "You have such nice manners for someone so young. It's good to see, but don't be afraid of insulting us. Our egos aren't nearly as fragile as most sacred artists. We're nothing like them, well, maybe except for our dedication to our art. We're Masters of the Martial Arts that can't use madra. Our strength comes purely from our physical strength, or at least it used to. We are not what you'd conventionally call alive. This tomb is where our bodies, spirits and knowledge rested after our deaths."
"Deaths? But how are you...are you constructs or advanced Remnants?"
"Relax Lindon. I'll get to that but let's start at my youth. I was born a very long time ago...well I at least I think so. It's hard to be sure how long it has been, but based off your memories, it has been at least thousands of years. Possibly much more or much less. The world you know and the one I grew up in are vastly different. That, I can say for sure. You see, I was born with a remarkably weak madra core, even weaker than yours Lindon. It took everything I had to just breath and move a limb. If it wasn't for the strength of my clan and the love of my parents, I would have been given a mercy killing or left in the woods to die."
Lindon had a shocked look on his face, and a sinking feeling of familiarity. The Elder nodded before continuing, "For years I cursed the heavens for cruelly burdening me with such a fate. I was always weak and more than anything I was ashamed of what my condition did to my family. How much it burdened them, and the pitying looks they always gave me. If it wasn't for my pathetic core and deformed madra channels I could be useful. It's all I wanted. Yet, no matter the elixir or treasure used on me, my core and madra channels stayed unchanged.
"I kept thinking over and over again that if it wasn't for my madra I could have a strong body. I could have a Path and bring honor to my clan. I blamed all my woes on the heavens and fate for much longer than I wish to admit. But one day, a wandering Sage came to my clan. She belonged to no clan, Sect or School. She just wandered the world, perfecting her sacred arts. It wasn't as though she came to us for any particular reason. She was just passing by while following the flow of fate and dreams. It was through her I came to my world-shattering revelation.
"You see, this Sage's powers in the Sacred Arts were legendary and second to none at the time. Yet, her body was almost as frail as my own. She was born with too strong a core and madra, eating up her body faster than she could develop it. By time she reached Iron and beyond, re-forging her body and using every trick out there, the damage was done. But unlike me, she didn't blame anyone for her bad twist of fate. Through the Sacred arts and madra she found a way to overcome her weakness by creating a style revolving around Ruler techniques and superior senses. Her body was still just as frail but with her other abilities, no one could exploit that weakness to beat her. It was said she could move through an army of artists, killing them and come out the other side without some much as a drop of blood, or speck of dirt on her."
Lindon was beyond enthralled with this Sage. Could he have that kind of power one day? Was the Elder going to teach him her secrets?
As if being able to read his mind, Hayato answered, "I don't know how she did it. Nor could I teach it even if I knew. My core and madra channels are still the same as when I was that fragile child. The Sage inspired me to look at my own sad fate differently, that's all I learned from her."
Lindon's face fell in disappointment. "So, you can't teach me any Path?"
"None that revolve around madra. None of us in this tomb can really use madra at all. Each of them has their own story as to why, but we all came to the same conclusion continents apart and decades of time separated. We chose to build on our body's strength, not through the use of madra to strengthen it." Seeing Lindon's mouth opening with his misgivings, Elder held his hand up to silence him.
"I know. Strengthening our bodies without madra is like swimming through solid stone. Impossible. Right? Nope. Just beyond difficult and requiring a will that won't bend. With enough strength your hand can carve away the stone with the same effort once moves a hand through water. Sacred Artists on an Earth Path can do it even easier using madra. Just because madra and the sacred arts can make doing something easier, doesn't mean it is the only way to do it."
Lindon infers, "Like starting a fire. A sacred artist on a fire path can make fire with no effort but anyone can make a fire using just everyday tools without using madra."
The Elder grins widely as he happily exclaimed, "Exactly! Now you're starting to get it. When I understood this, I started training my body to move and function without madra's help. It was slow going, painful, and more than once I wanted to quit. But through sheer force of will I went beyond what was thought possible of someone like me. I focused on the Martial arts, that are typically considered just one small part of the sacred arts and became a warrior unlike any other. My power eventually growing to match even the likes of the Sage that inspired me."
"Excuse this one for interrupting. Are Sages Gold?", Lindon asked in awe.
That got the Elder to start bellowing out in laughter, "No. No child. Sages are far beyond mere Golds. Their power is on an entirely different scale."
That shook Lindon to his core. Stronger than the legendary Gold of myth. This man even referring to them as just 'mere Golds.' Like they were just mere Coppers. Were the sacred artists of ancient times really so much stronger than the ones of today?
Coughing to get Lindon's attention, the Elder continued, "Yes. Back in my day Gold was common. There were many levels beyond them, but time does change a lot. From what I got from your memories, Jade is the top of the mountain and Gold is but a dream." Lindon nodded his head in confirmation. "Something terrible must have happened in the world for such a decrease in human power. But that's not my problem. I'm long dead after all." the hulking man chuckled to himself at that comment.
Shakily, Lindon asked for some clarification on how he was here if he died thousands of years ago, the fear that the old man was a ghost was eating at him. "Relax Lindon. I'll get to that part soon enough. Be patient. First, I want you to think about how strong you can become with just our Martial Arts. Even with your deficient core and madra staying as they are."
A shiver of excitement to passed through Lindon's very spirit. If this elder was able to become stronger than Gold without madra, then it doesn't matter that he is Unsouled. These masters could make him stronger than any sacred artist in the Valley. Advancing or not won't matter anymore. He won't be useless anymore. A large grin crossed Lindon's face, making his stern looking face seem sinister.
The Elder frowned, not because of the look on Lindon's face, anyone can look different than they are. Just look at Apachai. He looked like a beast of a man, even having once been referred to as a 'Death God' when he was alive, but he was the most kind and gentle man that ever was. "Sorry Lindon, but that's not going to happen."
Lindon's smile faltered as he begged for an explanation, "Surely it will take a long time to reach your level great Elder, but I'll eventually get there. Right?"
"In time...perhaps in a couple of decades, but that is the crux of the problem. Whatever happened out in the world that weakened humanity to such a degree also damaged this tomb. We only have a handful of years left before the scripts that power this place fails. Four or five years at the most with active use. A century if we kept this tomb inactive but passing along all our techniques and martial arts knowledge is why this place was built in the first place."
Lindon tried coming up with a solution, "Can't you fix the damage to this place? Certainly, the ones who built this tomb can fix it."
The Elder shakes his head, "We can't use madra or the sacred arts remember. Decades after we built our legends, a group of sacred artists built this place for us long ago when they heard of our impending deaths. You see, this entire place was built by soulsmiths of extraordinary ability. They built this tomb with scripts to harvest large quantities of natural vital aura with aspects ranging from dream aura to blood aura and countless others. With these massive Dream Tablets implemented in the walls-," waving a hand at the several stories' tall tablets along the wall, "-we masters can manifest and control this tomb. Without them and the power that fuels this place, we'd be locked away in our coffins. And eventually those will begin to fail, and we'll cease to be. In a world filled with easier and farther spread arts than our own, we needed a way to preserve our Martial Arts that were sneered upon by Sacred Artists."
Lindon looked at the massive purple tablets that ate up an entire wall with a large stone coffin covered in complex scripts and constructs connected to them. "So, this entire tomb is what keeps you bound here?"
"That's right. Instead of living out the last few years of our lives, we agreed to be used as test subjects for a massive project the Soulsmiths were working on. Our bodies were integrated into the coffins, locking our spirits and minds into the tablets. Tablets that are the center of this entire tomb's construction and design. In all honesty, I can't say with certainty that I'm alive or dead."
Lindon's mind was spinning at the possibilities and implications, wording his thoughts, "Then, you're an artificially created Remnant that maintained who you were in life. Or perhaps, advanced constructs plugged into your preserved bodies and sealed Remnants. M-my mother is a Soulsmith. Maybe she can fix the damage."
Seeing the kid so lost in thought and looking for a solution, the Elder placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Whoa there. Relax Lindon. I'm not entirely sure what the exact answer is, but that is beyond the point. The important thing for you to focus on is the training."
"You can't just give up. There's got to be something we can do. My mother can get the best Soulsmiths in Valley to help."
The Elder sighed with a gentle smile, "The smiths that built this place were unparalleled in their craft back during an era where Gold was common. Far beyond the ability of some Iron Soulsmith of today, Lindon. And even though they built this tomb as practice for a much larger project, this place is just too advanced for even all the soulsmiths in Sacred Valley to fix." The elder also felt that something massive was stealing a lot of madra from the tomb. Like an impossibly hungry force is devouring the tomb's reserves. But something that powerful is beyond this weaker generation of sacred artists, and he's a spiritual type of entity bound to this tomb now. There's nothing he can do to stop it.
Seeing the kid so depressed got the Elder to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, "It's not as bad as you think. Five years is more than enough time to pound all the basics into you, along with plenty of techniques. Within that amount of time, depending on your progress and dedication, you should be able to match even Jades with just your martial arts ability."
Lindon's demeanor did a 180 as he hopefully asked, "Really? But how can I match an Iron body and Jade sense without advancing. Won't their pure speed and power from an Iron body alone be enough to-"
The Elder cuts him off, "Didn't I already explain this to you? Just because madra can make things easier doesn't mean it can't be done without it. Don't get me wrong. It'll be magnitudes harder and excruciating to reach an Iron level body through physical conditioning and training. Same for developing a sense similar to a Jades, but very possible."
Lindon smiles before his face scrunches up in confusion before he asks, "If you can't use madra, how do you sense madra? Isn't that impossible?"
The elder once again chuckles boisterously, "Of course it is. The sense we developed is built upon a natural organic sense we call the sixth sense. By focusing all your senses into one, a new one is born: Ki no Hatsudo. That'll be the beginning of your first true step into our realm of martial arts, known as 'Invoking,' of Ki. The most basic level of it."
"Ki? What's Ki?" Lindon asked.
"Ki in its simplest form is just willpower at a level high enough to affect the body. The users of Ki, willpower, or as advanced Sacred Artists call it: Authority, can drastically increase their attack and defensive power to inhuman levels with proper training and control. Once you get to the first level, Invoking of Ki, I'll give you a more in-depth explanation."
One part of that stuck out to Lindon, "Of course honored Elder. But you said powerful sacred artists can use Ki too, right? So wouldn't that make it a sacred art."
The Elder hummed for a moment before answering, "Yes and no. Sacred Artists at the high end of the Lord realm can use Ki, what they call Authority. Naturally, as a being becomes more powerful their willpower grows along with it, even if they don't actively train it. Even Gold sacred artists have a miniscule amount of diffused Ki but lack the knowledge and mental fortitude to harness it. Typically, it's Sages and Heralds that truly have a grasp on Ki. Both can combine their willpower with their sacred arts' techniques, but only Sages can affect the world directly with their authority and give um...sentience to their techniques. While Heralds are more known for infusing their Authority into their bodies to increase their raw power and speed."
"Wait. Are Sage and Herald the final stage of the Sacred Arts?" Lindon couldn't help asking.
"By the restraints of the mortal world, yes. But there have been a few that found a way to combine both aspects of Herald and Sage to become what was known as Monarch. They are beyond the power of mortal understanding and tend to ascend to the Heavens shortly after advancing to Monarch. They are simply too strong for this world to contain."
"Monarch," Lindon utters out in awe. He's heard of legends about Scared Artists ascending to the Heavens once reaching the end of their Paths, but this is the first time he has heard the name of their stage of advancement. Most stories stated that once one's spirit was like that of gold, one reached the end of their Path. It is the unreachable goal of ever Sacred Artist in the Valley, but here he's being told that it is even farther than Sacred Valley's legendary Gold.
Lindon then starts to grasp the rest of the Elder's meaning, "So, Ki usage, or Authority, is the highest level of scared arts usually used only by the strongest scared artists in the world. Meaning you found a way to use a sacred arts power independent from madra, long before even Sages and Heralds, to compete against Sacred Artists without madra."
"That's exactly right. Without the aid of madra to strengthen our bodies, like most people, and the extremes that we put ourselves through in our training, our willpower grew at a remarkably fast rate. Then with the premature awakening of our willpower we found ways to use it to strengthen ourselves to eventually match Lord level Scared Artists."
Lindon nodded his head stiffly, something about that not sounding quite right. "Excuse the ignorance, but does that really mean you can do anything a sacred artist does with just this Ki and no madra? Because that doesn't sound right...Ah. No offense great Elder," he bowed his head over pressed fists.
The Elder let out a small regretful sigh before answering, "You don't need to apologize all time Lindon. Especially when you correctly use your head. When I was truly alive, I'd have fought that fact with every fiber of my being, but the dead have no pride to wound. There are limitations that the Martial Arts have that Sages and Heralds can easily surpass. When I was alive, I had the power and skill necessary to match a Sage and Herald, by fully manifesting the Martial Icon. But I could not do even a fraction of the reality altering things they could do. Sages and Heralds could ascend, even powerful enough Lords can too, but we martial arts masters never could."
"Icon?" that bit of information sticking out to Lindon.
The Elder rubbed his chin in thought, "An Icon is an embodiment of a concept greater than humanity and the mark of a Sage. Those who are able to manifest an Icon gain the ability command reality itself. I was able to fully command the reality of my own body in alinement with the Martial Icon. Unlike fully realized Sages I couldn't completely affect reality; like spatial travel."
"Spatial travel?! Like going from one spot in the world to another in an instant." Lindon exclaimed.
The Elder answered with a straight face, "Yes. But that was beyond my abilities with an Icon. Which I no longer have access to. Apparently, spiritual beings, that we've all become, can't manifest an Icon."
Lindon was starting to think that this...living spirit/Remnant must be insane, or it was straight up lying to him. But why would a dead man's spirit have any reason to lie to him. At least he could take solace that such sacred artists don't exist anymore, even if it was a bit sad. It'd be amazing to reach the level of a Monarch, allowing a mortal to become an immortal heavenly being. But there is nothing outside Sacred Valley but waste lands incapable of supporting human civilization. Every child of the Valley is taught that early on, but his family has traded orus fruit to outsiders before. Could there still be sacred artists that powerful in the world? No. If they existed, they'd have conquered the Valley instead of trading with them. What little others were out in the world must be only just as strong as the Valley's sacred artists.
"Just because I couldn't ascend doesn't mean you can't."
"Huh?" Lindon has started to get annoyed at all these revelations and shocking truths being sprung on him. By the heavens, it was only a couple hours ago that he knew Gold was the highest level of advancement. Now he knows that use to not be true. That Gold was common until a great catastrophe nearly destroyed the world, making Gold a legend too far for sacred artists to obtain nowadays.
Looking down in shame Lindon tried to rebuff the Elder, "I-I could never. I'm just an Unsouled. My core and madra are too weak. Maybe one day I could reach a level equal to Gold, in like fifty years, but any more than that would be impossible for someone like me."
The Elder lifted Lindon's chin to make him look into his eyes, a hard and honest gaze burned through Lindon's gloom, "Listen well child. My power was beyond Gold, and I couldn't use madra at all. You just have a minor spirit deficiency. With time, hard work, some elixirs and spirit-fruits you can overcome that deficiency. Eventually, getting a Path and advancing to new heights with the added strength of Ryozanpaku's martial arts. Imagine it Lindon. A naturally trained body as strong as any Iron forged body made through madra and advancement, then forging that natural body through that advancement."
Lindon feels like he was hit by a lightning bolt as that thought solidified in his mind. It'd be like twice forging his body to be a double Iron. Or at least an Iron body a magnitude beyond anything a sacred artist could forge just through advancement. But once again there is something that bugged him about that.
As if reading his thoughts, the Elder spoe up, "I don't enjoy dashing your hopes but it's not as easy as you think. You might have noticed it but like I've repeatedly told you, none of us here have ever used madra. We can't help you advance your spirit, just your body. You'll have to find a way to get resources for those advancements. No matter how hard we train your body, your spirit can only advance through growth of your spirit's core. Which only happens by taking in vital aura and cycling. They are things a pure, non-madra using, martial artist can't help you with. You'll have to get your clan's help or find out a solution on your own."
Lindon replied in a tone that made it seem obvious, "Once you've made me strong enough to beat Irons at the Foundation stage, my clan will throw resources at me. I'll start advancing then and be Jade in no time."
"That's the spirit. But don't rush too quickly. You'll want your body to at least be in the lowest level of masterclass by time you hit Iron. And I can't promise that your body will be at that level in just five years. Your skill level most definitely won't be in the masterclass range in such a short amount of time. All the reason to jump right into your training Lindon."
Lindon got up off the scripted stone floor, seeing that the remaining masters, well their created Remnants anyways, were reformed with equipment ready for him. A shiver of fear passed through him as he saw the odd glint in their eyes. They were more eager than he was to start, even Sakaki as he kept drinking what was most likely fake whine seemed impatient. Then again, they and this entire underground structure were made for this sole purpose. No matter how painful and hard it will be, Lindon won't pass up this opportunity to become more than the useless Unsouled.
Just before he could walk into the hellish torment awaiting him, Lindon had a very important fact to bring up, "Um. Where is the exit?"
Master Akisame asked, "Why? The next five years of your life will be dedicated to mastering everything we can stuff into you. I have already compiled every moment of your training regimen to maximize results and cover as much material as possible. We have a clean water supply filled with more than enough water to drink, and fish for proper nutrients needed for your body." his voice cold and logical.
"Running away already runt?" Sakaki chuckled.
Lindon quickly pressed his fists together and bowed deeply, "Forgiveness, but this one is still required to head home tonight. Even though I already have my own house, my family still eats dinner together every couple of nights. If I don't make it home by nightfall my clan may send out search parties looking for me."
Ma asked expectantly, "Are there pretty girls in your clan, disciple?"
Akisame cuts in, "Focus Ma. We don't have time for your playful habits to slow us down. We only have five years and one shot.", the Ma Remnant seemed to struggle with himself before nodding in agreement. "Lindon. How soon can you arrive here every day? I need to refactor my calculations."
"If this one rushes my morning cycling and my mother doesn't need my help in her foundry, I can be here around noon. I can stay for about three days and nights before checking back in with my family."
Lindon watched in mixed fear and curiosity as the face of Akisame twitched in response. The way they look and acted made them seem so alive. With the exception of a light purple hue to their forms, giving away their nature as modified Remnants. It was honestly the most inspiring and amazing soulsmithing he had ever seen. Before seeing this, he would have never thought it possible, but apparently ancient Sacred Arts were all beyond belief.
They spent several minutes of awkward silence, as all the masters seemed to twitch in almost harmony. Were they talking to each other in some sort of invisible line of communication or something? Maybe they were all linked through the tomb. That'd make the most sense.
Suddenly, they all stiffened before returning to their normal mode of function, getting Akisame to respond, "It's a much tighter schedule and will be harder on you Lindon, even after losing several overly complex techniques, but it should just barely work. Please refrain from being late when you return every day. My calculations are already strained to the limit. Now let's get started disciple. We'll take you to the exit at the desired time you specified."
Lindon wanted to make a response about centering himself to work up some more courage, but those complaints fell on deaf ears. It wasn't much longer before screams of pain flooded out of the tomb and down the tunnel. Lindon will grow stronger, but he was dreaming every night of dying instead of facing another day of Ryozanpaku's training. They worked him over like uncaring constructs. Then again, they just might be, and tend to put little stock in the bug's complaints and cries of pain.
Five Years Later
Lindon was headed down the pitch-black tunnel leading to his masters' tomb one finale time. The scripts stop lighting up at all a few months ago. He doesn't need light to go down this tunnel. Even in death his body will remember the way to the tomb. The best learned lessons are the ones you can't forget. The past five years have been the absolute worst years of his life, so far-as master Ma repeatedly told him. Closing his eyes, Lindon could remember every line, scratch, script, and imperfection of this tunnel. He had been down them so many times-broken, bleeding, aching, and crying as he dreaded what awaited him-and crawled away from what he just survived.
He highly doubts that there is a single inch of this place that wasn't touched by his blood, sweat, or tears over the past five years. Yet, he never once caved to the horrors that were his training. The physical conditioning included terrible devices that forced him to the edges of death. Fighting dolls, spiked balls, electrocution, fire, water, ice, constant attacks in absolute darkness all plagued him and so much more. This tomb is an amazing structure that created whatever the Remnant Masters needed to train him. Though, not freely. Every new training machine, course, and materials spawned by this hell zone ate away at its power.
The power loss wasn't that bad until the last fourteen months, when the scripts started failing everywhere. The Tomb got less and less vital aura to replenish its supply, until it stopped altogether. Most notably Lindon started to notice the weakness in the spars against his masters. Originally, they could accidently kill him if they didn't hold back perfectly. A certain Muay Thai 'God of Death' being the one to stop his heart most often. Luckily Master Akisame was a world-class doctor and could revive him from the brink of death dozens of times. There are still several short-term memories surrounding his training that are just gone from his mind. Common injury and issue with warriors.
Lindon was now an adept fighter in all their martial arts and is just a few breaths away from reaching the lowest level of master-class power. The Elder warned him that last barrier between adepts and masters is amongst the hardest to break through. Reminding him that just because his speed and power reach the level of a master doesn't mean his skill level will be. A balanced fighter in all aspects is the most stable and versatile of warriors.
Even though Lindon still shivers slightly every time he even thinks back to his training, he couldn't help but smile. His body's capabilities outstretch every sacred artist's Iron body in Sacred Valley by far. Only experience and Path abilities giving a Jade the chance of beating him. Not that anyone but him and the Remnants knew that. If the Unsouled started beating Irons and Jades out of nowhere, people would start asking questions. Questions that'd lead to the tomb. Besides, he needs to advance to at least Copper before starting to show his fighting abilities.
To get to Copper he'll have to show some of it to earn the right to study a path and advance. He's not afraid of losing to any one sacred artist, but the combined might of several experienced Jades could easily kill him. Which they'd do if they found out about him hiding the tomb's existence. The knowledge that could have been gained from just studying the working scripts would have been invaluable. Not to mention the value of all the dream aura that soaked the entire tomb. Those on the Path of the White Fox would have killed over the cycling rights to it alone.
It was so tempting that he stole a Path of the White Fox manual and several elixirs to get himself started sooner. He was about to take an elixir when he had overheard that the entire family in charge of supplies was going to be punished and exiled. The member on guard duty that night was facing execution for their failure to the clan. He returned what he took and made it look like it fell between shelves and was just missed when someone took inventory. The family still lost some standing and the clerk that took inventory was whipped because of him.
Lindon was ashamed of stealing from the clan, even though he felt he was owed at least as much. Kids that only had their wooden badges for only a week got almost as much as he took. But he won't need to steal when the Seven-Year Festival starts in three months. He'll easily crush the other Foundation children, not much pride in a fifteen-year-old beating a bunch of ten-year-old children, but he needs the win. Then he can challenge a Copper from a rival clan to an exhibition match. Once publicly beating a Copper, the clan will have to start funding his advancement and let him have a Path.
He snapped out his future plans as he reached the main chamber of the tomb, opening his eyes with a sad smile. This was the last time he'll ever see the Masters of the Ryozanpaku Sect. They might just be modified Remnants of their long dead counterparts, but they were real to him and technically still alive. They had cared more about his advancement and dreams than his own family. He could remember ever moment with these overly complex spirits. Not just the hellish training and sparring, but the quiet moments in between. Giving him advice, encouraging him when he felt down and was a breath away from quitting. A part of him knew they were using him to complete their primary objective before the tomb failed, but it was still nice.
If he was to pick his favorite moments, they'd probably be the ones he spent learning how to forge with Shigure sensei. He always wanted to be a soulsmith like his mother. The techniques and methods are nothing like soulsmithing, but they are still impressive. She taught him how to best forge weapons with layered half-silver, gold-steel, and steel. These weapons will greatly disrupt madra's flow and they are strong solid weapons unlike their pure half-silver counterparts. The brittle structure of weapons made of half-silver was their biggest weakness. Her Kosaka-style smithing overcame that weakness, the usage of Ki being the key to her style. She helped him make kunai, shuriken, chainmail, tekko for his arms and sangu for his shins that mirrored the Elders.
The prized weapon she helped him forge was his own one-handed long sword, the Elucidator (Sword Art Online). It fit his fighting style better than her two-handed long sword. It was buried in the stone coffin with her corpse, the Remnant used a forged copy made by the tomb. The tomb no longer had the power to make anything, barely being able to conjure the much weaker Remnants now.
This was the finale goodbye as the tomb ran dry today. He'll say his goodbyes to each of them and then seal off the tomb by destroying the tunnel. Hopefully, that way no one will be able to find and rob it. For as long as the coffins stay functional-which they've estimated could last three to four years after the tomb's scripts fail-their modified Remnants will stay intact, dormant, but whole. One day, Lindon hopes to become a skilled enough Soulsmith to fix the tomb or release them safely from their coffins.
Steeling himself, Lindon walked into the tomb. "Masters. Your disciple has come to bid you a proper farewell," his hands pressed together as he bowed down to his waist.
Minutes passed in complete silence before Lindon raised his head to look around the tomb. Six rectangular white stone coffins covered in still functioning script and constructs are spread out along the walls of the massive room. Purple dream tablets the size of his own clan house is attached to the coffins on the walls. Those were the mediums for creating the modified Remnants, the dream madra inside transferring all the deceased's spirit, memories and experiences from the coffins and manifesting their Remnants. Various forms of force, life, blood, death, and shadow madra forms around the dream madra to form the deceased's body. It was a truly God-like form of soulsmithing but even so, the originals would have been much stronger. While they were alive, they could tap into the Martial Icon, the Elder being the only one amongst them that could fully manifest the Icon in life.
Lindon noticed the problem immediately. The tablets had been cracking for over a year, but now the tablets are missing chunks and have gone completely dark. They can no longer manifest their Remnants and control the tomb. Only the Elder's tablet has any purple dream madra running through it and based on how dim it was, not for much longer.
"Elder. What's going on? I thought Akisame sensei said we had six more hours until their tablets completely failed." Lindon's desperate voice echoed out.
"Elder!" his voice become a plea.
The tablet with fading dream madra across the entrance sparked, before a struggling swirl formed the Elder's massive frame. His body is almost see-through this time as he desperately moves towards the center of the room. Lindon rushed over to his last remaining master. His weak shifting form looked like a gust of wind could shatter it. It only took a second for Lindon to reach the failing Remnant's form, having to quickly leap back a few steps as a pillar raised from the floor. It only came up to Lindon's waist, a ball the size of his fist made of smooth copper plates, and he thought he saw whirring flashes of color between the plates, was gripped by a clawed hand.
Looking from the metal orb to the elder's dull eyes, Lindon asks, "What is this Honored Elder?"
In a weak, fading voice, the Elder answered, "Long ago, before the catastrophe that damaged the tomb, a Sacred Artist was able to get past our boundry field. He was truly powerful; unlike anyone I've ever run across before. He had an aura of power and death, with a large grin on his face and a sight that could see all. His name was Ozmanthus and he was an unparalleled Soulsmith in his own right. Skilled enough to completely understand how our Tomb worked with just a glance. Obviously, he wasn't the type we were looking to train, and he had no interest other than studying the workings of our Tomb and coffins. This object-"
The Elder waved at the copper plated orb, "-was what he gifted us for intruding on our tomb and allowing him to study us undisturbed. It's a modified version of his own creation that holds all the information gathered by him and his family. This one was made to allow us to leave detailed information on our training regiments and techniques inside. This unique ball is also built with an interactive function for mental sparing and technique practice. It holds all of our required training methods, physical conditioning and techniques to become a master of all the styles of the Ryozanpaku Sect. It won't be as effective as having our personal attention, but it can still pass on all our teachings. This will allow you to finish your training with detailed explanations on how you're to continue building your physique and develop your techniques."
Lindon's attention shifted to the copper plated ball, awed at all it held. "Excuse me Elder, but if you had this teaching construct all this time, why'd you risk you own demise to teach me personally. You could have just stayed dormant and had me learn from it instead."
The Elder's fading face was still able to show a gentle smile, "As I've said before, it's not as effective as having our personal attention. It can guide you correctly, but it is static in how it teaches you. We had to adjust our training methods to best fit your body type, growth rate and talent. We actually learned a lot from training you, Lindon. Adjusting and altering the construct's training process from what we learned to better its overall effectiveness. And this way, you'll be making a name for yourself using our teachings. That'll make that construct, filled with our martial arts, a sought-after teaching aid even for Sacred Artists. So long as you go forward learning the sacred arts and combining them with our martial arts. You're who we are putting our hopes on, Lindon. You'll carry on our legacy better than just a ball-shaped training construct. We're proud of the progress you've made and the young man you've become. Good luck on your Path, Lindon."
With those last parting words, the Elder's Remnant faded into essence and sunk back into his coffin. Leaving a teary-eyed Lindon, swelled with a joy he hadn't even felt from his own family. Even with all the pain and blood he shed here, it was more of home to him than his actual house connected to the Shi family. Tears streamed down his face at the loss. He should have known better than to get attached to modified Remnants of people long dead, but it was still a sweat dream.
Lindon bowed once more, this time to each of the coffins. Then he took the copper plated training construct from the clawed hand, noticing a scythe mark on the top plate. Probably the house sigil of Ozmanthus.
After walking about twenty feet away from the tomb, Lindon pulled down a leaver that caused the tunnel ceiling to start collapsing. It was designed by Akisame sensei and made by Lindon. There would be enough of a delay to allow him to reach the exit before the tunnel completely collapsed. He ran faster than ever before so he could see the tunnel finish its destruction. The rocks and soil buried the place that changed him from the useless Unsouled to a true martial artist with real strength.
But that was just the beginning of Lindon's journey. He was going to start pushing to Copper, and one day he's going to become the strongest sacred artist in all of Sacred Valley.
Three Weeks Later
Lindon looked up into the purple leaves of the orus tree. This one felt right-he was calmer somehow, standing in the shade of this particular tree, as though it exuded an aura of peace. He's felt this sensation before when training in Ryozanpaku's tomb. Wizened white fruit waited among the leaves, twice the distance as he was tall, and he sensed an ancient eternity behind the gnarled bark of the trunk.
It could be nothing but his imagination. Doubtful, he's felt a greater eternity during his training with ancient masters, but better safe than sorry. He raised his hammer and chisel, carving away the outer layer of bark. Then, with utmost care, he chiseled a simple rune into the soft wood. This particular circle should glow if carved into an ancestral tree. So long as he makes sure to get the runes perfectly. Which he will and has over twenty-four previous times. Akisame sensei had drilled more than jujitsu into him, various forms of art like sculpting and painting, where every movement and line made had to perfect. He also taught him some medical techniques that weren't dependent on madra-mostly bone setting, herb brewing, and basic triage with Ma's help.
There were seven runes in this script, and he carefully began chipping away at the second. This was the twenty-fifth tree he'd found and tested over the last three days, ever since his mother had found out there was a tree somewhere in the forest that was about to advance. The Fallen Leaf School kept a monopoly on most trees with any possibility to reproduce a spirit-fruit, but Lindon had a chance to beat them to this one. As long as he worked quickly enough.
Honestly, he could have carved into well over a hundred trees by now, but he's been spending his time away from prying eyes to train properly. There are several areas, far enough away from any settlement, that show extensive signs of battle damage. Shattered rocks, downed trees, gashes in the earth and creators from his fists. Most would probably assume high level sacred artists were locked in combat or testing out new techniques-they would be half right.
Plants had to live much longer to advance than animals did. If a fox or turtle survived their first century, they would absorb enough vital aura from the world around them to ascend into sacred beasts. These animals cycled madra, advanced in power, and left Remnants just as humans did. The oldest of them could even speak, and legends said some could take human forms.
Plants did the same, but it took several times as long. Some trees had to stay undisturbed for five hundred years or more before they absorbed enough vital aura to develop a rudimentary spirit, and they would never learn to speak. The orus tree he was looking for had lived at least three centuries and was on the cusp of ascension.
Centuries of vital aura concentrated in the wood would nurture its fruit, giving it a potent spiritual power. Even sacred artists at the Iron or Jade stage would pay a small fortune for such an advantage. For Lindon...he needed it. This spirit-fruit will help strengthen his spirit to make up for the deficient spirit he was born with. Before meeting his masters in the tomb, he thought his soul was lacking something, but he was just born weaker than most. It angered him to think that his peoples' wrong assumption is what's keeping him at the foundation stage-spiritually that is. He was just born without any talent for one particular aspect, his soul isn't empty, just weaker. The Elders are stubborn old fools that won't even give him a chance, so absolute is their belief in the falsehoods of their knowledge. That's why he's here. They won't help, so he'll help himself.
Before he knew it, he'd finished the script circle. With hope he watched his handiwork, near perfect symbols in pale wood. Several breaths later, the runes started flickering in and out, sending out a spark. The light of the script circle became solid but dim, this tree was just barley an ancestral tree. Probably just reaching that state a few days or weeks ago at best.
Among the tree's purple leaves, a lone speck of white dangled from the highest branch: a single fruit. A normal orus fruit was like a pure white peach and grew only in Sacred Valley. Lindon had grown up eating them in everything from pies to juice, but it seemed the outside world considered them delicacies. They had no special properties, only a unique flavor.
Fruit from an ancestral orus tree looked no different, but a bite would deliver him years' worth of purified vital aura that he could process into madra. With barely any effort he dropped his hammer and chisel, then leapt up the tree branches. It was as easy as hopping a single step to him now, but before his martial arts training at the hands of the Ryozanpaku masters, he'd need a ladder just to reach the closest branch. The branches barely even moved, and the leaves just slightly rustled as he reached the top in a second.
The fruit looked so ordinary as he plucked it from its place and cradled it in his hands. A light hop down and he landed without making a sound, his knees not even needing to bend to absorb the weak impact. His eyes never left the fruit as he walked to his pack, opened it and slid it into one of its interior pockets. He didn't want it to get mixed in with the out-of-season common orus fruits already in his pack. They look exactly the same and only someone with copper sight or jade sense could tell the difference.
Normally he'd probably just wolf it down and start cycling, but his sharp ears pick up the sounds of three individuals around his age chasing a small animal. A hunting party this far out was odd and very annoying. Lindon was going to have to bow and scrape before a bunch of Coppers, he doesn't know anyone his age that are Iron. The hardest thing to do over the years has been hiding his strength. It was his master Akisame's idea, one he protested, to wait for the perfect time to strike. Like a snake waiting to sink its fangs into a lion, its poison will kill but only if the lion doesn't see it coming. His time to strike is the Seven-Years Festival, so for now, he'll play the helpless mouse in the cat's paw.
Seconds later, a snowfox darted out of the bush and froze, examining him. With pure white fur and three tails waving in the air, the snowfox is as unique to Sacred Valley as the orus tree. The symbol of Lindon's Wei clan is the White Fox, in honor of this valley's snowfoxes. Or rather, one snowfox in particular.
Like Lindon, this fox is miles north of his home. It gazed at him for another breath before one of its pursuers crunched closer, and it darted off. He had to hold off from scoffing. Whoever these would-be hunters are they are amateurs. What predator crashes through the forest so loudly when hunting? His master would laugh at the lack of skill, if they still existed.
A young man emerged from the woods, hair mussed, and skin covered in scratches just as Lindon finished returning his tools and putting on his pack. A copper badge hung pinned to the right side of his chest, and he wore a jacket lined with white fox-fur. Just like he thought, copper hunters.
Lindon knew him to boot. Wei Mon Teris, a member of his clan a year younger than Lindon. Great. He's going to have act like he's a threat, even though Lindon could cave in his chest with a single punch. His master's spirit must be testing his patients and pushing to see if he can stick to the plan.
"Cousin Teris," Lindon greeted him, bowing formally with two fists pressed together. "This one is honored to see you here." A lie as he grimaced with his face hidden from view.
"Out of the way!" Teris shouted, bowling past Lindon. Behind him, another young man and woman followed. Both of them were fourteen-or fifteen-year-old members of the Wei clan, and both of them Coppers.
Lindon's wooden badge hung heavy on his chest, but to hide it would be to accept his shame. He stayed bowed over his fists as they ran past him. It burned his pride to show such respect and fear to those so much weaker than him. If he could have just advanced to Copper than he could have at least ignored them and went on his way. But an Unsouled has to bow to everyone past the Foundation stage, that he's still stuck at.
At least they ignored him, continuing their hunt for the fox. Which was, strictly speaking, illegal. He stood straight and did a casual scan of his surroundings to make sure he has everything. He wants to leave before they return, which they will. They couldn't catch a sacred beast of that level with their crap skills.
Just when he thought they'd left for good, Teris came into view. Based off the look he was giving him; Lindon knew he was right about them failing in their hunt. The only question was what he should do about it. Upon reaching the Copper stage of the sacred arts, one's spirit opened. Teris could harvest the vital aura of the world, processing it into his own madra. He could use that power to fuel his body, strengthening it in every way. In that aspect, Teris is better than him. Its why Coppers are supposed to be far stronger than any Foundation stage sacred artists
Normally Teris could beat him to death with one hand. Unfortunately for Teris, he has trained his body to be even stronger than Iron stage sacred artists. As his masters have always told him, it is the biggest weakness of sacred artists. They focus primarily on increasing their bodies with madra and only put a token effort in actually conditioning their bodies. Once a sacred artist runs out of madra they are as weak as a newborn kitten. Plus, the weaker their flesh is the greater the limitation of how much madra can strengthen them. It's all arrogance.
When Teris moved in what the young Mon thought was fast, which to Lindon it looked like he was moving at a snail's pace, Lindon pondered his options. He could easily knock him unconscious and flee before his friends return, but there is no guarantee Teris won't remember what he did, and Lindon can't use the Elder's Amnesia Fist yet to make sure he will.
Lindon could always just outrun him. At top speed Lindon could make it back to their clan in twenty odd minutes, leaving Teris in his dust. The problem with that is a Foundation artist like himself shouldn't be faster than a Copper stage artist. Besides, why should he run away from a Copper that couldn't really hurt him unless he just stood there and took the blows without tightening his muscles. Even then Teris would need a weapon to do any real damage. This could be a great chance for Lindon to practice taking blows in his three-point karate stance. Though a Copper would break their fist on his hardened muscles, a Copper had enhanced strength but fragile flesh and bones.
That means Lindon is going to have scrape and bow while swallowing his pride. It'd be so much easier if Teris was actually stronger than him. But beating Teris now, in the middle of nowhere, with no witnesses won't get him anything. It'd probably get him in trouble with the clan. They'd never believe an Unsouled beat a Copper in honorable combat. That's also why Lindon can't just kill Teris either, he'd be executed by the clan for it, and even though he has no love for the Mon, he's still family. Plus killing should only be done when there is no other choice.
In the three breaths it took for Teris to bridge the gap and grab his elbow, which, come on, how slow can you be, Lindon made up his mind. Putting a smile on his face, "Cousin Teris, how can this one serve you?"
Teris wasn't tall enough to look Lindon in the eye, so he spat at his feet. "We've hunted that three-tailed snowfox for a day and a night. Thanks to you, we might lose it."
Lindon had to struggle not to laugh. They've been hunting such easy prey that long without success. "Excuse my ignorance, Cousin, but has Elder Whisper blessed this hunt?"
Teris' ugly look was the only confirmation Lindon needed. Elder Whisper did occasionally allow the hunting of snowfoxes, but only under carefully controlled conditions. He most certainly would not tolerate three young Coppers running down a snowfox at the foot of Yoma Mountain.
Whisper was the reason the symbol of the Wei clan was a white fox. But even his eyes couldn't see everything. Myth said the meat of a snowfox would strengthen the madra of those following the Path of the White Fox, as virtually everyone in the Wei clan did.
There was no logical reason it should be true, as far as Lindon knew, but many believed it. So Elder Whisper had therefore banned all hunting of snowfoxes without his explicit permission.
Teris formed a fist, and the air around it rippled as he gathered his power, "Are you being disrespectful, Unsouled? I don't like that look."
Lindon wanted nothing more than to kick the crap out of this over arrogant Copper, but that'd ruin all his plans. Teris was only a Copper, but the shield on his badge showed he was an Enforcer born to focus his madra into physical strength. Without an Iron body and much more madra, it would at best bruise his skin wherever he struck Lindon. To keep his secret, for now, he'll just have let the little shit hit him and pretend it hurts until Teris is satisfied. He won't aim for killing Lindon, not that he could. Murdering someone below your level was an unspeakable shame. Teris would become a dishonored pariah for the rest of his days.
Preparing for the annoyance of his cousin welling on him, readying to curl up and fake cry, but the Copper boy was looking past Lindon. Something had grabbed his attention. And unless the snowfox had returned, there was only one thing back there. The ancestral tree.
"What is this script, Unsouled?"
Lindon bowed again and spoke humbly. "This one is practicing his scripting, Copper Cousin. At the request of this one's mother."
Hopefully invoking his mother would stifle Teris' anger and Lindon wouldn't have to put on an act; unlike Lindon, Wei Shi Seisha proved a valuable function to the clan. She was widely respected among all the families. Though her reputation wasn't the only thing she'd left him.
Lindon's parents were...statuesque. They had both once been famous fighters, and he had inherited their physique. He was an inch taller than anyone else his age, slightly broader across the shoulders, a wall of pure compact pink muscle earned from his training, and some young men took that as a challenge.
Teris took a step closer, back straight as he strained for height. "Get your eyes off me. Look at the ground."
Lindon bowed even more deeply, hoping Teris would see it as a cowardly show of fear. Which it was. A part of him burned over showing cowardice, but the words of his master helped him keep his composure. "Who cares what others think about you. Real strength means you only take notice of those that can actually threaten you. It's shameful to smack around the weak just because they bark loudly. Raise above such petty squabbles." That was all this was to Lindon. A petty little Copper boy barking at him. He'll just let this meaningless squabble go.
Teris turned from him in disgust, which counted as a success, but unfortunately, he returned his attention to the tree. "You've ruined my hunt, Unsouled. That should cost you."
Lindon swore internally and braced himself for the Coppers attack on his person. Tightening his muscle while keeping his joints loose to lessen the impact. The hardest part is going to predict where the attack lands and fold into it right at the moment of impact, so it looks like it hurt.
Lindon heard the Copper's fist moving through the air towards him, but it went straight past him. That's odd. Why would...the sudden shattering of bark echoed through the forest, snapping Lindon's gaze up from the forest floor. Teris' fist left an imprint in the tree, smashing his script.
Teris stepped away. Behind him, the tree bent in the middle. Deceptively slowly, it splintered and fell apart. A mixture of icy cold and burning fury shivered through Lindon's body. This foolish Copper is going to force him to save the idiot, revealing his secret too soon. Unless...
"You idiot," Lindon half-whispered with barley contained rage. He's going to have to work fast to pull this off.
"What did you say?"
Lindon dropped to his knees as a hidden kunai slipped out of his sleeve, hurriedly carving symbols into the ground with the blade. Fortunately, he has memorized every script he could get his hands on over the years. None of the ones in his clan's archives are a fraction as complex as the scripts in tombs, being useless in his efforts try and stop its decay. "That was an ancestral tree."
Teris frowned at him, then looked at the broken trunk. Precious seconds passed as he digested the news.
Lindon had almost finished the circle, carving frantically at the ground with the tip of his kunai. "Get behind the circle!" he shouted.
Then the Remnant rose from the tree's corpse.
It was made of lines of vivid purple, like color sketched on the world by a celestial painter. The Remnant was thin and free of details like bark or leaves, as though it were the purple skeleton of the tree that once had been. In reality, it was more like a ghost. A spirit without a vessel.
Remnants were constructs of pure madra, freed from their physical bodies. Whenever a sacred artist of enough power died, he left behind his soul as a living force. If Lindon died, his madra would dissipate into the vital aura in the atmosphere. The same would go for ordinary animals, or even Copper-level sacred artists. But sacred beasts and ancestral trees were on another level altogether. It would take an Iron- or Jade-stage practitioner to face one of these spirits in combat, and of course he could, but not with witnesses.
And before Teris could react to what he was seeing, the purple tree-Remnant clenched a branch like a massive fist and slammed it into the boy's midsection. The young Copper flipped through the air before landing face down on the forest floor.
Wei Mon Teris' clothes were torn where the tree-Remnant had struck him, but he was on his feet and stumbling away within seconds. A Copper's body in no stronger than someone at foundation-level, so he must have been drawing on his madra. He scurried off like a roach.
The Copper ran deeper into the woods without a glance back, rushing in the direction his friends had gone. Lindon finished with perfect calm as the Remnant lumbered over to him, a skeletal ghost of purple madra in the shape of a leafless tree. Its branches swayed as it lurched forward in a pathetic parody of a man's walk.
Lindon put his thumb to the final rune and closed his eyes. He visualized his madra as a blue-white light, moving along lines like veins all through his body. He sped the flow of energy, cycling it according to the Foundation technique he'd learned as a child. This technique was supposed to eventually become the basis for an entire Path, but Lindon had never progressed further. Any child in the Wei clan could do as much with their madra as Lindon.
But he could activate scripts.
The circle flared to life at the touch of his power, each rune burning with the same blue-white energy he'd seen in his mind. When the Remnant loomed over the script, reaching out a long branch like a grasping hand, it passed through the light easily. No barrier stopped its movement. Lindon hopped backwards out of the circle, and the Remnant stepped forward to follow him.
Lindon's limitations in madra use were many, but he knew them well. He could never power a script to block the Remnant of an ancestral tree directly, at least not with a script as crude as this one. But he could draw the Remnant in. Once inside, the spirit's own madra would power the circle. And the Remnant had much more madra than him.
The script's light turned from blue to purple, and the tree's branches bristled into spikes. It tried to step away from the circle, to reach for Lindon, but it was forced to stop short. The trap was a success as the Remnant continued to rage against its new prison.
That was a relief off Lindon's mind. Not that he couldn't have killed it barehanded, but that would have raised far too many questions. This way, when the clan investigates what happened, Teris will obviously have to explain what happened once returning home, they'll see that this was more of a clever trick than a fight. The working of an Unsouled just trying to survive.
Slipping his pack off, Lindon pulled out his wrapped sword and strapped it to his back. He always makes sure to keep it hidden from others. Even though he made it, the clan could take it, insisting that it'd be better used by one of their warriors than him. Possibly accusing him of having stolen it from a true sacred artist. Now he was going to do a little more training, after putting some distance between him and the Coppers.
The clan is a dozen miles through wilderness and should take an Unsouled like him on foot over three hours to get there. That's two hours and twenty-five minutes more than he needs. Showing up too soon could conflict with the story here, so better off wasting a couple hours improving himself than just dragging his heels.
Almost a million people call Sacred Valley home, and the Wei clan alone accounts for over a hundred thousand of those. Even so, the one resource no one lacked was space. Each family received a generous portion of land, with a small house added on to the main complex for each member. Typically, children received their own house along with their wooden badge, as a mark of independence. Even Lindon, who could contribute nothing back to the clan, received a housing allotment inferior to on one's.
His house was made of tight-fitting orus wood, pale and smooth, roofed in purple tiles. His bed lay against the wall opposite of the hearth, in which a fire burns merrily to ward off the spring chill. He lay in his bed as physically comfortable as he had ever been. The fire was warm, and his bed was so soft it felt like lying on a cloud. He was used to that; his mother had packed his mattress with Forged cloud-aspect madra she'd purchased from one of her contracts. Even the Wei clan's Patriarch didn't have a better bed.
But Lindon couldn't enjoy any of it. His family was here.
The fruit sat on the center of Lindon's table, and the other three members of his family surrounded it like wolves circling a wounded deer.
"If I had found this years ago, I would take it," Lindon's father said. "But it's too late for me now. Kelsa will fight for us in the Seven-Year Festival, so she needs it the most."
Wei Shi Jaran had participated in the Festival before last, which had left him with a lip scarred into an eternal smirk, and a limp that required a cane. He hadn't fought since.
"It wouldn't have helped you," Lindon's mother responded. She was one of the more eye-catching figures in the Wei clan, with her long brown hair. Everyone else, including her children, have black. "This spirit-fruit only purifies energy; it won't heal you. It does nothing that months or years of regular cycling wouldn't do," Seisha scratched away at a portable slate as she spoke, her chalk pausing only rarely. Scripts wouldn't check themselves.
Her drudge hovered over her shoulder, like a rusty brown mechanical fish drifting on invisible tides. It was a Soulsmith construct, madra Forged according to a particular pattern, and it served her as a box of tools served a carpenter.
"I'm only saying, Seisha, that if I had gotten this early enough...who knows?"
"I do. That's not how it works."
"You know everything about the soul? All the mysteries of the sacred arts? I could have changed my Path, studied with the Fallen Leaf School, and their life techniques could have restored me. Your body is renewed when you advance to Jade."
"You're hardly more likely to advance by starting over on a different Path, even with a hypothetical elixir." She rubbed out some chalk with the heel of hand, never looking away from her notes. Jaran's scar-enforced smirk creased into a sneer.
Lindon's sister Kelsa took over the conversation before it could devolve further, as he had known she would. "I can't do well enough for the Patriarch to notice us if I'm still a Copper. How will I fight Wei Jin Amon or Li Ten Jana without Iron strength?"
Their father snorted, crossing his arms. "That's right. There will be at least half a dozen sixteen-year-olds with iron badges already, and Kelsa should be among them. With her Path, she can give them all a surprise. I did, and I was even younger."
Kelsa nodded to her father, mostly to stop him from drawing the story out any longer. "I'm sure I can, if fate is kind. But we still have two months, and I am already close to condensing my Iron body. It's possible I'll advance on my own before the Festival opens."
She rolled the white fruit toward herself, pulling a knife from her belt. "There's no reason I should keep it all to myself. If one of you reached Jade, it will do more for our family than anything I can show on the Festival stage. We should split it in three."
Finally, Seisha looked up from her tablet. Her drudge whistled inquisitively, ready to be used, but she met her husband's eyes. His scowl lightened, and he nodded, eager to take part of this treasure for himself. Kelsa's blade met the skin of the fruit.
Lindon leaned forward until his bed frame creaked under him. His family turned, surprised to remember he was still there. In his own house. "What about me? This is my fruit and surely I have more of a right than anyone to it." He watched his family around the table as they each exchanged glances.
Kelsa held up the white orus, the spirit-fruit Lindon hunted and fought for. "Mother, can we divide it in four?"
Seisha glanced up at her drudge, but the brown shape only croaked in response. It currently looked like a toy fish floating over her shoulder, but Lindon had seen it unfold into many other forms. "We were already taking a risk with three," she said at last. "There's a limit beyond which any elixir cannot be stretched, or it is wasted."
Frustration had returned to Jaran's face. "We can't take the chance. Who knows when we'll find something like this again? Give it to Kelsa."
"No," his daughter said, cutting into the fruit. "We'll divide it as planned. It's not fair to you, Lindon, but I'll make it up to you. I'll give you my clan stipend for the next half a year, how would you like that?"
Jaran spread his hands as though presenting her idea, and Seisha returned to her slate. To them, clearly, the matter had been settled.
Lindon should have known that was how this was going to play out. He has no value to the clan, even his family looks at him like that from time-to-time. They show more care for his wellbeing, his mother and sister do, but they still don't waste even a fraction of resources on him as they do Kelsa or even their crippled father. The most he has ever gotten towards his advancement from his blood family was a low-grade elixir as his end-of-the-year gift.
Fortunately, Lindon had prepared for this ahead of time. He honestly could have found that spirit-fruit in just one day, but he had spent the two previous days scouring around the Fallen Leaf School territory. It was easy for someone like him to evade notice of even their Jades. The stealth skills Shigure sensei instilled into him added with his weak spirit made it too easy. For two days he scoured their forests until he found a spirit-fruit there, far away from Wei territory. It was nothing compared to the marathon runs his masters had him run daily.
Thus, Lindon has a whole spirit-fruit tucked away in his home's hidden compartment, along with all the gear he got from Ryozanpaku's tomb. He built it in secret over a year ago when he knew the tomb was failing, so no one would know about the treasures he has. It's currently holding the copper plated training construct, his weapons, armor, and the fighting uniform that was forged by his masters just for him. (think Kenichi's getup) Even with a fruit all his own, Lindon doesn't see why he shouldn't try for more.
In fairness to his sister, Lindon had to admit that her offer was fair. Six months of the clan's allowance to her would be a small fortune in chips for him, enough to buy lesser elixirs of his own. Maybe even a partial Path manual, so he could further his study of the sacred arts without the clan's blessing.
But those items weren't unusual. They weren't going anywhere. He could save up his own chips and buy them, if not so quickly. This fruit was special. He was far behind everyone else that he needed as many out of the ordinary things as he could get his hands on to catch up. The one fruit he had tucked away wouldn't be enough to do that. If he relied on normal means, he'd stay behind his entire life. That's why he endured the hellish nightmare that was Ryozanpaku's training, to at least surpass his peers physically. Now he needed to get his spirit there.
He nodded to her. "Gratitude. But with respect, I hunted for that on my own for three days."
"On my instruction," his mother pointed out.
"For which I am grateful. But nonetheless, the work was mine. The time was mine. I found the tree, I plucked the fruit, I fought a Remnant for it." He gestured to the fruit. "I earned that fruit!"
Kelsa looked down at the fruit with her knife in hand, as though unsure where to cut. "I can give up eight months of chips, but any more than that, and I'm not sure I can afford to keep my garden through the winter."
"I don't want more money. I want half."
The scar at the corner of Jaran's lip made his scowl sinister instead of stern. "Think beyond yourself. She represents our family in the Festival. Our clan. The Patriarch is negotiating trade rights with the Kazan. The stronger we show ourselves, the better his position. This should be a concern for every Wei."
Lindon had foreseen this argument and has a counter ready. "But that is exactly my concern." Lindon leaned forward on the edge of his bed, radiating sincerity to hide the lies. "I'll be fighting among the eight-year-olds. Can you imagine the scorn if I don't take first place? Anything Kelsa accomplishes against the Irons will be overshadowed by that shame." Not that he'd ever lose to bunch of eight-year-olds, but that's what everyone expects from an Unsouled. Why not use their false assumptions to his favor?
His father was quiet.
"Don't fight," Seisha said, reaching up and sliding her chalk into her drudge. The floating fish absorbed it without a ripple. "The Foundation stage exhibition is a formality anyway, it's training for the real fights."
Lindon had expected this and had prepared a counter. "And everyone will know why. I will forever be the Wei clan coward who ran from his opponents half his age." Besides, he's been hiding his real strength all for the unveiling at the Seven-Year Festival, he would never dropout now. He's swallowed too much pride and endured endless scorn.
Jaran's frustration had become too much to hold in, and he picked up his cane, spinning it between his palms. "It doesn't matter! If I break through to Jade, or your mother does, or your sister reaches Iron, then that will wash away anything that happens in the children's fights." He slammed the cane down as though the matter were settled.
Gently, Kelsa shook her head. "It's a poor gamble. We're betting on possible honor against certain shame."
Those words, certain shame, pricked at him, but he didn't let the pain touch him. He never did. "Father, Mother, if you tell me, it's likely that you will advance to the Jade stage before the Seven-Year Festival, I'll give up my claim. I don't argue that Kelsa needs to be Iron, but she's so close she doesn't need the entire thing. I have so little. To a beggar, even scraps become a feast." It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be to make that sound sincere, considering the entire spirit-fruit he has stashed away. But he's always been ignored and pushed to the side. It's only fair he gets to be a bit greedy now.
His mother gave him a wry look, and Jaran's face had reddened, but neither said anything. They weren't close to Jade, as he suspected.
It was Kelsa who finally made the decision. With one clean stroke, she segmented the orus fruit in half, splitting it around the pit. "There's no honor in denying a man what he's earned. If you'd like it, Father, I'll give you, my half."
Predictably, Jaran grumbled a bit but let her keep it. She walked over to hand her brother his half of the spirit-fruit.
Kelsa had gotten everything Lindon wanted in his life: the natural gifts, the favor of the clan, and the opportunity to train in the sacred arts. And while she was as tall as he was, she didn't look like she was trying to intimidate anyone. Her daily martial training left her lithe and graceful, while his left him a dense rock of solid muscle.
If she wasn't so absolutely fair about everything, Lindon might have hated her.
She handed his half of the fruit to him without malice, and even nodded to him in respect. He'd won the argument, and the Wei clan respected honorable victory. His martial arts may give him the strength to beat even a Jade, but it'd be seen as a dishonorable trick to defeat a sacred artist without using the sacred arts. His masters told him that was how they were seen and treated even in their time. Even with the strength to beat most sacred artist with their Martial Arts, it was frowned upon. They were mocked as honorless cowards that cheat for victory. It's why he's waiting to display his strength. He has to strengthen his madra to a point that he can use it in his fights, making his fighting style look like sacred arts.
He allowed the thrill of his prize to run through him as he took the fruit. This, and the second fruit he has stashed away, are the next step of his path up. They should make his madra strong enough to incorporate it into his martial arts' techniques, giving off the appearance of an enforcer move. His plans are finally starting to come together. Now he just has to make sure to have his moves ready for the Festival.
He relished the feeling as he relished the fruit, which tingled on his tongue like a peach charged with lightning. It was gone too soon, and the shock on Kelsa's face mirrored what he was sure he showed on his own. Even in his stomach, it seemed to give off the occasional shock, sending tingling waves through his body.
"Could you describe the sensation?" their mother asked, poised to take notes.
"It definitely feels like it's working," Kelsa said.
Lindon put his hands on his stomach, he imagined he could feel excess energy in his fingertips. "It's like I've swallowed a thunderbolt."
Seisha had retrieved a brush and an ink jar to replace her chalk and slate, and painted notes on a scroll as fast as she could move. "Would you describe the feeling as hot or cold?"
Lindon exchanged looks with his sister. "Hot?" he said, at the same time she said, "Cold?"
"Alternating hot and cold," their mother muttered, never pausing in her writing. "Examine your core. Any changes?"
Lindon closed his eyes, visualizing his core. It sat just beneath the abdomen and was where all the lines of madra connected. This was the physical location of the soul, some said, and Lindon always pictured it as a rolling ball of blue-white light.
He evened out his breathing, inhaling and exhaling in tune with tides of his spirit. The energy flowed through his body according to his Foundation technique, the one and only sacred art he'd been allowed to learn. It allowed him to focus and purify what little madra he had, to build a foundation for...nothing at all.
He wasn't allowed to learn a Path, to harvest vital aura, so he would never advance. If he was lucky, in his later years, his innate spirit would refine to the point that he would naturally advance to Copper. The state most people reached by age thirteen. Copper spirits were open to the vital aura of the natural world, so they could draw power from the heavens and earth to make themselves stronger. It was the true first step for any sacred artist. But soon he'll be allowed to learn a Path, so long as everything goes as planned.
"No change," he reported, the uncertain road ahead of him dampened his excitement at the lack of change.
"I don't feel anything either," Kelsa confirmed. "But there's something..."
A shout came from the door. "Wei Shi Lindon, the First Elder requests your presence." It was a voice Lindon knew but hadn't expected to hear again so soon. The clan discovered what happened in the woods a lot faster than he thought they would.
He rose to his feet to answer the door, slipping into a pair of shoes and pulled open the door. "Cousin Teris, I see you made it back safely."
Wei Mon Teris stood looking up at him as his jaw clenched. He was still wearing his snowfox skin, scuffed though it was, but otherwise he looked completely unharmed by his encounter with the tree-Remnant only hours before. "Wei Shi Lindon. the First Elder requires your presence to review the events of the day. I'm to bring you there immediately."
"Is this about my battle against the Remnant?" Lindon asked.
Teris glared at the pointed reminder that he hadn't stayed and fought the monster, as honor dictated, he should. In fact, as the strongest party present-by conventional wisdom, Lindon in actuality was the strongest-Teris should have protected Lindon with his life.
Not that Lindon had ever expected as much. In his observation, honor often fled before self-preservation. But he'll be different than them. He'll use his strength to protect the weak and fight the evils of the world that most people choose not to look at.
"Lead on, Cousin," Lindon said. Teris started off without another word.
The First Elder waited for them in the Clan Hall, the same place where young Wei souls were tested. Where ignorance leads to false beliefs about the soul and the sacred arts, if his masters are to be believed. Lindon had rarely seen the elder outside of it, and he seemed to have grown to fit there; his long beard matched the White Foxes on the banners, his robes jade and gold to match the pillars and tiles.
He stood in the hall as they entered, back straight, his hand on the head of a stone fox and his eyes on the golden statue of the first Wei Patriarch. He did not turn as the young men approached and dropped to their knees, bowing almost to the ground.
"Tell me what happened today, in the forest beneath Yoma Mountain."
Teris began immediately, reciting the events of the day as though he practiced. To Lindon's surprise, Teris stuck to an accurate retelling of events, even admitting that he and two friends had tracked a snowfox into the woods. They never actually caught the fox, as he hurried to clarify, and then he went on to tell how Lindon's presence spooked their game. Lindon's response angered him, and in his anger, he broke a nearby tree. He had no way of knowing the tree was sacred and would release a Remnant.
"With my body, I took a blow that would have struck the Unsouled," Teris went on, in the furthest departure from the truth so far. "When I recovered, I saw that he was defenseless, and I ran to warn my friends rather than die together with him. I do not know how he survived."
Silence fell on the Clan Hall, and still the First Elder did not turn. He stroked the fox statue's head as he thought. "What are the words of the Wei clan?" he asked at last.
"Honor by any means, " the boys recited at once. The Path of the Wei clan used madra of light and dreams to deceive their enemies...but according to the first Wei Patriarch, even deception could be used to serve honor. It was the contradiction around which the Wei clan was founded. Even in the Martial Arts Lindon learned from Ryozanpaku have techniques that use what they call "Hidden Truths." Like a punch that's actually meant to turn into an elbow strike, disguised as the punch.
"There is a time when running to preserve your own life is not cowardice," the elder went on. "When the threat is so great that your death would mean nothing, then flight is no shame." Lindon's masters have said similar things, unless there is something more important than your life to protect, like a friend, the innocent, and your family.
Teris let out a deep breath.
"But this was not such a threat," the First Elder said, turning around at last. His face was carved from stone harder than the statues around him. "If this Remnant failed to defeat an Unsouled at the Foundation stage, then surely a Copper sacred artists could have stood against it. Your stipend will be withheld this month, you will spend a night in isolated meditation, and at the end you will be whipped three times in front of the clan. Cowards have no place in the Valley."
Teris bowed so low that his forehead struck the floor, so Lindon couldn't see his face, but his whispered voice was choked. "You are wise and...merciful, First Elder."
The First Elder snorted. "Report to your father, tell him what I have said, and that I allow him to add a punishment of his own if he wishes. But if I do not see you through the window of a locked room tonight, then I will make your sentence three times worse. Go now."
Teris bowed again and fled without a word.
Lindon braced himself. Part of him felt a measure of shameful glee at Teris' sentence, but he couldn't enjoy it. He knew his clan, he knew his own standing within it, and if the elder had punished an otherwise honorable Copper in front of him, it meant that there was something worse coming.
The first Elder stood over Lindon, silently judging. Weighing. Perhaps deciding which of several sentences to mete out. The only issue with those lines of thought was that Lindon hadn't done anything wrong or dishonorable. Even if the elder saw his being there as a disruption of the Coppers' hunt, it'd be easily mitigated by the fact they were doing so while breaking Elder Whisper's rules. If anything, he should be rewarded for stopping them from dishonoring Elder Whisper.
So, Lindon just waited there. Silently waiting for the First Elder to speak.
Finally, after several quiet minutes, the elder not seeing any sign of Lindon cracking, he spoke. "What were you doing in the woods around Yoma Mountain?"
"This one was in search of an ancestral fruit, on behalf of his mother." Lindon answered to the floor. He had learned long ago that he can't lie to the First Elder, he caught him every time. But he could tell half-truths.
With one sharp gesture of his hand, the First Elder motioned for Lindon to get up. He scrambled gratefully to his feet.
"Did you find it?"
"Yes, First Elder."
The aura around the elder darkened, almost imperceptibly. "Did you waste it on yourself, Unsouled? I know you were tempted."
Lindon's stomach was still buzzing with trapped lightning. It was all he could do not to swallow, afraid the First Elder would take that as a sign of guilt. "It went to my older sister. I mean... this one's older sister."
The intimidating aura dispersed like clouds before the sun, and the First Elder waved irritably. "Speak freely, Shi Lindon. I've seen you in here often enough."
Lindon fought back a smile. "Yes, First Elder, but I have little to add. The only inaccuracy in Cousin Teris' story was the part about taking a blow meant for me. He was just caught off guard, I think, and ran off in fear for his life."
The First Elder had the longest eyebrows of anyone Lindon had ever seen, and they shot halfway up his forehead at this. "You know what you've done wrong, then?"
That was a trap if Lindon had ever heard one. What could he have possibly done wrong? Teris was the one that fled like a coward, not him. The hunt wasn't legal, thus their failure to capture the snowfox, even if it could be considered his fault that it did, held no weight.
Taking a wild guess at it, he answered. "I...was...too far from clan territory, First Elder. I know it now. In the future, I will travel in the company of my sister. Thank you for instructing me."
The elder sighed, rubbing at his eyes with two fingers. "You found yourself in the way of three Coppers, Lindon. That was your sin."
Lindon replied quickly, having expected this, "I am sorry for it, Elder. But I could not have known they would run past this one tree in the forest. And Cousin Teris even admitted to illegally hunting the snowfox, so I did nothing wrong."
The First Elder slapped his hand down on the statue of the white fox, sending a sharp crack through the air and leaving a fissure in the fox's skull. In a blinding flash of madra, he repaired it instantly. "You could not have known? If a party of Kazan dogs had stumbled on you instead, or the honorable disciples of the Fallen Leaf, they could have killed you as easily as Teris broke that tree. Only honor might restrain them, and honor is a poor hook on which to hang a man's life. And if they did choose to kill you, our clan would have to apologize. For inconveniencing them."
The First Elder's tone softened but his words didn't. "If a sacred artist with an iron badge burned down your home with you inside, at most I could give him a punishment like I gave Teris. For dishonor of picking on the weak. He could not be executed, or maimed, or even fined, because in taking your life he cost the clan nothing."
Lindon started to respond, wanting to reveal his real strength forged through the martial arts. Saying how he could even fight Jades now with nothing but his pure physical ability and fighting skills. That his life isn't worth nothing. Fighting back burning hot tears of mixed rage and pain. Pain of being seen as nothing.
But the First Elder raised a hand, stopping Lindon from his outburst. "Do I look stupid to you Lindon?"
That sudden, unexpected question, acted like a bucket of cold water dousing his emotions. Bringing a confused look on Lindon's face. "Um...I don't know what you mean, First Elder. I-"
Heat enters the First Elder's voice as he cut Lindon off. "Stop playing dumb child! I know what you've been doing every time you enter the woods."
Fear rakes at the very soul of Lindon's body. How could the elder know about his training? Does he know about Ryozanpaku's tomb? But when? How? Why hasn't he seized it for the clan and punished Lindon?
Once more the First Elder's voice softens as he speaks. "Only a blind man would miss how well built your body has become. You try hiding it by slouching your shoulders and wearing oversized robes, but you can't deceive a sacred artist on the Path of the White Fox. We create far more intricate illusions than you can even imagine from light and dreams. You might fool a bunch of Coppers and even inexperienced Irons, but not a Jade."
Lindon has gone pale and sweat his dripping down his neck with the elder's every word.
"You desperately think that if you train up your body you can overcome the weakness of your empty spirit? Foolish. Pointlessly wasted effort is all you'll get. Maybe it'll allow you to beat Coppers that don't have the Enforcer aspect to their spirit. But an Iron's body goes far beyond mere physical conditioning. You leave the clan to train for days at a time, coming back bloody and bruised, thinking you accomplished something. But you haven't"
"I have, honored First Elder. I-"
"Do not speak! Bow your head and remain quiet until I've finished." Lindon bows at the waist, quiet as he can be.
"You're not the first Unsouled to have thought this way. They'd desperately try changing their fate by pushing the limits of their physical bodies. But without madra to enhance human flesh, it could only do so much. A few were said to have been able to break bricks and shatter wood with their bare hands. They could beat Coppers, but when they face an Iron, they were killed with a single finger. For madra enhanced bodies can effortlessly do more than any purely physical body could ever hope to do. I have personally defeated sacred artist that built their bodies like yours, thinking it would give them an edge. Only to fall at my hands to superior sacred arts' techniques. Without the strength of spirit one can never be a sacred artist no matter how hard they try."
Lindon is glad that the First Elder had him bow to the floor, it helped hide his relieved smile. The elder just thinks he goes out muscle building and doing basic physical conditioning. He can't fathom the physical conditioning he's undergone at the hands of the Masters of Ryozanpaku. Breaking stone bricks and shattering wood was the type of stuff he could do within just a couple of months of their training. Now, he can bend steel with his bare-hands and punch a boulder into tiny pieces. Time and resources will make up for his spirit, as soon as they let him learn a Path.
The Elder let out a sigh. "I was letting you continue this pointless endeavor so that you could learn to accept your fate. I was waiting for you to face your limitations at the Seven-Year Festival, where you might have won the Foundation stage, but most certainly would have end up losing to the Copper in the exhibition match. Learning that all the hard work in the world cannot change your empty soul. That is your fate."
Lindon lets out a pained grunt, his blood is boiling in barely contained rage. They still think his soul is empty, that he can never advance. They won't even let him try! Saying he's worthless and to just stay that way until he dies.
"I don't say this to wound you further, Lindon. The heavens can show great cruelty in a man's birth. But the foundation of any Path is learning to accept the world as it is, not as you wish or even observe it to be. Every slight, every insult, every injustice in your future will be your fault. Your fate is not fair, but it is true. What should you have done today?"
Lindon take a few deep, calming breaths to settle his anger before answering in a whisper. "I should have returned home as soon as I saw Wei Mon Teris."
"Wrong! You should never have left." The First Elder stabbed a finger at him. "You have a place in the clan archives. Let that be your turtle's shell. Help your mother with her work, or stay in the archives, and fade into the background. Give up these nonsensical notions that martial training can overcome your fate. Humility and anonymity are your protection." The elder sighed, his shoulders slumping. "They are the only armor I can give you."
The elder's tone and final words help Lindon let go of the anger, the First Elder is worried for his safety. In the elder's world, no, the world of sacred artists, those who can't use the sacred arts are prey to all who can. Even the First Elder can't let Lindon study a Path as an Unsouled, not without merit. For a moment, Lindon glances at the testing bowl tucked away in the corner. Seventeen times, he'd placed his hands in that bowl. Seventeen failures, in a test no one failed. They'll never let him have a Path, unless he can prove them wrong first. But physical prowess alone won't convince them, he needs to use a sacred art to do it. But how can he when they won't allow him a Path.
It's a paradox that's trapped Lindon. He can continue on his path as a martial artist, but no one in Sacred Valley will accept his strength. Even if he beats every Jade, they'll just say he's an honorless cheat. Will his plan to incorporate madra into his martial arts work? It's his only hope.
He returned his gaze to the floor. "Yes, First Elder."
The elder sighed again. His slippers moved as he paced back and forth, in a greater display of emotion than Lindon had seen from him before. "I won't punish you. Your fate and wasted efforts, are punishment enough. But if I am seen to do nothing, the Mon family will hold you responsible for Teris. As such. I would like you to feed Elder Whisper tonight."
Lindon looked up sharply, a strange hope filling him along with the storm in his belly. "Gratitude, First Elder."
The First Elder shook his head. "Maybe he can give you the help that I cannot."
Most buildings in the Wei clan were purple and white, reflecting the purple leaves of the orus tree and the white fur of the snowfox. From a distance, the clan was a collage of those two colors. Only one tower stood out: a needle of white, so tall that it seemed thin, rising above the purple-roofed sea like the mast of a great ship. It had been made of white stone in the age of the clan's founders, and it was one of the most prominent landmarks in all of Sacred Valley.
It was filled with stairs.
There were only two rooms in Whisper's tower: one at the bottom, and one at the top. In between was nothing more than a spiraling staircase, thousands of steps that represented a monotonous journey to the clan's oldest ally.
Lindon lets loose an impressed whistle as he faced the first step, that's a lot of stairs. The founders had obviously designed this tower with sacred artists in mind. And why shouldn't they? Everyone practiced sacred arts, so everyone had a madra-reinforced constitution greater than their bodies would normally allow.
Except for Lindon, who didn't have a madra-reinforced constitution, but his body had strength greater than normally allowed. The difference is it took him an extensive amount of training to get that strength in body. The other side of the argument could argue that it takes years of increasing their madra and learning how to reinforce their bodies with madra. So, which is better? Lindon's physically stronger body or a sacred artists madra-reinforced body? A Copper his age would take about half an hour to make the journey to the top, delivering Elder Whisper's bucket filled with jade-scaled river carp: his twice-daily meal.
Lindon reached the door at the top in five minutes, at a leisurely sprint. His was the better of the two.
Elder Whisper had joined the clan founders to create the Wei clan, dominating the native Remnants to carve out a section of wilderness in Sacred Valley. He had created the Path of the White Fox, the most common Path in the entire clan, and used its powers to control and assimilate several lesser clans. Not even the current Wei Patriarch was as honored as Elder Whisper.
Both the lock and key were heavy bronze, each bigger than his head, it only took a slight twist of his free hand to open it. Why they had to use giant devices to secure Whisper's door, he couldn't imagine. They didn't appear scripted, only heavy. Prior to his training it'd have taken actual effort to open it, even just swinging the door open would have taken his whole bodies strength. Now, he simply pushed it open with a press of his finger, using as much effort as flicking his finger.
Sometimes it amazed Lindon how strong his body has become. He can leap through trees and across roof tops like he's just lightly kipping around. He's got a good twenty-foot leap and at top speed run around 30 miles in an hour. And he has yet to break into the master realm of physical power. Elder Furinji said that once he does, he'll have the physical ability of a peak Gold in the sacred arts. Then through progression from mid-master to super masterclass he'd be in the Lord realm ranges.
With the door wide open, he walked in with the elder's bucket in one hand and let the door slam shut once again. The inside of the door was covered by a scripted mirror-part of a spirit trap, designed to keep Remnants and sacred beasts imprisoned by their own madra. While the door was open, the circle was incomplete, and Whisper could sneak out.
If he did, he would find himself stuck on the stairs, unable to cross the closed circle at the towers base. As far as Lindon knew, Whisper had never even tried to escape. He enjoyed a respected position, intervening in clan affairs as much as he wanted, and the elders released him from the tower on formal occasions. As a boy, Lindon had wondered why Whisper was trapped in the first place, but it was simply one more part of the way things were.
Lindon had heard several myths about Whisper's imprisonment, but never one he believed. The truth was likely beyond his comprehension.
Elder Whisper sat on his haunches, watching the clan below through an open floor-to-ceiling archway. A line of script engraved in the floor prevented him from simply leaping out and running down the sides of the tower. Cold wind, crisp with the scents of a spring night, ruffled his white fur. Five bushy tails lashed behind him, tracing arcane patterns in the air that reminded Lindon of a script.
"You have eaten of a wonderful fruit," said the sacred fox. "Tell me the story."
Lindon dropped to his knees next to the bucket of fish, bowing respectfully. He was more conscious than ever of the flickering lightning in his core. "This one found an ancestral orus tree, Elder. This one was fortunate enough to obtain its fruit before it was destroyed."
Whisper turned slightly, fixing Lindon with one jet-black eye. "There is more."
Naturally, lying to fox wouldn't work, so Lindon went with half-truths again. "This one engaged in a small conflict with a Copper practitioner from the clan. In the battle, the tree was broken, and a Remnant released. This one was able to protect himself."
The Wei clan's signature Path of the White Fox had been created by-and named for-the very sacred beast that stood before him now. They produced madra that deceived the senses, that created illusions, that twisted light and sound. And Elder Whisper was the Path's original master.
A second five-tailed snowfox stepped out from the first, like an image walking out from a mirror. This second body dipped its muzzle into the bucket of fish even as the first continued speaking. "The Foundation stage defends himself from a Remnant and leaves with its prize. Commendable."
Lindon bowed deeply. "This one is unworthy of such praise."
Neither Whisper responded. One, he believes is the real one, continued devouring the fish, while the other examined Lindon with eyes of opaque darkness. Then, a fuzzy snout slid over his shoulder, cold lips brushing past his cheek. How'd that happen? His reflexes have been honed to automatically throw anyone that comes up from behind him. He even threw his sister over his shoulder once, two years ago when she snuck up on him while he was gardening, his not-so-secret passion. She wrote it off and simply said she was tired and needed more training, but even to this day she still gives him an odd look every now-and-again. He's been careful ever since not to let someone get behind him, he doesn't want anyone else getting suspicious.
"You're leaving out the part about the second fruit you have tucked away in your house," the third sacred beast said quietly.
Lindon has to force his body from responding to the shock of surprise, he can't give anything away. "This one is afraid that he doesn't know what the honored Elder means."
The first fox's lips turn into smile, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, as the third whispers into his ear, "Oh? Don't you now. It's wise to keep your hand hidden, but I've already seen it. There's no reason for you to keep hiding it from me, Shi Lindon."
"This one did not know he had the esteemed privilege of the Elder's attention.", desperately hoping Whisper only knows about what he's done in the village.
"I know about the tomb you found and the efforts you've undergone these past five winters. That place existed long before I was born, and I once tried entering myself, but was cast out. So, tell me, Unsouled, what treasures did you gain? Clearly, it did nothing for your spirit, but your body...it's beyond even a Jade's."
Lindon is wondering what Elder Whisper is up to. He knew about the tomb even before the Wei clan was founded, yet he never told anyone. Did he think that if he wasn't worthy of it, then no human could be? Can Lindon beat Elder Whisper? Maybe flee? The snowfox is the strongest sacred artist in the entire Valley, how would Lindon stack up. No, even if he has the strength and speed to go against the fox, its experience and sacred arts would most likely beat him.
The third Whisper let loose as breath of air on his cheek, seriously, how can an illusion do that? "Relax. I have no intention of giving away your secrets. I'm just curious. It can get boring up here in the tower. Feed my curiosity and I'll tell how to get what you want, the Path into the sacred arts."
The third fox removed its snout from Lindon's shoulder to join the other two in pacing around him, waiting for Lindon's response. Lindon was confident that his plans would work, but the First Elder put a few doubts into his mind. The sacred beast already knew enough to destroy his plans, and the elder's insights might help him see where he might be lacking.
"This one found modified Remnants of long dead Martial Arts masters. Ancient warriors that had damaged cores and madra channels, discovering a way to fight without the sacred arts. They trained this one in the hopes of passing along their forgotten knowledge before the tomb failed. This one has gained much strength from their unusual training methods and techniques. With them he can prove himself worthy of receiving a Path and bring honor to the clan."
"The Wei clan will never water a tree that will never bear fruit," Elder Whisper responded, simultaneously watching Lindon from three directions. "Proving that you have physical strength won't impress sacred artists, this you must know."
"This one plans on incorporating madra into his martial arts, it'll appear as sacred arts. Then the clan will allow this one to follow a Path of the sacred arts." That's what Lindon reasoned.
"What are the sacred arts?" the elder asked, his murmur coming from three directions at once.
"The path of refining a spirit and pursuing connection to all of creation," Lindon recited. There were many correct answers to Elder Whisper's question, and any child of Sacred Valley could recount them on command.
"When does that path reach its end?"
This answer was vaguer, those in Sacred Valley believe it ends at Gold, but Lindon was told otherwise. "Shamefully, this one is not sure where the path ends. He was told that when one's spirit becomes as pure as gold, but the tomb's masters said there are farther levels beyond gold. That Monarch is the stage of advancement that Sacred Artists ascend to the heavens. So, maybe, there is no end?"
Whisper looked pleased with that answer. "The spirit has no limit, nor does the sky. How could a true Path have an ending? If you studied until the end of the universe, you would still have not touched true comprehension. The Path of the White Fox is but one among countless others, and none reach the end."
Lindon looks confused as he asked, "Forgiveness, but this one doesn't understand what you mean to teach him."
All three foxes paused, side by side, regarding Lindon. "When a traveler cannot find a path, sometimes he must make his own. By incorporating madra into the arts given to you in the tomb, you'll already be making your own Path. Why start a Path, to only start over on another Path?"
Understanding washed over Lindon, and he bowed again out of gratitude. All the hard work he has already put towards becoming a sacred artist wasn't just a steppingstone to get what he wanted, but the first step on his own Path. He has already been going down a Path this whole time, but why didn't his masters tell him...they had. The Ryozanpaku Elder told him about taking their martial arts into his Path of the sacred arts. He always thought it was to boost that Path, but it was already a Path in-of-itself.
The masters of Ryozanpaku had bodies and skills that could match powerful scared artist far beyond gold, but their damaged cores put a limit to what they could do. They reached the end of the Path of Martial Arts and could never keep going, but Lindon's core is just weak, not damaged. He wasn't chosen just to pass along their knowledge but take it further than they ever could. Now, determination blazed alongside the lightning in his belly.
One of the Whispers blinked out of reality, leaving one staring Lindon in the eye and one feasting on fish. "Remember. Cutting a road through a forest is always harder than following one already cut. Even when the road has already been partially cut for you."
Lindon straightened. "If all it takes is work, Elder Whisper, this one will not fail you and his masters."
"Fate is not fair, but it is just. Hard work is never in vain...even when it does not achieve what you wished." With those words, the five-tailed fox faded away, leaving only the real Elder Whisper enjoying his meal.
Though the elder had clearly dismissed him, Lindon had to show his respect before leaving. He bowed deeply three times to Elder Whisper's back, taking the empty bucket from the elder's last feeding and returned down the stairs.
Lindon's trip down was at a much slower pace, taking the time to contemplate. Elder Whisper's words have changed his plans. No longer is he looking towards earning a Path but continuing on the one he hadn't known he was on. The only problem he's facing in doing that, is he has no basis on how to go about incorporating madra into his martial arts to create a new sacred arts Path. The fruit's power tingled in his core, begging him to process it, urging him to take the first step on the Path of Ryozanpaku.
When he returned home, his family was gone. He immediately checked his hidden compartment in his wall behind his bed, finding everything still there. Taking out the whole spirit-fruit to make sure it was safe, fearful that someone might have taken it. Then, seamlessly covering up his hidden compartment and moved to begin. He sat cross-legged in the center of his house, focused entirely inward, cycling his madra with greater intensity than ever before. For now, he needs to process the spirit-fruits and strengthen his core. Only then will Lindon have enough madra to actively start paving out his own Path. Though he'll see if he can scavenge anything from the archives, he won't be able to get a Path manual, but maybe a better cycling technique.
He eventually stopped, quickly bathed and slept.
When Lindon wasn't carrying out a special task for his Soulsmith mother, training in secret with the ball construct for guidance-which at his current level was just increases in his basic conditioning and repetitive practice of his techniques-he spent the rest of the day in the clan archive. The building was scarcely more noticeable than any ordinary house, with faded white walls and wide, purple-tiled roof. If Lindon had never seen it before, he might have mistaken it for the home of one of the Wei clan's smaller families.
As the sun passed noon, he arrived in the archive. He first retrieved a broom to sweep the front step, he has long since done it in a unique motion to practice his stepping method-his masters have long since said that one must live with the martial arts in all things to become a master-then, re-organized the Path manuals that a few young Coppers had disturbed the previous evening. His fingers itched when he worked on this shelf, and he had to fight the temptation to sneak a glimpse, though the minimum penalty for an Unsouled studying sacred arts was a private beating. He'd survived such punishments before, and he would again. Seeing as he is creating his own Path, he would eventually need an example.
For now, he'd settle for a shortcut.
The Eighth Elder was supposed to monitor the archive, but Lindon could never tell when the man was doing his job properly or not. As a Forger on the Path of the White Fox, the man was a master of the Fox Mirror technique; he could craft illusions as precise as a mirror's reflection. More than once, Lindon had dared to sneak a glimpse into a simple Path manual, and the elder had appeared out of nowhere to punish him. Other times, Lindon had left the archives to spot the elder passed out on the roof.
This last year though, his body's reflexes and speed were high enough that he could 'accidently' drop a manual, read part of a page as it's falling, and catch it without being caught. He can't do it too often or risk the elder catching on, so Lindon has only gotten mostly useless information about using a Path's aura to strengthen one's own madra. Something he can't use until he reaches Copper, but he has picked up a few glances at madra control for Enforcers. That's something he can use towards his own Path.
For his purposes, so long as he didn't open a Path, at least in a way they can prove, he had the archive to himself. Once he finished his chores, which took him only a half-an-hour at most, he began to gather the scrolls, folders, tablets, and books he needed for research.
Following a Path of the sacred arts was often likened to a journey, and he would never embark on a journey without a plan.
Shortcuts of advancement were common legends in Sacred Valley, and while many were proven to be effective-like the fruit of an ancestral orus tree-most were too rare, expensive, or dangerous for ordinary sacred artists. Lindon needed to hunt for a loophole, which meant poring over every option one by one.
Fortunately, the archive was not the clan's most popular building. He had plenty of time to himself.
One scroll contained a personal letter from an explorer who had visited the four peaks of Sacred Valley in search of exotic madra aspects. She wrote of Greatfather's tears, a spring that bubbled at the top of the mountain known as the Greatfather.
The letter went into detail about how she drank just one handful and ended up in a cycling trance for three nights and days, but greatly increased her spirit's density and potency. Also, how putting just a hand inside made her skin youthful and supple, but at great pain. She suggests only Jade sacred artists that can endure the storms and pain of the pool should go to Greatfather's peak.
Lindon held down the scroll and copied the passage with his own brush, it's a possibility for him, but a dangerous one. The Holy Wind School, which claimed the Greatfather as their territory, would never allow anyone less prestigious than a clan elder to visit their spring. And then only if they brought generous gifts. He'd have to scout out the mountain, memorize their guard patterns, sneak through and hope they didn't have any Jades guarding the spring directly. It'd take too much time and bring far too much risk to his clan if he got caught.
The next possibility came in the form of a recipe pressed onto a wax tablet for the Bloodmaker Pill; it carries the blood aspect but improves the basic spiritual foundation and is most effective when taken before Copper. Lindon copied the recipe and directions down, and a quick perusal of the clan's herb stores-located in the back of the archive-suggested that they should have all the necessary ingredients in storage. His excitement grew until he realized that the only refiner with enough skill to prepare such a pill was gone on a pilgrimage to the Heaven's Glory School. Lindon couldn't even begin to understand what the "Six-Pointed Star method" was, though, he does have his own refinery used to make Master Ma's medicines. But making medical salves and rejuvenating elixirs for the body is very different than refining pills for the spirit.
Lindon has become frustrated, not because of the disappointment, but the upcoming duel he has with Mon Eri, a ten-year-old Foundation girl. Yesterday morning, during the clan's cycling period, Mon Terris was to receive his whippings, but Terris' father-Mon Keth-the Mon family's head tried pulling the Shi family down with them. It wouldn't have worked, the First Elder had dealt with far more elaborate and subtle ploys before, but Lindon's own father had to open his mouth. Now, Lindon is forced to fight a child at the same stage as himself, but five years younger than him. Winning is not the issue, but the fact that winning will still be considered shameful, losing even worse.
Lindon has been racking his brain on how this one, very stupid duel, may ruin all his plans. He has to somehow get the Mon family to resend the challenge, which they won't, or he'll have to get them to agree to letting him fight a stronger member of their family. It'll take careful wording and timing, plus hoping his father doesn't ruin things, again. He needs to incorporate madra into at least one of his techniques before then, winning with a sacred art, not just martial ability.
Taking a few calming breaths and cycling his madra, Lindon's mind returns to peace. With a clearer head, he realizes he can still attempt to make the Bloodmaker Pill. He has most of the ingredients already, just missing the Remnant essences, and he can pay for those with the chips he has saved up. He'll have to spin a fiction that he's getting the ingredients for his mother, she's a Soulsmith, they won't question her need for Remnant essence-it's common material for Soulsmiths. And after looking through the archive, Lindon found a manual explaining the Six-Pointed method. Nothing too advanced for him, Ma's medical refinery methods are actually more advanced, and Lindon's mastered most of them already.
His next possibility came from an offhand mention in a funeral document, chronicling the possessions of a traveler who had died in Wei clan territory. A parasite ring would slow the cycling process, making it more difficult but also more rewarding. He'd heard it likened to weight training for the soul. He would keep watch for a way to earn this ring from the Patriarch, or possibly earn one himself if he could find a craftsman from the Golden Sword School. The only drawback was time; it would take time to acquire such a ring, and longer for it to show any effect. He marked his notes on the parasite ring, indicating that he should consider it once the duel was over.
Other books held fanciful legends for young sacred artists, their imaginations full of wonders and powers out there in the world. It spoke of ancestral orus trees and their fruits-a story that was true, per Lindon's experience, but exaggerated-and the Jester Twins, who would alternately hand out miraculous gifts or crippling curses. It told of the heavenly guardian within Mount Samara, and how enterprising disciples of the Heaven's Glory School might earn a mark of its favor, and of the mythical "true badges" that amplified the power of human madra. Of the Oblivion Wine, which the Fallen Leaf elders always sold a year after the opening of the Nethergate. And it spoke of the Torchyard, an apocryphal location that Elder Whisper was said to have visited in his youth.
The Torchyard was supposedly a field of condensed fiery energy where, if you survived, you could harvest enough vital aura to fuel your advancement even to the legendary Gold stage. According to clan rumors, though, even Elder Whisper hadn't managed to bear the torments of the Torchyard that long.
The story of sacred fruit lent credibility to the other tales, but none of them were real possibilities. One could only meet the Jester Twins by chance, and their gifts were as likely to harm as help. He wasn't a disciple of Heaven's Glory, the true badges were no more than stories, and the Torchyard was far beyond his power. Even though he's certain he can endure the trip and make it back in less than a week, he didn't know how to harvest natural fire aura, so he would simply burn to death.
His notes became shorter and shorter, his brushstrokes weighted by disappointment. He combed through piles of likely manuscripts all day, and while he hadn't exactly expected to stumble across a miracle, he had at least hoped for a possible lead. He'd only started with six full days between him and his deadline, and now the first was gone.
The sun had completely set, and he stood to light a candle. Once it burned down to the next mark, the archive would be closed, and he could leave to work on his Path. He would use this last hour to clean up, returning his texts to their places.
As he did, the Path manuals caught his eye once again. There were eight copies of The Path of the White Fox, two for each specialized technique. The White Fox wasn't the only Path on the shelf, though. There were two scrolls and a thick tome as well, all of them bearing Paths that the Wei clan had acquired from outside. No one practiced them, as far as Lindon knew, because they required madra of different aspects than the Wei clan cultivated. Those called to him, ultimately, he turned from those as well. The First Elder would recognize what he had done and punish him. He's not allowed to study any Path.
He reached down and shelved a tablet, and in doing so, caught a glimpse of another shelf he hadn't considered. Technique manuals described skills that could be cultivated in addition to a primary Path, and they were much shorter than Path manuals, often a single plaque or finger-thin scroll.
Lindon knelt for a closer look. The section for technique manuals took up two shelves, divided according to the aspect the technique required. Strips of white jade labeled the sections: here the character for fire, there the symbol for purification. His gaze skipped from section to section, from cloud to lightning to light to dreams. The last two had by far the largest selection, dealing as they did with madra of the White Fox.
But there was a section at the end of the bottom shelf with only one entry. An old book, it was little more than a sheaf of yellowed papers, bound together by string on one side. The jade strip declaring its requirements said, simply, "None."
Carefully, Lindon withdrew the book, examining the name of this technique: Heart of Twin Stars.
While it violated clan decree for Lindon to follow a Path, it was technically allowed for him to study technique manuals. After all, he couldn't actually use the techniques without madra of compatible aspect, which he couldn't harvest. Learning a technique outside of a Path was like tearing a branch off a tree and expecting it to bear fruit.
But this one didn't need any particular aspect, nor did it require him to be of Copper level. He turned the first yellowing page, expectation transforming into hopeful excitement.
The contents went on about a man's experience against a rival of his, and the technique that beat him, even though he was stronger than the pathetic rival. The "Empty Palm" is theorized as focused neutral madra into a simple palm thrust, making contact with his core, the pure madra disrupted his own. Making him as powerless as a wretched Unsouled-that remark really ate at Lindon-for several seconds. How the man couldn't even muster the strength to control his own limbs.
After being repeatedly defeated by the empty palm, the man, in desperation, developed the Heart of Twin Stars as a defense. By dividing your core in two, that way, even when one core is disabled, you still have a second core to rely upon. It does not increase the power available to the artist. Going on about how splitting one's core is a painful process prone to many risks, though mercifully quick. An exacting record of the man's journey to split his core, warning that one should follow his path to the very step, least suffering a crippling injury that one can never recover from.
Useless. Heart of Twin Stars was an utterly useless technique, which doubtlessly explained why no one practiced it. Even if he wanted to split his core in two, it'd only make his Path twice as hard; needing to switch cycling time between each core, slowing both of their progress. He didn't have time for that. Even though the prospect of possibly having two Paths shot magnificent ideas of through his head, he technically doesn't even have one Path.
The book did include a cycling technique, which would at least work better than his own pathetic Foundation method. So, he's getting something out of it, but his enthusiasm had dimmed. The manual did give him a few ideas though, that could progress the use of madra in his martial arts. After locking up the archive-leaving the Eighth Elder drunk on the roof again, perfectly visible-he returned home, cycling his madra according to his new technique, holding a horse stance; no reason not to get in some more physical training in whenever he could. His nerves kept him at it until dawn, and he would have continued except for a brutal hammering on his door.
"Get ready," Kelsa told him, dressed in orange shadesilk training clothes of a Copper Ruler. Her copper badge, marked with a scepter, hung proudly in the center of her chest. "You're training with me today."
Lindon brought his pack to the Shi family gardens, surrounded by blue mountain roses and tiny clusters of cloudbell, and knelt across from his sister. They faced each other over a stretch of grass. Lindon has spent a lot of time in the garden, calming his spirit and resting after brutal training secessions with his masters, over the years. At first, he grew ordinary flowers and the occasional vegetable, but over time started cultivating rare herbs needed for elixirs. Apparently, Lindon has quite the green thumb to grow what most others fail to do.
He had hoped to benefit from his endeavors, but the clan decided that it'd be a waste, thus easily getting his parents to agree to use them solely on themselves and Kelsa. Sometimes selling the extra to the clan stores. To be somewhat fair, his sister got his parents to at least pay him chips for the elixir ingredients he grew. They'd be surprised though, that he has a stash of the plants hidden away for his own use, that he was hoping to cash in today for the Bloodmaker pill.
Instead, he's here with Kelsa for training, not that he's ungrateful, but it's not like she's allowed to teach him anything. The clan would punish the entire Shi family for breaking the law to teach an Unsouled, even if said Unsouled was a part of their family. So, at best she can spar with him, which wouldn't accomplish much. He is much stronger than her in martial ability.
Ordinarily, they would have joined the rest of their family in the main courtyard for daily cycling, but Kelsa seemed to have something else on her mind. She started off studying him, her hair pulled back and face severe.
"You seem tired," she said at last. "You didn't sleep well. What were you doing?"
Over the years, he'd found that the fastest way to deal with his sister was to respond immediately and honestly. "Cycling. I was trying to process the rest of the fruit."
"And have you?"
"Not fully." The foreign madra still crackled like lightning in his core, but much less than it had the day before. He couldn't tell how much less, or if digesting it had made any difference at all. This was not the effect he'd ever imagined from a legendary natural treasure. Hopefully once he's done digesting this one, the whole one will show more of an effect.
Kelsa cupped her chin in her hand, pondering for a moment. "We'll come back to that. For the moment, we should discuss our strategy in getting you through the duel."
Only five days left. He has a few ideas, but it never hurts to bounce them off someone. "Then where do we begin?" wanting to get a feel for his sister's thoughts first before tossing out any of his own.
"Obviously, there's no good outcome if you fight the girl. You're shamed if you win and shamed if you lose."
He didn't need a reminder of that, but he remained quiet, waiting for her to continue,
"Your only honorable option is to challenge someone of greater standing in the Mon family, like perhaps Wei Mon Teris. This has the disadvantage of getting you killed."
That was an exaggeration; the Mon family wasn't likely to kill a relative in front of whole clan. Not that Teris could kill him as a Copper, and it kind of hurt that was what Kelsa thought about his chances. He had hoped she saw him as more than the Unsouled, even if he kept his martial skills hidden.
"I suggest you fight the girl for a while and then concede. You could say that an Unsouled is not worthy to fight someone of the Mon family, which gives them face. They'll accept, you'll be embarrassed for a while, but in the end you reputation will improve. You will have handled the duel with grace and accepted defeat with dignity."
"At the price of telling the Mon family that I'm worth less than they are."
She nodded once. "Yes." Kelsa never shied away from the truth.
Lindon burned at the thought of humbling himself in front of all the other Wei families. For one thing, his Shi family would be seen as vulnerable if he publicly demonstrated his apparent weakness. Their rivals would push them, seeking to exploit a perceived opening.
After watching his expression for a few seconds, Kelsa folded both her hands on her knees. "But I'm sure you didn't waste the day yesterday. What's your plan?"
For a moment, Lindon wondered on how much to tell her. Certainly, he can trust Kelsa to keep his secrets, but what if she slipped and gave it away. He can't just talk about Ryozanpaku's tomb and the training he received from the masters' Remnants inside. Besides, everyone will see his power at the Seven-Year Festival, no reason she can't see it early. She might even be able to give a few pointers on how to control his madra into his fighting style, she is gifted in the sacred arts.
He'll start with the technique manual he found and see where it goes from there. Sheepishly, Lindon reached into his robes, where he'd tucked the technique manual. "I found this technique in the archives. It's not directly useful, but it might have given me an idea."
She snatched the manual from his hand and glanced over the first page. "You want to split your core?" Her tone made it clear exactly what she thought of that idea.
"No, of course not." While cycling according to the method described in the Heart of Twin Stars manual, he'd spent the night thinking. He suspected there were other uses for a split core rather than just defending against one specific technique, but they were too risky or difficult to test. "There's a second technique in there."
Kelsa looked back down at the book. "The Empty Palm."
"It would be easier if I was Copper, I know, but in theory it's just injecting your madra into a certain spot. It could be enough."
She flipped through each page in the thin manual, paying special attention to the back. "It doesn't describe the timing, or the energy flow, or the Foundation you'd need to pull it off. Only how to defend against it." Kelsa snapped the pages shut. "But ultimately yes, I think there's enough information here that we could develop a version of the Empty Palm. It's simple enough anyway."
Lindon leaned forward, eager. "Can you teach me?"
In the Wei clan, most sacred artists reached the Iron stage in their twenty-first or twenty-second year. For Kelsa to have reached the barrier between Copper and Iron at the age of sixteen meant that she was more than merely talented; she had the discipline and skill to match. It'll be much easier if she can help learn this technique than him trying to figure it out on his own. Then he can start incorporating the Empty Palm into his martial arts.
Abruptly, Kelsa rose to her feet. "That's up to you. I have some ideas, but I need a living target with a functioning core if I want to try them out. That means you."
"You can disable my spirit, but it won't do much. My madra is so weak as it is, that I don't rely on it to do much."
Kelsa stretched first one arm, then the other. "That's not what I mean. The manual mentions that he had to achieve purity for the technique to work. We don't have time for that, so I'll be pushing my madra into your core until I get a feel for the technique."
As a sacred artist on the Path of the White Fox, Kelsa cultivated aspects of dreams and light, bent toward the purposes of deceiving enemies. Accepting it directly into his core meant punishing his sense with her illusions, it wouldn't be pleasant, but he's dealt with much more arduous training methods.
"Alright, have at it." Lindon said, his arms wide open and his feet firmly planted into the ground.
For just a moment, Kelsa seemed taken back by Lindon's sudden acceptance, but quickly nodded her head. Dropping into a balanced stance on the balls of her feet, left hand extended, her right held back, her whole body angled sideways. "First trial."
Lindon tightened his muscle, keeping his joints loose as Kelsa unfolded in a deceptively quick movement-though moving in slow motion to Lindon, he'd seen punches that broke the sound barrier when they moved-that left the heel of her palm against his core, just below the abdomen. She'd used hardly any force, and the strike came with no pain; it felt like a light slap, if anything. It was almost disappointing. When Lindon took even light slaps from his masters, he'd go flying...well, at first, now he could take a real hit and still keep his footing...barely.
But the world went mad.
The soft blue cloudbell flowers at his feet took flight, flapping around his eyes. Shadows in the bushes flickered and giggled, while the clouds zoomed around like zealous fish in the ocean of the sky. Grass tickled his feet through his shoes, but he stayed firm. In the tomb, the masters would change the scenery of the massive stone room into countless terrains for his training, and they felt more real than this.
The images snapped away as sensation returned to him. Kelsa stood across from him just like before, flexing her palm. "Too slow. The motion has to carry the madra, you can't rely on transmission through contact. Brace yourself, I need to try again."
Lindon shook his head to clear the dizzy sensation that lingered, then got back into a horse stance. "I'm ready."
She hit him again.
After the garden stopped partying around him, he spoke as he swayed a little from the disorientation. "Once second, sister. Let my head clear first." Taking a few deep breaths as Kelsa was moving at half-speed, stepping forward into a slow palm thrust. She repeated the first step a few times, working something out in her head.
"I've almost worked it out...it has to transmit all at once. Not like a stream, but a gust of wind." Then she struck again. And again.
Eleven more times.
By the end, the earth never stopped spinning, even when the effects wore off. He was kneeling, with one hand firmly planted on the ground, waiting for it to stop. Ten breaths passed before he could stand without swaying.
"Rally yourself," she said. "Step forward and shove in one motion, focusing madra in you palm. Release it in one breath like a gust of wind, being sure to exhale and cycle to the rest of your body for stability. Understood?"
Lindon was trying to determine if his senses were back under control. Was that flickering shadow a sign of lingering madness, or a leaf blowing in the wind? He's not use to his honed sense being so easily disturbed. After four years of Ryozanpaku training, he has had an absolute control of his body and senses, his body sturdier than stone, but his spirit is still weak. His madra can't take Kelsa's attacks that well, even though his body doesn't even tremble, his body is swayed by his mind's weakness to the dream madra. A weakness a sacred artist could shake off with their madra. "Please, I need...I need a moment."
Kelsa rarely had the patience to wait around, and though she allowed him his rest, she did so reluctantly. She paced in the garden, studying Heart of the Twin Stars as she did. "Let's return to an earlier subject," she said, without looking up from the book. "The fruit. Have you finished cycling it?"
"Almost all," he said, sensing the tingling sparks that lingered in his core. "I haven't noticed much of a change."
She squinted at the page. "I can't see clearly. Bring out your light."
Lindon looked around at the bright morning light. "Do you need me to find a healer?"
She used the manual to point at his robes. "You're my disciple for the day. Pull out your light."
To his sister, Lindon would have protested. To his master, Lindon would have obeyed without a word. He spent a few seconds deciding which she was, and eventually reached into his pack to produce a palm-sized board.
The board was covered with an intricate three-layered script circle, and when he fed his madra into it, it burst into white light. The runelight was much stronger than any from an ordinary script, and remarkably steady. That was this script's only purpose: to produce light on command. It would last as long as the user's spirit did.
Lindon held the board over the book with the shining script down, though it made no discernable difference among the bright sunlight.
Kelsa didn't thank him but spoke as she read. "I finished processing the orus fruit last night. It was quite the experience. Did it feel as though you'd swallowed a thunderbolt? Mine did. But as I continued cycling, I didn't feel much else. It was as though the fruit vanished. I wonder if Mother was mistaken, and this wasn't the miraculous spirit-fruit she thought it was."
She looked at him but kept her book open, so he didn't remove the light. "It wasn't until early this morning that I noticed the changes. Tell me, does your light seem brighter than usual to you?"
Lindon flipped the light over and examined it himself. It was hard to tell, especially compared to a memory. "Perhaps a little?"
"Keep watching until you can see a difference."
Lindon knew his sister was headed somewhere with this, and he would exhaust his madra eventually. He kept the light ignited, staring into it, looking for the slightest change in illumination. He noticed nothing.
Finally, she told him he could stop.
"How do you feel?" she asked him.
"Absolutely ordinary."
"Yet you burned the light for fifty-two seconds, and you could have kept going. How long could you do it before?"
Unlike the brightness question, he could answer this one. "Thirty seconds, at most." He had used this board to light his way while diving in the river, so he knew exactly how long he could keep it lit. But he must be wrong. When he sensed his core, it didn't feel any stronger. "Are you sure you counted properly?"
She snapped the technique manual closed, wearing a pleased look. "The fruit's madra integrates so smoothly with our own that we don't notice. Yesterday I was Copper, and today I'm on the verge of condensing Iron, but I don't feel any different. And yesterday, you wouldn't be able to use the Empty Palm more than once without passing out."
Lindon knows he wouldn't pass out even running on empty, Ryozanpaku's training is all about physical strength without the use of madra. Master Akisame explained to him that every person, animal, and sacred beast in the world relies on madra to function from the moment they are born. This makes their bodies almost completely dependent on madra. In higher level sacred artists this can be a boon that allows them to become superhuman, even slowing the aging process. But on the downside, when completely drained of madra, they become as helpless as a newborn. Certain breeds of sacred beast can still be dangerous without madra, like dragons, but will be much weaker than normal. The training Lindon has undergone has weeded out that deficiency in him.
Even so, Lindon started breathing quicker, as excitement that his madra has finally grown stronger. "What about now?"
She adopted a low prepared stance, balanced and firmly planted, similar to his horse stance, prepared to be hit. "How should I know? Now, disciple, Empty Palm!"
This time, Lindon snapped into action as he would for his real masters. He stepped forward and launched a palm strike-perfectly matching the movements of his sister's strikes-at his sister's abdomen, though making sure not to put any of his physical strength behind it, this was all about using madra. Synced with madra, it should have driven energy through her core like a steel spike, but it splashed like a cup of water instead. He really wished his masters would have allowed him to funnel madra through his body in their training, but they said that was counter intuitive to their training, he had to grow strength not reliant on madra.
"One gust, not a breeze!" Kelsa barked. "Again!"
His head was already light and his madra dimmed, but he tried until he ran dry. Stopping to cycle and explaining that his core was really dry. His sister argued that if that was true, he'd have passed out, saying he wasn't putting his all into it. But after looking at him with her copper sight and seeing that he was out of madra, she let him cycle. Though, she never took her eyes off of him, trying to figure out how he was conscious, let alone moving around unhindered. When his core was full of madra, he tried again.
Four days later, the most prominent families of the Wei clan gathered once more before the Hall of Elders at the break of dawn. A few industrious sacred artists sat cross-legged in the courtyard, cycling in the first light of dawn. Everyone else stood, eager to watch the show. If something went wrong, an honored family might fall from grace today.
The Mon family waited on one side of the cleared space, Eri in front. She hopped in place, practicing attacks on an invisible opponent. Her scowl said she was looking to kill. Keth stood over his daughter, arms folded, scanning the crowd for the Shi family. Which was why Lindon had shown up together with his family. Kelsa and his father walked beside him, while his mother kept up as best she could, while taking notes.
The First Elder stood on the stairs of the Hall, as he had before, but this time his brow was furrowed in a frown that seemed carved into his wrinkled face. "This is a duel for honor, and so it may continue. But any wounds to the young are wounds to our clan, so I must ask if there is any way for the offended parties to resolve this."
Eri executed a series of punches that veered ominously low. "No other way!" she declared.
Lindon had several ideas on how to handle this situation, none of which inclined with the little girl's proclamation. After his training with Kelsa to learn the Empty Palm, he came up with the best option for winning glory and honor for the Shi family, and himself.
He bowed toward the Mon family, bending over his pressed fists in a formal salute. "Honorable head of the Mon family, this one has a request."
Keth straightened his back, responding to Lindon's humble speech. "I will not release you from the duel."
"This one would dare not ask so much. Instead, this one wishes to challenge another member of your family."
Eri's mouth dropped open in a comic show of disappointment, and she turned to her father as though to ask if he could possibly allow this. Keth, for his part, worked his jaw as though chewing the idea over. His eyes roamed to his fur-clad son, Teris, who still sat gingerly after his whipping. "Which would you challenge?" Keth finally asked.
Lindon met the eyes of this grown man more than twice his age, this fighter legendary for his unflinching courage in combat. "I challenge Wei Mon Keth."
He had somewhat expected gasps form the surrounding families, or at least derisive laughter, but the crowd reacted with utter silence. A Foundation artist challenging an Iron wasn't interesting gossip, it was like an infant trying to bite a tiger.
Copper souls could process vital aura, giving them a supply of madra that was both more expansive and more effective. But a quick or clever Foundation child could overcome that disadvantage. An Iron body was a qualitative difference; compared to Copper or below, Irons were superhuman. But Lindon was trained by actual superhuman masters that made his body stronger than an Irons. This wasn't as dangerous or ludicrous as everyone else thought, even Kelsa only went along because of the Empty Palm and the plan she helped form around it.
Wei Mon Keth looked as though he'd lost what little respect he might once have had for Lindon, but he didn't dismiss the idea out of hand. "Explain."
"This one must prove his courage, as must your son, Teris." A dark cloud passed across Teris' face at even the indirect mention of his cowardice, but Lindon plowed ahead. "However, the opponent Teris faced was many levels higher than he. It seems only fair that this one should face an adversary as exalted."
This time, a quiet murmur did ripple through the crowd. Lindon and his sister had spent two days making sure their argument was sensible enough that those gathered would have no choice but to take it seriously.
Within his sleeves, Lindon clenched his fists. He was close to the outcome he wanted, but he needed Keth to agree.
The head of the Mon family rubbed his short beard with two fingers. "This is a better way to demonstrate courage. What terms would you accept?"
Traditionally, the challenged would set the terms, which meant Keth would have been within his rights to set a fight with no restrictions, which would suit Lindon just fine, he's certain he could win, just not with the Empty Palm. But the other families would have looked down on him for abusing his power against a junior, so he took the honorable course and allowed Lindon to define the fight.
Which fitted his plans perfectly.
"One strike each, if it pleases you. First, you take one strike from this one without defense or resistance. Then you strike me in return. The first to lose his footing is defeated."
Keth's brow furrowed. "You would be wise to set different terms."
There was precedent for a duel like this, if not one so hilariously out of balance, from everyone else's prospective. Jade elders had once exchanged pointers one blow at a time, with the more confident party agreeing to take the first hit.
But this was supposed to look like Lindon was throwing himself on Keth's mercy, and he had hoped the Mon family head would fall for it. "This one hopes you might hold back when you strike, but at least this one may show that he is not afraid to take a blow."
At last, Keth's face lightened as he understood. Lindon was giving him a chance to administer a punishment equal to Teris', humiliate Lindon publicly, and remind people of his own strength in one blow. As long as he didn't kill Lindon, fat chance in Lindon's mind, he would be seen as both strong and merciful, and he would only gain in reputation.
"You're clever," Keth said with a nod. "You show courage. I agree"
Hook, line, and sinker.
That was it. The rules of the game were set, all his cards played. He almost couldn't believe that it had gone so easily. He moved away from his family firmly while keeping his enthusiasm from showing, opposing Wei Mon Keth across the open space in the center of the courtyard. He was afraid someone from the Mon family would object, but none made a sound.
As the First Elder ordered them to face one another, Lindon's heart pounded on the inside of his ribs. This was his chance. His first real chance since he was seven years old to gain standing in the clan. It had been a long time coming. All his blood, sweat, and tears spilled while training under his masters will finally bear fruit.
"If none object..." the elder said, almost hopefully. Thankfully, for Lindon, no one did, and the dawn air froze. The First Elder straightened his back, sweeping his hand to present the challengers. "Then may this duel begin!"
Lindon faced Wei Mon Keth, who stood taller even than he was, and twice as wide. The man would intimidate most challengers just by his size, but not Lindon. His masters towered over Keth in just about every way, well, all but three of them, but even then, they were stronger. His body is all pink muscle designed by master Akisame to have both explosive power and endurance. It's the quality of muscle, not the quantity. But Lindon shouldn't be overconfident, his masters have warned him and demonstrated the danger of it. An Iron body is still dangerous to him and letting his guard down could cost him his life.
The older man's arms fell to his sides, leaving his slate-grey robes completely undefended. "The first blow is yours," he said. He didn't even brace himself. This is the overconfidence that can be deadly and will cost the Mon family head greatly.
Lindon stepped in, preparing his attack, cycling energy through his palms, reading his altered version of the Empty Palm. Something he hadn't shown Kelsa, having perfected it in secret. This will ensure that there is enough physical force behind the strike to knock back Keth, on top of landing the Empty Palm technique. If this really works, his Path will be laid out before him, for all to see.
He cocked his upper body, raising his palms up next to his chest, side by side, shifting his feet to firmly plant one while sliding the other back. As he did, he focused his madra at the base of his palms, as he practiced. One pulse in both hands, like a gust of wind, but focused like an iron spike, simultaneously done in both hands.
At the Copper level, this part of the process would be quick and simpler than breathing. His madra would have been dense and powerful. As it was, Lindon had to focus most of his madra on his palms for three breaths of time as he prepared. It was slow, it was clumsy, and it would never work against a prepared opponent...yet. With more time and training it will be, one day, just not today.
But he wasn't facing a prepared opponent.
The Double Empty Palm landed accurately, just below Keth's abdomen, along with invisible thorns that he drove like a hammer driving a nail. Lindon felt his own madra snapping into the man's core, sensed the shiver of feedback that ran through the spiritual lines that crossed his body like veins.
Keth's eyes widened in shock from his madra being disrupted, but the true terror came as the force of Lindon's Double Palm caved in his stomach. A shockwave of force launched Keth backwards, blood spilling from his mouth, leaving streaming lines of red mixed with spittle in the air ten feet from where he finally landed. Just as his back slammed into the ground, blood gushed out of his mouth as he gasped for air, having whooshed out of his lungs during his flight in the air.
Lindon just stood there, his palms still held outward, one foot behind him, having cracked the floor. Every single person present drew in a sharp gasp, even Kelsa. It sounded like a ghost passing over the crowd. They had stunned looks plastered across all their faces, unable to believe what they just saw; an Unsouled just beat an Iron in one blow.
Before anyone could speak, Lindon bowed to his still downed and gasping opponent. "This one thanks you for your instruction." he turned to face the First Elder, waiting for him to call the match.
The First Elder was in just as much shock as everyone else, his long eyebrows raised, mouth gaped open. It wasn't a look befitting an Elder of the sacred arts, but Lindon could let that slide, he'd just won after all. Coughing into his fist to get the Elder's attention, he waved a hand in Keth's direction, who was just now struggling to his feet, one hand on his abdomen. The Mon head looked like he'd fall to his death at any moment.
Lindon really should have held back more, after all, the Empty Palm disrupts madra, and without it, even an Iron is physically much weaker. But Lindon didn't put much thought to it, his masters had indicated that Iron bodies were almost has durable as the highest tier adept-class body, like his body. That's why he is so shocked that Keth is so damaged. If Lindon had taken his Double Empty Palm strike like Keth did, he'd be hurt and out of air, maybe vomited his stomach's contents, but not wavering to stay conscious like Wei Mon Keth currently is.
How odd? Are even sacred artists of the same level of today so much weaker than their counterparts of the ancient past?
Eventually, the Fist Elder shook off the surprise, for the moment, and announced the results. "Victor. Wei Shi Lindon."
Lindon bows to the elder before moving to rejoin his stunned family, who all seem to be looking at him as if he had just sprouted wings and flew. Everything went just as he planned...well, mostly. Keth wasn't supposed to be in such a sorry state.
"Stand where you are, Unsouled!" Keth roared, and the shout was driven with all the force of his madra and fury. His feet barely steady as power gathered around Keth's fist until it was visible, warping air in a haze that reminded Lindon of the attack Teris used to fell the ancestral tree. "I owe you...a strike," coughing out some more blood in between words.
Lindon quickly moved into a readied stance, both hands raised up by his head, palms out, legs spread wide in the karate Stance of Absolute Defense. After eating the second orus spirit-fruit, he had three times as much madra and could use the Empty Palm thirty more time before running out. But it's still a new technique that takes too much time and effort, he's still very new to using madra. He'll have to use his pure martial arts to finish Keth, which won't take much considering the man's condition.
Fortunately, The First Elder stepped between him, and the Mon family head, his long eyebrows and wispy beard flowing in the morning wind. "Wei Shi Lindon is the victor here, as per the terms you agreed upon. The duel is over."
Lindon let his stance drop, letting out a heavy breath. Using just martial ability to win in a battle against sacred artists is frowned upon and would tarnish his victory.
Even the First Elder's harshest critic could not have found a trace of mockery in his words, but Keth turned to him in a fury. "He cheated! T-that disgraceful technique was an underhanded move to humiliate me!"
"Honor by any means," the elder recited. "A victory is a victory. No matter the means by which it was earned."
Keth drew up in absolute rage, swelling to seemingly twice his size. "He conspired...to ruin my dignity as an Iron! I demand...a rematch! I won't fall for the...Unsouled's tricks again!"
Jaran's laughter was high and scornful as he hobbled his way forward, leaning on his cane. He'd finally overcome his confusion to side with his son...or at least against an old rival. "Whatever trick a mouse uses, it cannot defeat a lion. If Lindon decided to charge you with a spear, what is that to you? His strength should never have been able to harm you, no matter how he cheated. A true warrior of the Iron stage would not be shaken by a child's punch."
Lindon clinched his jaw and tightened his fists. Even now, they still think he is weak. That he can only win by cheating, but how is using a madra strike considered cheating? Because he's an Unsouled? So, no matter what he accomplishes, it will always be less honorable than a true sacred artist.
His sister walked up to him and place her hand on his shaking shoulder. "Well done," she whispered. "And you have some explaining to do, later."
Lindon turned to look Kelsa in the eyes, seeing...pride. Not an ounce of pity, shame, or doubt. She saw his victory and strength and accepted it. Of course she did, that's how she's always been. Unshakably truthful and completely fair. It washed away his anger and brought a smile to his face, "Gratitude. I'll tell you whole story later. I promise."
The madra around Keth's fist condensed into spinning balls of purple-edged white fire. Foxfire was only an illusion of flame; it produced no actual heat, but if it touched flesh, it would burn with the agony of real fire.
"I see how the Shi family addresses...members of the same clan," Keth struggled to shout out, trying to drum up support from the audience. "With shame...and dishonor! Grant me a contest against... Shi Jaran, the one responsible...for th..Unsouled, or I will...find my...own satisfaction here." His breath even more labored than before.
The First Elder raised a hand, "Keth, Jaran, I have seen enough. Return to your families. This duel has concluded, and the Shi family is victorious. Do not shame the clan any more than you already have Mon Keth."
A chorus of laughter from the surrounding gallery, at the Mon family's expense, tells how far they've fallen. Most of all Keth. By afternoon, there would be a new Mon family myth: the Unsouled who had struck down an Iron.
Lindon could not deny his pride at the thought, joining his mother farther back in the crowd. She had come out of her own stupor to give him a praising smile, before furiously writing down notes in her tablet as fast as she could.
When the First Elder turned his head, thinking the matter settled, Keth flowed forward. He must have used some movement technique, because one step brought him before Jaran, his fist cocked back to deliver a blow that shone purple with foxfire. Lindon's father raised his hands to defend, but Lindon could tell he'd been caught off guard, and Lindon was too far away to make it in time to save him. His cane fell to the ground as he lifted both hands, his scarred face tightening into a grimace. Lindon was preparing to explode into action, a knife hand readied and aimed for Keth's head. If his father died today, then Lindon would make sure Keth followed him.
The scene flickered.
Jaran and the First Elder had switched places, and now Mon's flame-wreathed fist was crashing down on the elder, not the head of the Shi family. Jaran's hands were still raised to defend himself from nothing, but Lindon's was still poised to kill Keth. For an instant, Lindon's mind refused to accept what he was seeing. Had the First Elder switched places with his father in that breath? How had he not seen it, his masters have moved even faster than that, and he could see their movements now.
In a move that seemed slow and clear-but must have taken half a second at most-the elder held up two fingers. He placed them to the side of Keth's wrist, gently guiding the strike down and to the side. Foxfire swished through the air as illusionary purple-white fireballs struck the stone, dealing absolutely no damage whatsoever.
Jaran lowered his hands, stunned, just as Lindon lowered his knife hand and relaxed his body.
The First Elder continued his movement, moving his two fingers to Mon Keth's shoulder and pushing down. He didn't appear to exert any effort, but the much bigger man collapsed to his knees, his hands behind his back. The elder flicked his sleeve, and intricate stone manacles appeared around his wrists.
Keth shouted, trying to force his way to his feet, but the First Elder had already placed a hand on the man's hair. A ripple of force disturbed the air as it passed through Mon Keth's body, flattening his clothes and sending a pulse of dirt blasting out.
His knees slammed back into the ground, more blood seeping out of his mouth, and he resisted no further.
"Wei Mon Keth has acted in disgrace, bringing shame to the Mon family and the entire clan," the First Elder stated in cold fury. "he'll be imprisoned until the Jade Elders can decide on his punishment. You are all dismissed."
Lindon froze, replaying the scene in his mind.
The First Elder was a Forger on the Path of the White Fox. He couldn't switch bodies, he could only Forge deceptions: copies of reality made of dreams and light with no real substance. White Fox illusions had no structure and could not resist the weakest attack; they relied entirely on crafting a perfect appearance. Forgers had to craft their pictures detail by detail. Considering that Lindon never saw the switch, yet he was able to keep up with the rest of the elder's movements, it must have been an illusion so layered, so complex, that no one saw the original switch until the elder dropped it.
Suddenly Lindon found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the First Elder, the man who had directed the entire scene and maintained absolute control the entire time. It's not the speed or strength of the First Elder that impresses him, but the skill of the illusion that hide movement he was trained to see. Even now, as he instructed two Irons to carry Keth away, he looked no more concerned than a man ordering his breakfast.
It reminded Lindon of his masters, but with sacred arts, real sacred arts. He can't even imagine how powerful his masters would have been with sacred arts like that. How powerful he'll be when he gains that power on his Path.
The Seven-Year Festival is just three days away and Lindon has been preparing for it with everything he has. After his talk with his rarely proud-of-him father, he found out the reason the Empty Palm works so well is because his madra is pure, has no aspect, making it difficult to defend against. Jaran had told him that pure madra has only two uses: activating scripts and shakes the spirit. That it's difficult to strengthen one's spirit without harvesting aspects from the world. He will have to rely on using elixirs and spirit-fruit to grow his spirit at all. Along with various other weakness that using pure madra over a cultivated kind have.
It's not like he plans on cultivating pure madra forever, he would start on a Path as soon as was allowed. Which if he wins in the Festival against a rival clan's Copper, that'll be easier than anyone thinks, the First Elder agreed to make him a copy of the Path of the White Fox.
He still intended to create his own Path using the training he got from Ryozanpaku, but he doesn't know enough yet. He needed to research the Path of the White Fox, and once he did...well, maybe he would find that it fits with his martial arts. Maybe he wouldn't need to explore a new Path at all.
He spent the mornings in the Shi family courtyard with Kelsa, where she helped him try developing the Empty Palm and its principles into his martial arts. As he promised, Lindon told Kelsa about the tomb and the masters of the Ryozanpaku Sect. He even demonstrated what he could do, she couldn't believe his words alone. Meanwhile, his father just assumed the Empty Palm was the whole reason he beat Keth, and his mother suspects something, but doesn't bother asking questions. Which is odd, but Lindon just assumed his mother got the details form Kelsa.
Afternoons were spent on his martial arts training, either out in the woods for privacy or through the training construct. Then the evenings were spent in the archive, that time studying the other technique manuals to which he was allowed access. He never found anything else as perfectly suited for him as the Empty Palm, but he studied the theories. At night, he cycled; though he cycled throughout the day whenever he could.
The cycling technique in the Heart manual was intended to prepare him for splitting his core, which he never expected to need. Still, it was also a technique meant to improve madra manipulation, and thus a better match for him than the Wei clan's Foundation technique. So, he continued to use it.
It was only a few hours before noon, when Kelsa advanced to Iron during their training. The illusions that were let loose from her advancement nearly drove him mad, only the strength of his will kept him from tearing his own eyes out. She was a Ruler, so her Iron body wasn't the strongest, but better than she had before, still not enough to hurt Lindon in a spar, to her shame.
The same night she advanced; the clan turned out for a celebration in honor of Wei Shi Kelsa. Even some guests from the other two clans and four schools were in attendance, having arrived early for the Festival. The Patriarch presented her with her new badge in front of all the gathered families, and the First Elder gave her a polished case containing a trio of valuable elixirs. They represented a significant expense for the clan, but the wise gambler bet on the fastest horse. Resources went to strengthen those who were already strong, not bring up the weak.
It was the way life worked, and Lindon had no cause to complain. He might as well complain that the heavens hadn't given him a stronger soul. Instead, he looked forward. His sister was ready for the Seven-Year Festival, and he'll finish his own preparations.
That same night, Lindon was deep in the woods still in Wei territory, finishing up his final preparations. He'd squeeze as much training as he could get in before he had to sleep. With Kelsa's help over the weeks since his fight against Mon Keth, he'd figure how to control the flow of madra inside his body, to a limited degree. It was in no way an enforcer technique, but around as good a non-Enforcer Copper could do. He still relied heavily on his physical strength, that he'd have to control perfectly so as to not kill those he'll face in the Festival. That control allowed him to release the Empty Palm quickly enough for use in combat.
With this new madra control, he has been practicing enforcing his blows and combining Empty Palm into his martial techniques. The hardest combinations were the ones that involved using Empty Palm in other parts of his body, like kicks, elbow and knee strikes. It was almost impossible, with the little bit of madra control he had, to infuse it into complex moves like his Mubyoshi: a rhythmless punch he created by infusing the aspects of karate, kenpo, jujitsu, and Muay Thai into one move.
The continued shattering of bark and falling trees, none of which were ancestral, showed his weakness. Enforcing his already monstrously strong body made it impossible to contain his strength to the point that the Foundation and single Copper challenger wouldn't die from one blow. His control of madra wasn't good enough yet, throwing off his impeccable control of his body. Sure, he could aim at limbs, crippling his opponents, but that'd be frowned upon in Foundation stage fights.
Lindon will have no other choice but to either land a soft Empty Palm and gently push the kids out of the ring or defeat them with just his martial abilities. Neither option will be considered honorable, but he'll win and get to face a Copper-that he'll beat-earning the promised Path manual. And that's all that matters.
With the night fully set in, Lindon made his way back home, he should get some rest before the Festival. His physical condition is just fine, but extensive use had put strain on his madra channels, and those could use some rest. That was when he saw the arena for the Festival.
The Wei hosted the Seven-Year Festival this year, an honor and responsibility that increased the pressure on their families to perform well. As a result, the clan's Enforcers had been working for over a year to construct a brand-new arena in which to display the contests.
The arena was circular and made almost entirely of orus wood, with one huge script etched around the inside to prevent power from spilling over the audience. The seats were tiered in layers and separated by clan colors-purple and white for the Wei clan, green and gray for the Li clan, and brown and red for the Kazan. One higher box would contain guests from the four Schools, separating them from the common rabble outside.
The stage itself was a square of pure white stone a hundred yards to a side, divided in eight sections by lines in the floor. The Foundation children would use all the sections at once, with eight fights happening simultaneously until the number of participants was reduced. The Coppers would use a quarter of the stage each, the Irons half, and any pair of Jades who decided to settle a grudge or demonstrate their skills for the younger generation would have the whole stage to themselves.
Outside the arena were four polished wooden columns, each ringed in script and topped by Forged snowfoxes. These five-tailed white foxes, each an almost exact copy of Elder Whisper, paced on their columns or yawned or licked their paws just as live sacred beast would have. They would be indistinguishable from life to every sense except touch, which explained why they were elevated so far above the ground.
If not quite famous in the Wei clan, Lindon was at least known, and the guards allowed him inside on the pretext that he was checking a script for his mother, which he would, eventually. She had led the work on the four foxes, for which she was expecting a reward from the Patriarch.
Under the protection of his mother's name, Lindon has a thorough look around, inspecting the stage, the columns, the seats, and especially the ground inside the arena. His masters had taught him that a warrior should always be as familiar as they could with their surroundings. Knowing where you are on the battlefield at any given moment could be a defining opportunity for victory or defeat.
He made sure to memorize the distance and measurements of the entire arena and each section. Knowing how much range of motion he was allowed and the distance between him and his enemy will be vital. Then, because he did say that was why he was there, Lindon checked the scripts. He made sure they were all functioning properly and that their power was steady and stable. Most don't know it, but he is very skilled with scripts in the Wei clan, only his mother being better than him. It shouldn't be that much of a surprise, it's the only sacred art he can somewhat study and use, and they're not as well watched as the Path manuals.
He was checking the last column's scripts when his mother's voice sounded behind him.
"Still practicing?"
Lindon turned to face his mother. "Your son is honored to see you here, Mother. But why...I mean, if I may ask why you..."
Seisha saved him the effort of explaining by walking forward and examining the column. Her drudge gurgled as it floated over her shoulder, scanning the scripts.
"While the arena is under construction, the staff answer to me," Seisha said, kneeling to run a finger along the runes. "I asked them to report anyone entering tonight, but I never thought it would be you."
Lindon was worried his mother would think he was tampering with the arena, which he wouldn't, his opponents are too weak to warrant needing underhanded tactics. Besides, he needs honorable victory to get what he wants from the clan. Having not done anything wrong, he replied, "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, then."
Seisha stood, flipping brown hair over one shoulder. "You can think of nothing else you've done that might warrant an apology?"
A confused look crossed his face, not sure what she meant. He hadn't tampered with anything in or around the arena.
She took a long look at him, and then around them with brown eyes, lighter than anyone else in the clan. "Back home, we had a saying. 'The disciple follows the master, but the genius blazes their own trail.' You should be more careful about your movements."
Lindon wasted a second on astonishment before realizing he was still dirty from obvious effort and should have snuck in instead of lying to be allowed entry. "Mother, are you calling me a genius?"
"Obviously not. It's just a saying." He couldn't deny a moment of disappointment before his mother continued. "Nonetheless, I'm proud of you."
He felt his spirit soar as his mother's words danced through his mind, so it was several minutes before he thought to ask a question. "Who were you expecting?"
She gave him a wry glance. Because he knew her, he knew what it meant: she had hoped he wouldn't ask that question. But Wei Shi Seisha would answer it anyway, because she believed that curiosity should always be rewarded. "Have you heard any rumors about the Li clan recently?"
The First Elder had said they were too quiet when he went to get his promise for a Path manual, suspiciously so, but Lindon suspected he wasn't supposed to have that information. He shook his head.
"Three months ago, they purchased an unusual item from an auction. A fragment of a stone tablet dating back thousands of years ago, supposedly found at the base of the Nethergate. It was covered in runes that may have had some...unique properties. But no one could ever prove it."
"What sort of properties?" Lindon asked, leaning forward in curiosity.
"It looked like half of a script intended for direct spatial transportation. The stuff of myths. Walk into one circle and emerge in another one a world away, stories like that. I examined the tablet myself, before the Li clan bought it, and I could not confirm it."
Still, Lindon's imagination burned with the possibilities. That really was the stuff of legends, things that only Sages of the ancient past could do.
"Since they bought the tablet, we haven't heard much from them at all, but we started to receive reports that they've been hunting specific Remnants. A rabbit that crosses yards in the blink of an eye. A bat that can vanish into nothing. A mole that burrows through the air. We believe they're trying to condense spatial madra."
Spatial madra. It sounded ridiculous. "Apologies, Mother, but how could that be? How could madra take on the form of space?"
She pointed at him, and he knew he'd struck the heart of the matter. "It can't. Madra can imitate anything from fire to dreams, and we call those forms 'aspects.' Obviously, to speak of space having form is absurd. They are actually seeking to pierce and control space using madra, which should be impossible."
Lindon knew that it once was, but through the Authority of a Sage, not madra used by Jades. But there had to be more to the story, or his mother wouldn't be so uneasy. "Then the Li clan is wasting their time. And their money."
"I've worked with some of the Li Soulsmiths, who would be leading any project involving Remnants. They're underhanded and some of their theories are suspect, but they wouldn't commit clan resources to a project unless they had reason to believe it could succeed. That is what scares me. Everything I've heard leads me to believe that they're investing everything into a fool's dream, so they've either gone insane...or they know something we don't."
Lindon shivered at the thought. If the Li clan did try something during the Festival, and it involved legendary Sage powers, it could turn into a bloodbath.
Seisha broke him out of his thoughts. "If you've finished examining the arena, we should leave. It won't be long before someone asks what we've been doing here."
On their way out, Lindon asked a question that had unnerved him as soon as he'd thought of it. "Will the Li clan try something during the Festival?"
"Undoubtedly they will," she said, deep in her notebook. When he responded with uneasy silence, she elaborated. "The clans always try something during the Seven-Year Festival, because it's the best time to strive against one another. They'll propose 'sure' bets or try to rig trading agreements. Nothing unusual. As for our earlier discussion-" They were walking past a guard, who nodded to them as they left. "-I suspect it will take them years before they have anything functional. Real research takes generations to perfect."
"Then why were you expecting them tonight?"
She gave him a wry smile. "Because I try to expect the worst."
All the important events of the Seven-Year Festival were to take place later, once the esteemed guests had settled in. It would take several days for everyone to arrive from all over Sacred Valley, and the Wei clan wanted as broad an audience as possible.
But the Foundation fights were scheduled for the first day.
Lindon understood why. These were children, after all; while each clan would still try to make sure its children were the best trained in the sacred arts, there was nothing at stake beyond pride. When a clan revealed a new talent at the Iron level, then they were displaying a new military power. Likewise, Coppers were the future of the clan. Showing weakness before rivals could be a clan's death sentence.
As for the Foundation stage, unless a boy or girl revealed a truly extraordinary genius talent, these fights existed only to give the children experience. A victory would gain face for the clan, but nothing remarkable.
That is why Lindon had tried to use his victory against Mon Keth to get the First Elder to let him fight in the Copper stage instead, but the elder still believed that his victory had everything to do with his Empty Palm and the strategy he used and wouldn't let him. That, and it was against the rules to allow someone from a different stage to fight in another level, even a higher one. He is Foundation level and if he wants the Path manual he'll have to clear the Foundation stage, allowing him to challenge a sacred artist from the level above-Copper-and win to bring enough honor to the clan to earn a Path.
Lindon's wooden badge seemed to burn on his chest as he waited on the bench with the other Foundation-level Wei fighters. They're all dressed in white training robes, even him. The seats that he'd seen empty a few nights before now roared with life as sacred artists from all over the Valley gathered.
Beside him, the oldest person on the bench was a twelve-year-old girl from the Chen family. Three years younger than we was, and already on the verge of breaking through to Copper. The fact that he could beat her blindfolded and bound in chains tore at his insides. If not for his weak spirit, he'd be considered a Jade and worshiped as a genius, not the Unsouled shame of the Wei clan.
The arena spread before him, a huge square of pale stone, but now it looked as vast as a field of snow. When he won, everyone would see it. Not just those in the Wei clan, who saw a glimpse of what he can do, but the Li and the Kazan as well. They would see what an Unsouled can do when they put their everything into becoming strong.
He looked up to the corner of the arena, where a five-tailed snowfox curled up on a pillar. It opened its eyes as though sensing his attention, staring at him with a gaze of absolute black.
Elder Whisper and his mother had both told him to move forward. Today they'll see their faith in him was warranted.
His time of glory has finally come.
A powerfully built man-by sacred artists standards, not his masters'-in elaborate purple-and-gold shadesilk glided past the bench, his thick beard blending in with his wild hair until he looked like a silver lion. He winked at the children, ignoring Lindon, his jade scepter badge hanging over the White Fox emblem on his chest.
Wei Jin Sairus, the Wei Patriarch, rarely involved himself in the day-to-day workings of the clan. The elders handled such mundane matters. He was the idol for the younger generations to follow, the sacred artist fixated entirely on his Path, seeking power to exclusion of all else. When he did emerge from seclusion, it was usually to battle a powerful Remnant, seek out rumors of newfound treasures, or directly threaten a rival clan. He personally represented a significant fraction of the Wei clan's strength.
Wei Jin Amon, the Patriarch's blood grandson, followed at a respectful distance behind. He was dressed in white, an iron badge hanging from his neck though he was only seventeen, and he carried a spear wrapped in shimmering green shadesilk. His hair was long and thick, tied back until it flowed behind him like a black river, and some of the less flattering rumors said he spent as much time caring for his hair as he did practicing his sacred arts. His gaze did land on Lindon, cold and calculating, but passed by in a breath.
The excited hammering of Lindon's heart redoubled. The Foundation fights weren't important, but now the Patriarch and his grandson-a future disciple of the vaunted Heaven's Glory School, a shame he couldn't fight him in front of everyone-were both here to witness. What was happening? Surely, they had something more important to be doing besides watching Lindon beat up ten-year-olds.
Seconds later, he had his answer, and it raised his hopes. Rather than joining the Wei section and sitting among their family, Sairus and Amon greeted some of the elders and moved on. They walked over to the stairway leading up to the box reserved for visitors from the four Schools.
And Lindon realized there were people up there. How'd he miss that? Huh, he must have been too excited to have noticed. Actual School disciples, the elites of Sacred Valley, there to see him succeed.
Now that he was watching, he could pick them out. A young woman with purple robes and a crown of ivy represented the Fallen Leaf, hopefully they aren't still mad about the spirit-fruit he took out from under them. The boy wrapped in white and gold, seemingly even younger than Lindon, would be there for the Heaven's Glory School. The man for the Golden Sword wore plates of iron sewn onto his clothes, and his goldsteel sheath gleamed. That left the old woman in gray to represent the Holy Wind, and she appeared as absolutely ordinary, but Lindon's senses suggested that she was just as dangerous as the other Jades.
He sat up straighter, his fist tightening and a grin crossing his face. After beating the Copper today, the clan would be looked upon as fools if they didn't start funding his advancement. The beginning of his future as a sacred artist will truly start today.
The three clans didn't account for the entire population of Sacred Valley-far from it-but they ruled by virtue of superiority in the sacred arts. Those who followed the Path of the White Fox were stronger and better-trained than those wild practitioners without the support of a large family, and the Wei could afford to produce elixirs that the most powerful sacred artists needed to advance.
The Four Schools were on another level entirely.
They focused completely on the sacred arts, to the exclusion of all else, and their disciples were selected from among the best of the clans. Wei, Li, or Kazan...it didn't matter, so long as the disciple was promising enough, and wasn't so old that they couldn't still switch Paths. It was said that any Jade expert from the Schools was on par with the Patriarch of a clan, and each School had enough Jades to tear every Wei to pieces.
A School disciple would be well within his rights to strike an ordinary clansman down with no explanation. If Lindon's fight offended the senses of honored guests overhead, they could kill him, not that he would just let them, but he'd have to flee his clan forever, a bounty out on his head. The Patriarch would more than likely apologize for wasting their time, and if Lindon fled, he'd probably offer up the Shi family in exchange.
A hand rested on his shoulder, and Lindon turned to see his father, face stern. "Do not shame us in front of the esteemed guests from the Schools," he said. "There are worse things than a clean death."
Seisha pushed him aside, drudge still floating over her shoulder. "Keep your eyes open. Learn what you can. However, it turns out today, it's not the end of your path."
Behind her mother, Kelsa nodded. "You'll do fine. I might not have to win the entire Iron trials," a knowing smile gracing her lips.
Lindon looked at his family. Each of them had shown up for a word before the matches, which was more than he expected or deserved. He was warmed by the mere fact that they had tried, and he dipped his head to show his gratitude.
But the warmth was balanced by cold knowledge: only Kelsa expected him to succeed. His mother, who saw his efforts didn't. Even his father, who led him to speak with the First Elder and leverage an additional reward didn't. His own parents didn't believe he could do it; they'll see how wrong they are today.
At least Kelsa had more faith in him, that's something. Right?
There was an elaborate welcoming ceremony involving the booming voice of the Patriarch, the blessing of each of the four Schools, and a parade of illusory snowfoxes from the Wei clan elders on the sidelines. Lindon watched none of it. His attention was inside, following the blue-white energy of his madra as it traveled through the complex network of lines inside his body. He guided it, matching it to his breathing, purifying the energy. Cycling it.
When the other children on his bench stood, he was ready.
There were hundreds of Foundation children participating, and he was fortunate enough to be in the first batch. He and fifteen others walked onto the stone stage, as directed by an elder of the Wei clan. He walked into a square, an eighth of the stage, against a boy with jewelry of the Li clan. The boy looked no more than ten, and his eyes were wide as took in the size of his opponent.
A few laughs drifted Lindon's way from the Li and Kazan sections, and he imagined them noticing the fifteen-year-old with the wooden badge. It didn't hurt as much as he had expected it would. This would be the last day anyone laughed at him like that, but this isn't the fight that will prove that.
He and the boy bowed to one another even as the other seven pairs did the same. A purple star flared in the air above them, created by a White Fox technique, and the elder's voice filled the arena. "Begin!"
Lindon stepped forward, bending to get low enough, and tapped an Empty Palm into the boy's stomach, he had to make sure to only let the madra hit the child. A weak palm thrust from him would cripple the boy, so long as he was using the Empty Palm, normally he had enough control to land a hit that would have only done enough damage to win. But madra has to flow through him to use the Empty Palm, ruining that control.
The boy fell to his knees, his spirit failing him, and cupped both hands to his gut with a look of astonishment. Lindon shoved him with a finger over the lines marking the boundary of his square. His plan is to win with gentle Empty Palm strikes, like the one he just used, avoiding harming the children, while showing a sacred art skill. He could just as easily beat them with a quick one fingered shove out the ring, but this a stage to display sacred arts' ability, not just physical strength.
"Winner!" the elder announced, powerful Iron lungs carrying his voice into the distance. It sounded somewhat relieved to Lindon. The elder must have been worried his technique would have done to the Li boy as it did Mon Keth, that'd have killed anyone without an Iron body. A second after the match had started, Lindon walked away.
When the jeers sprouted up among the audience, even among the Wei, he only smiled.
"Cheater!" someone shouted.
"Coward!"
"Trash!"
His smile became a laugh, and he walked back to the bench chuckling. Their insults couldn't touch his sheer delight. Words were nothing, less than nothing, compared to the facts: he had used the sacred arts to overthrow another sacred artist in battle. He was winning like a Copper, using none of his martial ability to be fair to the children.
Not an Unsouled.
He tripped a girl after an Empty Palm, and she stumbled to her hands and knees. When she started to cry, the crowd's shouting redoubled. He actually felt bad about making the girl cry, helping her up to her feet and encouraging her; saying that she'll get stronger one day and that he only won because he was older. She stopped crying, but the jeers didn't. He still found himself grinning all the way back to his seat.
As the sun crept passed noon and Lindon defeated his fifth opponent in a similar manner as the first two. Easy victory was what he always assumed, just not with a sacred art, until he found the Empty Palm. It can make an Iron helpless, of course these Foundation kids never stood a chance. A part of him knows he shouldn't be proud about this, but he's been the shameful Unsouled for so long that he can't help but be proud to be more.
He hoisted a Kazan boy by the red sash, lightly placing him out of bounds. The Kazan section rose up in a furious sea of red and gray, but he just waved at them as he walked away from the stage.
Joy burned in his chest like a torch.
Wei Shi Seisha had stopped watching the exhibition matches as soon as it was clear her son would win. She had expected he would; he was older than all his opponents, had a physique that'd make an Iron envious, and had finally found a technique he could use in spite of his deficiency. She had every confidence that he would grow into a productive member of the clan now, though once she had doubted.
It was when she was inspecting scripts on the pillars that she noticed Li clan jade elders-their jewelry all gold and jade, befitting their status as Jade-stage practitioners-disappearing from the arena. After her drudge had confirmed Remnant samples, similar to the ones the Li clan had recently captured, were nearby, she assumed the Li clan was attempting a coup.
She had one of her assistants inform the First Elder while the other followed her as a guard in pursuit of the Li elders. Using White Fox madra they had made disguises to look like member of the Li clan, hers a full outfit, the assistant's just a green cloak, in case they get caught.
They followed her drudge that was tracking the Remnant signals for five minutes after leaving the arena, spotting a flash of pink light through the trees, along with a man's raised voice. She silenced her drudge, cradling it in her arms like an infant, and signaling her guard to quiet. Carefully, she crept forward.
The Li clan disguise would stop them from attacking her outright, but it wouldn't save her from a thorough questioning...which she would prefer to avoid. Ideally, she wouldn't be caught at all.
Her skin tingled as she slid quietly closer, heart pounding, her well-practiced breathing technique strained by excitement. She hadn't worked against other clans since she reached Iron in her twenty-second year, but she'd missed it. She felt a rare pang of empathy for Jaran; he'd fought far more than she had, in his youth, and lack of that thrill must add to his bitterness.
Seisha stopped when she was close enough to see the Li. They weren't all Jade, but a mix of Jades and Irons. The youngest was older than she was. Nine in total, though she was staring through a flowering cloudbell bush, so she could have missed one or two in the back. They were gathered around a circle in the forest floor, a circle made of tiles. A script.
They'd brought tiles the size of an open hand, each etched with a rune or sigil. When connected properly, they would function as well as a full-sized script circle. It was a technique she'd seen before, mostly in cases where the circle might have to be redesigned quickly.
The three Remnants had been caged and placed at three distinct points around the circle. The blue rabbit chewed frantically at its prison, clutching at the bars with hands that looked almost human. A pink series of swirls that might generously be called a bat flapped in place, fading in and out of existence but still unable to shift through the scripted cage. Finally, a brown-and-black mass with huge silver shovels for claws sat motionless, watching its captors with beady eyes.
All of the Remnants here, and all whole. No wonder her drudge had located their signatures so quickly; she hadn't expected them to be intact and so close.
The Jade man at the head of their party continued speaking, dictating to them as though repeating a lesson taught many times before. "...first the anchor, and then the call. If he doesn't answer, we have to be fresh enough to try again as soon as the next window opens. Shao, have you confirmed our location?"
Seisha didn't know the speaker, but she knew Shao, one of the Li clan's most accomplished Forgers. He was bald and tiny, with an appearance closer to a fresh disciple than an expert at tracking and locating Remnants.
His own drudge, like a gleaming steel sword too fat and dull to be of any use to anyone, sprouted antennae like a pincushion. He listened to its whistles, checked something on a scroll, made a note with chalk and slate, and then consulted a map. Finally, he nodded. "We are, honored elder. He should emerge at exactly this spot, if we time the doorway correctly."
"If we fail again, he will punish all of us," the highest-ranking elder said, voice grim. A palpable shudder moved through Shao, as well as a few of the others. "Let us see that doesn't happen. Are we ready to begin?"
Shao checked a few more notes, his bald head bobbing up and down, before he shot up abruptly. "It's now!" he screamed. "Ignite the script now, now, now!"
The Li elders scrambled for their tiles on the ground, injecting madra into them with a novice's haste. The script glowed white, irregularly at first, but within seconds it had settled into a smooth pulse.
The three Remnants, inside the circle, obviously sensed something was wrong. One and all, they began to screech in the peculiar way of their kind-the mole sounded like an avalanche, the bat like wind whistling through high peaks, the rabbit like the swift beat of a heart.
This is it, Seisha thought, but she hadn't been prepared. From her discovery to the activation of the script had only taken a minute, maybe two. Should she disrupt the script and face the consequences, or run back and tell the First Elder? The Li elders technically hadn't done anything yet. But if she watched, it would soon be too late.
Ultimately, the decision was taken out of her hands.
Only a breath after the script's first light, the Remnants popped and bubbled, as though the ink that painted them on the world had begun to boil. Their complaints grew louder and louder until their bodies fizzed away into motes of light.
That in itself was not so unusual. As they expended power, Remnants dissolved back into the madra that formed them. But she'd never seen it happen so fast, and never to such an effect.
The spots of color, pink and blue and dark brown, swirled around inside the script like snakes in water. They spun closer and closer, getting tighter and tighter, before gathering into a single form that looked like a muddy inkblot.
Only a blink after the process had begun, it was finished. A tiny blue spark flared to life in the center of the ink-stain, glowing brighter every second.
"It worked." Shao breathed, before the light shot into a single line the height of a man. It looked like an edge of light down one side of a doorway, and as she watched, that doorway slid open.
She never saw anything but a rectangle of deep, textured blue light before the whole construction collapsed, the energy of the Remnants dispersing, the power that animated the script fizzling out. For a breath she believed they had failed, that whatever summoning they were attempting had fizzled and died. Then the light cleared.
A man stood in the center of the circle.
His clothes were an oddity for Sacred Valley: he dressed in fine black furs, with a broad belt holding various tools. A sword hung from that belt, straight bladed and unsheathed. Diamonds glistened in each ear, silver chains held diamonds on his chest, and yet more silver and diamonds in his fingers, as though he'd chosen to bedeck himself in an imitation of ice. He wore his black hair short, but streaks of whites ran through it like a tiger's stripes.
Those were his ordinary features, though, the facts about him that her panicked mind couldn't help catalogue. They were not what she noticed first.
When he appeared in the circle, he stretched his wings.
They unfolded at least thirty feet from tip to tip, and the structure of bones and tendons were coal black. But the skin that stretched between them was pale and colorless, as though he'd stripped the wings from some giant arctic bat.
He grinned, flashing fangs. "There is nothing so grand as a second chance."
The Li clansman all but collapsed to their knees, grinding foreheads against the dirt. Seisha was tempted to do the same.
"This one is humbled by your mercy, Grand Patriarch." The elder who had spoken earlier still spoke for the group, even when he was too terrified to raise his head. "Thank you for allowing this modest group the chance to atone for our failure to serve you the first time."
Grand Patriarch. Sickness rolled through her gut. He was a previous generation Patriarch of the Li clan, but she'd never heard of one surviving. Which left only one terrifying possibility: an ancient immortal had come home.
The Grand Patriarch grunted, rolling his shoulder in its socket. "I have not returned to this realm in some time. Tell me, have the Four Beasts come home?"
The elder hesitated, but the Grand Patriarch laughed in response to his own question. "No need to answer. You still live, so they remain abroad. I should like to test myself against them, once the Valley is united."
"Yes, Grand Patriarch. Ah, forgive this one your lowly servant, but this one had prepared something for you." Without raising his head, the elder lifted an object in both his hands.
It was something as mythical as the wings on a human being; something Seisha had never expected to see.
A gold badge, etched with a scepter.
The Grand Patriarch took it, chuckling. "I had forgotten this custom. Are there any other sacred artists of the Gold stage currently in Sacred Valley?"
"Not to this one's poor knowledge, Grand Patriarch."
"Then it will do." The Gran Patriarch slipped the shadesilk ribbon over his own neck, then lifted the badge so he could examine it. "If there were, I would have had you craft something more valuable. Gold is entirely deficient to describe the current state of my advancement."
Judging by the gasps and whispers that traveled through the gathered Li experts, they found that statement as shocking as she did.
The Gold folded his wings, ran a hand through his black-and-white hair, and started off through the woods without another word. The Li hurried after him, clearly startled.
Fortunately for Seisha and her guard, the Li party passed far enough by her that they remained undetected. Unfortunately, the Gold was headed straight for the arena.
As they marched through the woods, the elder hesitantly spoke up. "Forgiveness, Grand Patriarch, but the Festival has only recently begun. The children of the Foundation stage are fighting. Were you to appear now, it would only be an insult to your grand status. This one had planned an event to display your glory, wherein those from the other clans could approach-"
The Gold waved him to silence. "In the face of absolute power, of what use is respect? This task is not worthy of more than one day of my time. I am here today, and so they will bow today."
The Li clan finally left, taking their Grand Patriarch with them, but leaving Seisha in a cold sweat.
"What do we do?" her guard finally asked, whispering even though minutes had passed since their enemies disappeared into the woods.
"We can't risk running into them here," she said, matching his volume. "We should go around. We might not make it in time to warn the Patriarch, but at least there's a chance."
The sun darkened overhead, a gust of wind blasted down on her, and when the Grand Patriarch of the Li clan settled down to the forest floor next to her, she knew there was no chance.
She closed her eyes and accepted death.
After finishing the final round of the Foundation stage tournament by defeating the twelve-year-old girl near reaching Copper with ease, Lindon left the stage. He was prepared for the jeers of those watching, the strange humor rising up in him, but this time there was no scorn. There wasn't much applause either-a handful from the Wei clan, clapping slowly or voicing a few halfhearted words of praise-but the artists of Sacred Valley acknowledged victory above all else. Even when it tasted sour, even when they suspected him of cheating in some way, they still respected success.
The reality of what just happened slowly set in. He'd won a tournament, even a small one, using actual sacred arts. He was a sacred artist, and all of Sacred Valley knew it. He always figured this would happen after earning a Path with his martial arts, but here it is. Earlier than he hoped, and it was so sweet.
Lindon almost walked straight into a barrel-chested man wearing robes of purple-and-gold shadesilk. The Patriarch of the Wei clan smiled at Lindon through his silver mane. "You have the congratulations of our clan, Wei Shi Lindon. There is honor in overcoming a deficiency to achieve victory."
Resisting the urge to drop to his knees, Lindon bowed at the waist, his fists pressed together in respect. "This one does not deserve such kind words, Patriarch." It was the first time the head of the Wei clan had ever addressed him directly.
Sairus rested a broad hand on Lindon's shoulder. "A sacred artist should never be so humble as to refuse what he has earned. You have earned victory today. Let that be enough and return to your family with honor."
Lindon hadn't spoken with the Patriarch before, and only had rumors to judge the man's character. But he could hear the unspoken message in Sairus' words, and his joy dampened. Even the lingering cheers of the crowd faded in his ears.
"Your pardon, but this one is meant to exchange pointers with a senior disciple at the Copper level."
Though Lindon did not move his eyes from Wei Jin Sairus' feet, he could feel the man's frown. "Some of our guests from the Schools were uncomfortable with your performance. It would ease them greatly if we could conclude our events today and begin anew with the Copper fights tomorrow."
He meant that the elders from the Schools had been offended by the sight of a fifteen-year-old Unsouled claiming victory. His bet with the First Elder would go unfulfilled, his plan incomplete. Lindon glanced up at the stands, to try and catch a glimpse of the First Elder's face, but the old man's seat was empty. No help there. The chance of real training was slipping from Lindon's grasp, but he clawed desperately to keep it.
"Our honored guests from the four Schools have yet to witness a true demonstration of our clan's sacred arts, Patriarch. When this one can compete with the Copper from another clan, they will see the strength of the Wei clan. If they are then dissatisfied with this one's performance, this one will of course fully atone."
An unsettling pressure settled on the back of Lindon's neck, like a snake sliding between his shoulder blades. The effect of Sairus' irritation, nothing more, and it was like water off a duck's back to him. His masters had given off much more frightening feelings when training him to withstand intense killing intent.
"I would not wager the honor of my clan on an Unsouled." Painful words, but Lindon reminded himself they were fair, they didn't know his true strength. "Give me some face, disciple, and renounce this exhibition. I do not forget my debts."
Thoughts of the parasite ring, still in the Patriarch's possession, flashed though Lindon's mind. He could take his cycling to the next level with such an artifact, perhaps enough to catch up with his peers' spiritual ability. If he could leverage the Patriarch's debt to even borrow the ring, he could leave his current spiritual weakness behind. But he had no promise from the Patriarch. From the First Elder, he did.
Lindon weighed his own future against the honor of the Wei clan. He found the clan wanting.
In one motion, Lindon dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead against the ground. "Your pardon, Patriarch, but this one must prepare for his exhibition match."
He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating a wave of pain. As a Ruler on the Path of the White Fox, Sairus could make him suffer hours of agony in seconds. He could force Lindon to bow to his will, or even attempt to kill him outright.
Instead, he walked away.
At the sound of his footsteps, Lindon raised his head hopefully, looking out of the corner of his eye. The Patriarch was already signaling to the elder in charge of the tournament, waving him to continue.
Lindon let out a breath of relief. To travel his own Path, he had to reach higher and further than anyone else, becoming the greatest sacred artist in the Valley. Only then would he be able to hold himself with pride in Sacred Valley. He can't be delayed now if he wants to get there.
"Due to a request from our honored ally of the Heaven's Glory School, there has been a slight change in the Foundation stage exhibition," the Wei elder announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the arena. The four illusory snowfoxes turned toward him at once, as though he'd caught their attention.
He'd certainly caught Lindon's.
"The champion of the Foundation tournament, Wei Shi Lindon, will immediately exchange pointers with a senior disciple. This will be an invaluable learning opportunity for both children and will allow the Foundation champion to test the limits of his potential."
Lindon's madra channels were a bit raw, but his spirit is still strong enough to let off let well over a dozen more Empty Palms. He is still in good fighting shape; he was just gently defeating kids. The Patriarch wouldn't get him to surrender this easily.
"And the champion's Patriarch, Wei Jin Sairus, has volunteered none other than his own grandson for this duty. Honorable sacred artists of all Schools and clans, the Wei clan presents to you Wei Jin Amon!"
Suddenly, it was like the heavens have just given him a gift. Beating the clan's genius and heir apparent will shoot Lindon to the top. They'll throw manuals and elixirs at him to make sure he advances as quickly as possible, just to keep the clan's honor. After all, their heir could not have lost to a weakling, they'll have to support him.
Black hair tied back, and spear propped over his shoulder, Amon leaped from the box at the top of the arena all the way down to the stage. He landed with barely a flex of his knees, iron badge swinging against his chest. "Wei Shi Lindon," he announced, his voice full and rich. "I invite you onto the stage that we might learn from one another."
Lindon had to use a considerable amount of his will not to grin madly at his fortune. He straightened his back and started to walk toward the stage. Everything is working out even better than he ever hoped it would.
His sister grabbed him by the elbow, he nearly threw her over his shoulder on automatic response but stopped himself and turned his head at her. "Let me take your place," she whispered urgently, "say you aren't worthy of the honor, and you need a family member to replace you. They will allow it. Amon will push for it. And if I can beat him, no one will disrespect you like this again."
Lindon frowned in disappointment at his sister's continued undervaluing of his abilities, maybe he should have shown her more. Gently he extracted himself from Kelsa's grip. "This is for me."
The doubt was so plain on her face it might as well have been painted across her forehead. "What are you saying? It'll take more than your martial arts to beat the likes of Amon. He's not one of those kids you beat, and he won't let you just hit him like Mon Keth did."
A pained expression crossed his face when he responded. "Even you don't believe in me, sister." She jerked back as if she'd been stuck. "Watch closely Kelsa. I'll show you what this Unsouled can do."
He jogged away from her, actually having to focus to make it look normal and not just appear on the stage. Then he hopped up onto the blocks of white stone, the audience cheered. Looking forward to seeing him torn apart, he was going to disappoint them once again.
Lindon pressed his fists together and bowed. "Wei Shi Lindon is honored to accept your instruction, cousin Amon."
Without returning the greeting, Wei Jin Amon spun his spear down, flipping it in a circle so that the shadesilk wrapping slid off and drifted to the ground. He ended in a ready stance, half-turned and crouched with his spear angled forward and down-Lindon could see the holes in Amon's defense immediately, he's like a newborn having just picked up a spear compared to Shigure sensei. "You have one last chance, Unsouled," Amon said, his voice too low to carry.
His grandfather walked onstage between the two of them, his arms raised to quiet the crowd. "Courage can be cultivated by the weak and strong alike, and Wei Shi Lindon has already demonstrated his courage today. Our clan honors courage, and when it is warranted, we also value humility. Young Lindon, there is no dishonor if you remove yourself from the stage. Rather, we would respect your wisdom in deferring your betters."
In Lindon's place, no sacred artist would be able to refuse. He would lose too much face by contradicting the Patriarch's words in public. This was a perfect strategy on Sairus' part, cornering him between a physical threat and the looming reality of humiliation. He had left Lindon only one honorable way out.
He'd forgotten that Unsouled had no honor to lose, and everything prove.
"The Patriarch's words are a privilege to hear." Lindon said with another bow, "but the opportunity to learn from a disciple as skilled as Wei Jin Amon does not come often. This one would have to be a fool to pass it up."
Sairus scowled even as the sky behind him darkened. "Very well," he said, nodding to Amon. A shadow passed over the sun even as purple foxfire flickered around the head of Amon's spear.
Clouds gathered over the arena, slowly blacking as the Patriarch spoke. "Assembled experts of Sacred Valley, I hope this exhibition proves pleasing to...your..." His words trailed off as he looked into the sky.
Lindon's head snapped up to the sky at the same time as the Patriarch, his entire body screaming at him in danger. He had assumed that the Patriarch has used his mastery of illusion to make the sky seem dark as an attempt to intimidate him. He'd barely given it a thought. But now he's joined Sairus looking into the sky as though a gate to the Netherworld had opened overhead. At least that's what Lindon's sixth sense is screaming at him, death is coming from above.
"Amon," Sairus began, but he was cut off by a voice that boomed through the arena, tearing the air apart with its sheer volume.
"Are you the Patriarch of the Wei clan?"
The crowd shook under the voice, a few people screaming. Lindon glimpsed one woman sprinting for the exit. But he barely paid attention to any of that. His body was trembling in absolute fear as his body's instincts are overloading with primal fear. This feeling of dread is even worse than a full blast of his Ryozanpaku masters' Ki, and that's saying something. Somewhere in Lindon's mind he had come to the conclusion that nothing could be more frightening than his masters must have been in life.
He was very, very, very wrong.
A man descended from the dark clouds like an angry messenger of the heavens. His whole being was defined by shades of black and white, from his black-veined white wings to his black-and-white striped hair. He wore black furs, and diamonds glistened everywhere he could fasten jewelry.
His right hand rested on the hilt of a silver-chased sword, and his left hand clutched a rough sack. Dark stains spread slowly over the bottom of the sack, a metallic smell coming off it, giving Lindon a gruesome guess at its contents.
But his most startling feature, even considering the enormous wings that spread from his back, was the badge that rested against his furs. It was made of solid gold.
Lindon found himself unable to breath, mostly attributed to the man's oppressive atmosphere. Here, descending form the sky, was a Gold. Legends say they are those who mastered the sacred arts of madra beyond mortal dreams, but the Ryozanpaku Elder said otherwise. He did say there were heralds and sages that were stronger in the ancient times they lived in, and Monarchs that went beyond even them, ascending to the heavens. His masters said they were much stronger than Golds and seeing as this being feels even stronger than them, he must be one of the ones that ascended. Right?
So why is this being, that must be at least the Monarch level, wearing a Gold badge?
The arena filled with a sound like muffled drums as everyone, from every School and clan, fell to their knees. Even Sairus dropped to one knee, as was appropriate in the presence of a gold, but the sight of him kneeling struck Lindon as wrong. Like an eternal mountain suddenly swaying with the wind.
"This one's humble name is Wei Jin Sairus, and he indeed has the honor to lead the Wei clan," Sairus said. "May this one know the honored elder's name?"
The man of black-and-white landed before Sairus, his wings extending to fifteen feet on either side of the Patriarch. The shadow of his wings fell on Lindon's face, and though Lindon shivered, he didn't avert his eyes. Sudden though it was, this event was going to redefine the history of the Sacred Valley, and he couldn't miss it. No matter how the sight of a supposed Gold made his senses scream in terror. He can actually feel this creature's Ki, no, Authority wieghing down on him without consciously doing so.
For a few seconds, the stranger stood over Sairus, his golden badge the only color on his person. He finally spoke in a casual tone, though wind aura carried his voice to every ear in the arena. "I am Li Markuth, Grand Patriarch of the Li clan."
Sairus' silver-maned head snapped up in shock. One breath later, Markuth's hand blurred, even to Lindon's eyes that have been trained to follow moves too fast to see, and a spray of blood slapped Lindon in the face.
He fell to the ground, heart hammering, scraping warm and sticky blood away from his eyes. He's been trained in total darkness, to compensate for loss of sudden vision, but still, he panics. He had to see, to know if the white-winged horror from the Li clan was coming for him next.
The sight to greet his eyes was the Patriarch's headless corpse collapsing to the stone, staining it red. Markuth had struck his head entirely off.
"The sins of the father pass to his sons, as the sins of the mother pass to her daughters," Li Markuth intoned, wiping blood from his fingers on his dark furs. "To pay for the evil of your clan's founder, every beating heart would not be enough. So, I will settle for two."
The Grand Patriarch spun around, thrusting his clawed hand into empty space.
Slowly, Wei Jin Sairus' body dissolved into foxfire. Even the blood on Lindon's face flared with heat before dissipating, revealing itself as a Forged dream. Light lurched, and the Patriarch appeared out of nowhere. His head was attached, but now his chest was impaled on the Grand Patriarch's fist.
Sairus tried to speak, but Li Markuth tore his hand back, clutching the other man's heart. Blood dripped from the Grand Patriarch's gore-soaked fist.
Out of tricks, the Wei Patriarch fell to the stage and died.
Markuth opened his fist, and a heart dropped out on top of the corpse with a splat. "One heart. I will collect the other in time."
Black-and-white wings folded up behind the Grand Patriarch, trailing him like a leather cloak. A white-and-purple Remnant began to peel itself from the Patriarch's corpse, but Markuth crushed it beneath his heel and the madra dispersed.
He looked straight at the box containing the elders from the clans and the guests from the four Schools. "I believe in solving my problem directly. Let it be known that I intend to claim the whole of Sacred Valley as my personal territory. If there are any challengers, step forward now. All at once, if you please. I will not waste my entire night fighting every Jade in the Valley one at a time."
Markuth lifted the bag that had been in his left hand since he'd descended, upending it over the stage. A pair of heads fell out, leaving a trail of blood as they rolled on the pale stone. He tossed the empty sack aside, but Lindon's gaze was fixed.
One of the heads belonged to a man he'd never seen before. He didn't care about that at the moment. He was focused on the other head, the second head, the one whose features were veiled in long hair.
Long brown hair.
His body shivered uncontrollably, madra racing through his veins in a pattern unrestrained by any cycling technique. His blood boiling as his heart hammered the fastest its even done before. His fists tightening to the point blood started dripping down onto the pale stone.
He knew who that head belonged to. He didn't need to see the face. He knew.
The world took on a feeling of unreality, as though he'd been struck by Kelsa's Empty Palm. It was too absurd. Just this morning he'd been preparing to fight a bunch of children and now...now Golds were descending from the sky? His mother was dead?
It was stupid, that was what it was. Idiotic and ridiculous. The world didn't work like this; the world made sense. Only dreams operated without rules or reason, and even his insane dreams of singing flowers and dancing clouds held more logic than this.
Jades began to gather at one end of the stage, old men and women from Kazan and Wei gathering together, mingling under both banners. They argued fiercely, none daring to walk up onstage, but they did gather. In ones and twos, they hurried together, banding together to fight and die with pride.
Not all the Jades joined them. Some stayed in the stands, on their knees.
Markuth laughed, shaking droplets of blood from his fingers. "Is this it, then? Don't hold back, come up. I won't begin until you are ready."
Hatred boiled up in Lindon, and he found himself thinking about joining the Jade elders. Even a Gold-or whatever he was-wasn't immortal. In fact...
The idea illuminated his soul like a sunrise. Li Markuth might be even more dependent on his madra than an ordinary person. His masters even told him that as a sacred artist goes from Gold on up, they use more and more madra to strengthen themselves, some even becoming partially made of madra like Remnants.
What would an Empty Palm do against such a being?
Lindon would die landing that blow, Markuth easily killed Sairus and even at his best estimates-fully armored and armed with his gear at home-he'd have to struggle to beat him, if at all. One of the largest weaknesses of martial arts is no protection from dream madra induced illusions. He will die against Markuth just as easily, that's a fact, but that wasn't worth consideration. He'd grown up with stories of mythical heroes who were killed trading strikes with a blood rival. If he succeeded here, he would live on forever in the myths of the Wei clan. It would be a good death. An honorable death. The death of a warrior.
If even the Empty Palm wasn't strong enough, Lindon could fuse it with his strongest technique, the myuboshi. The combined might of his martial arts and the madra disrupting power of the Empty Palm might be just enough. If he could just weaken or distract the Grand Patriarch for even a fragment of an instant, Lindon's life would be well spent.
The sense of unreality crashed in on Lindon once again, shattering his beautiful delusion. What was he thinking? Here he was, Wei Shi Lindon the Unsouled, considering throwing his life away in a battle against a monster. It was a bad joke, or fanciful poem of someone with too much ego. Even master Ma wouldn't have told such a terrible lie. He couldn't do anything against such overwhelming power. He would only die, with no plan or purpose whatsoever.
He stared at the Li Clan monster, and his hopeful idea died. The truth settled on him like the fall of night: there was nothing he could do. No reason to try. He was too weak.
Li Markuth spread his arms and his wings, and the sky darkened even further, until night fell over Sacred Valley. The whole arena shook as he called on the vital aura of the world, the four white fox pillars crumbling to rubble. Only Markuth shone in the darkness, his body outlined by white power. "The world is wide outside your narrow Paths," he said, even as the crowd of Jades prepared their techniques. "Let me guide you."
The Jade elders of the Wei and Kazan clans walked onstage in solemn procession, summoning foxfire or forging bright red blades. They spread out in front of Markuth, some forty or fifty of them, and from their faces Lindon knew they were each prepared to die.
And in that moment, Lindon decided to die with them.
Maybe he was too weak, and his death would accomplish nothing. But it was better to die on one's feet than live on one's knees. Especially, when even on your knees you're just waiting for death without even trying.
Besides, Markuth killed his mother.
When Lindon stood up, Markuth didn't so much as move his eyes. It was as though anyone less than Jade didn't even exist to him. When the first ranks of Wei elders moved toward him with madra ready, The Grand Patriarch condensed wind and shadow around each of his fists.
Lindon crept in front of him, still unnoticed. He didn't even glance down, paying Lindon no more attention than he did the stones beneath his feet. The sky overhead flashed white.
And Lindon, ignored by the Grand Patriarch, held his hands up vertically, a foot apart, elbows bent as they touched Markuth's abdomen. Then in one fluid motion he unleashed the Empty Myuboshi; his left arm pulling back as his right fist spun into the monster's abdomen, driving his pure madra into his core. A small shockwave went through the Li, going right out his back, kicking up a small cyclone of wind.
It was as though he'd splashed water on a boulder. Honestly, the physical force of his myuboshi-infused with his Ki-did more, and by more, just a slight micro-twitch of the abdominal muscles. It also shattered all the bones in Lindon right hand, wrist, and arm from the backlash, like he punched a mountain of pure diamond.
Even legends never suggested that a Foundation-stage child could harm a Gold. It was like a fly attacking a tiger...no, attacking a mountain. If everyone at the Foundation stage in all of Sacred Valley joined hands and pooled their madra, they couldn't do so much as ruffled the clothes of the Grand Patriarch of the Li clan. Lindon should have known better.
He should have remembered his place.
His force vanished uselessly, and Markuth backhanded him in the midsection. Even in the end, he didn't give Lindon a single glance.
The casual slap of the "Gold" struck hard enough to knock him backwards off the stage, but somehow it didn't hurt. He landed in the dirt, his body not correcting like it had the roughly four thousand times he's been thrown through the air, but the air had already vanished from his lungs. His mouth flapped open, trying to grab a breath, but it was a though the air had disappeared.
He tried to roll to his feet, but nothing happened. He remained on his back, his head shaking from side to side. Lindon strained his eyes, looking down, to see how bad his injures were.
I'm still dreaming, he realized, when he didn't see his legs. That was the only explanation. He'd been a fool to consider any of this real. Golds didn't descend from the sky, the Patriarch couldn't bow, his mother didn't die for no reason, and his legs were supposed to be at the end of his body.
It was comforting to know that he was dreaming. Soon he would wake up, and then everything would make sense again. In fact, he could feel exhaustion pressing down on him like a blanket. Maybe that was what waking up felt like, in a dream.
His head flopped to the left, and he caught a glimpse of his father and sister. Kneeling, like the rest. Kelsa's eyes were fixed on his, glistening with tears, her face pale. Why was she so sad? This was just a dream; she shouldn't worry so much.
Jaran wasn't looking at him at all but was fixed on the battle between Markuth and the Jades. He had to admit that hurt, even if it wasn't real.
He let his eyes slide shut to hide the sight of his kneeling father. When he woke up, everything would be all right again.
That was Lindon's last thought before he died.