Lindon, History's Strongest Unsouled

by FallenDispair

What if the Unsouled received training from the Masters of Ryozanpaku? How much will change about the young man? How will that effect the fate of Cradle? Come inside and find out what happens when martial arts meet spiritual magic. Better sum inside. Being rewritten to shorten the chapters but adding more chapters and a few changes. Chapters one & two rewrite done.

1. Chapter 1

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. I also recommend picking up the audiobooks too, the narration is great.

This first chapter is 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 10/01/2023: corrections and some changes to the Elder's past and replacing Shiho with Hongo -I like his karate style better.

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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 was dangling around his neck.

Every sacred artist in Sacred Valley had one, though as they advance in the arts their badges were 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 was the pinnacle of the sacred arts and anyone who reached that level in the Valley were respected all over.

Lindon, like most sacred artists of Sacred Valley, dreamed of one day reaching Jade. But that was 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 was an Unsouled and his badge reflected that fact with a word from the old language, that his mother taught him, meaning 'empty.'

Every badge, no matter the advancement, had a symbol on it based off of the response of the liquid, pure madra in a bowl when a child placed 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 Soulsmith 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 had taken, the madra never reacting, he had no affinity to his spirit. He was 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 would never be allowed to follow a Path and become a sacred artist as an Unsouled. The clan would only allow him to use the most basic cycling technique every foundation child was taught. No one would 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'd never go beyond the foundation stage to serve his clan, not even being allowed to try. He couldn't marry, not wanting his deficiency to pass along to his children.

Tears were welling up in Lindon's eyes as he aimlessly wandered 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 was 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 was 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 was the only hope of the Shi family gaining any honor in the Wei clan. At least his mother said she'd still allow him to help her with her soulsmithing work, but only the basic grunt work. She wasn't 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 scampered to his feet in panic. His head swiveling around as he frantically searched his surroundings. Dreadful thoughts started 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 joined in. Where was it coming from? Can he hide before whatever it was finds him? The bushes and trees have never seemed so threating before in his entire life. The slight rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs sounded like glass shattering to him. The world seemed to be tilting as his heart hammered in his chest.

Wait. That wasn't his imagination. He was slowly tiling to his right as his foot felt tight. Looking down at his feet, Lindon saw his feet being sucked into the dirt as the ground gave way. He was 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 struck the ground and blacked out.

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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 were splayed on and around him. The throbbing pain in his head and the mercury taste in his mouth told 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 was 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 feared that he was dead. Thinking along those lines, he realized that the pain had 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 would write him off as dead and move on with their lives. No one else would even care, several would be pleased that the shame of the Wei clan did something as useful as dying. Now the Unsouled couldn't shame them in front of the other clans and schools in the Seven-Years Festival, five years from now.

As Lindon's eyes began to close, as he started accepting his death, a burning hot feeling from his core ignited. Not his madra or actual core, they were still as pitiful as always, but the anger and... what was this feeling...desire? Want? No. Hunger...Yeah that was it. Rage and hunger for power, for more filled 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'd fight for it.

He'd suffer for it.

Tear his own soul apart just for the chance to be more.

This couldn't be where he died. How he died. Lindon wants more, more, more, more, more, more, MORE. His eyes blazed from his passion but were quickly forced shut as an overwhelming light filled the carven. At that moment Lindon was afraid that he insulted the heavens for asking for more than what they had chosen to give him, and now they were going to smite him for it. Snapping up as quick as he could, 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 noticed 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 could only power scripts. Yet not a single one of them were familiar to him. Which wasn't all that surprising really. He wasn't allowed access to most script manuals, the only kind he was allowed to look at were only the most basic and non-combat types. The aching pain and sudden excitement at the sacred arts in front of him confirmed the fact that he must be alive. You weren't supposed to feel pain when you were 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 could see. "Which way is out?" he wondered. No, not out. He could worry about getting out later. This place, whatever it was, was 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 powered scripts. Where there was 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 conjured all the hidden secrets and power waiting for him to discover. And if he was lucky, maybe some spirit-fruit or elixirs that could strengthen his madra.

The only question was 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 fear entered Lindon as he looked towards the downward hallway. What was down there? What if there were 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 would 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 grateful 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 needed it over some Unsouled that could never practice the sacred arts. 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 would get all that he could here before telling anyone about this place. He would fill his hunger for the sacred arts, to his satisfaction, first and foremost. Several of his peers were nearing Copper while his madra core hadn't change even in the slightest. This was the only way he could catch up. So, without another thought, Lindon headed down deeper.

It was 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 have been on his side, seeing as he doesn't seem to have broken anything. He was tender, bloody, and bruised, but that was all. 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'd 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 could guess why. Some scripts had 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 looked 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'd make sure to always have a pack filled with anything and everything he could ever need when going out. He could really use some water right about now.

The better prepared he was, the better off he'd be.

Lindon used the stone wall, the only light source left to guide his progress, hoping there weren'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 have been 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'd drain him of all his madra or trapped him in place until he died.

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 was only reasonable that if it took 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 couldn'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 could 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 had 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 an enormous, all-consuming pressure slammed down on him, threatening to crush his entire being. He felt like he was in the clutches of a god that was intent on crushing him like a bug.

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. With every ounce of power, madra and will he had, Lindon shoved back against it. It had as much of an effect as a flea attacking a mountain, but he still kept pushing with all his worth. If he was going to die, it wouldn't be because he gave up.

[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 were closed shut as he focused 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 had 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 was 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 started 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 looked like a white training robe top, strange sandals, and he had pupil-less white eyes with thin zig-zag eyebrows, and a thin mustache. (Akisame Koestuji from Kenichi: History's Strongest 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 was 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 tall as the tan giant with a slim frame yet sported a well-defined and muscular build. He was light-skinned with long-straight black hair that framed both sides of his face with some bangs hanging over his face. He also sported a small and scruffy mustache. His most noticeable trait was his long pointy ears and a large scar running down the left side of his face near his eye. He was wearing tight black outfit with a flowing backside and gloves. "I'm Akira Hongo, Master of the strongest martial art: Karate."

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 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 his own age. He couldn't sense or see madra at the foundation level, yet he felt power rolling off these masters of their arts...arts he'd never heard of before. Were 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 frail to me. He'll be lucky to survive three days of our training." Akira Hongo stated cooly. "Let alone inheriting all our techniques and styles."

The smallest and least muscled one, Ma, stated, "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 amazingly, the man was dodging all the stabs and slashes with ease and a disturbing grin on his face.

The woman commented 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...at least in the conventional sense." 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 willpower enhanced 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, when I was six my core was destroyed, nearly killing me, if not for the remarkable restoration abilities of my mother and the best life elixirs I would have died. Even so, I was reduced to a spiritual cripple. 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, as 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 shattered core and deformed madra channels I could be useful. It was 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 my mother was an accomplished Sage and my father a powerful Herald, and they refused to let me wallow away in despair. You see, Lindon, the height of scared arts involves the usage of strong, developed willpower into their techniques and bodies to push them beyond limit."

Lindon nodded, desperate to know what Sages and Heralds were, but was ecstatic at learning about powerful scared arts.

"They helped me devise a way to strengthen my willpower, which started with pure physical conditioning and martial training. It was agonizing and slow but eventually bore fruit as I was able to move and fight with the ease of an Iron sacred artist. Then, by pitting their overwhelming willpower against my own, they further advanced my willpower to the point I could battle Golds."

"Golds!" Lindon exclaimed.

The Elder quirked an eyebrow but put it aside and continued, "Over decades I experimented with willpower and my martial art's abilities. Breaking down the process into three vital stages of advancement in willpower. The initial stage being the Invoking of willpower: channeling your willpower inward to strengthen your body's abilities. The second stage is the Release of willpower: releasing willpower outward from your body to create a sense that extends like a Jade's spiritual senses we call Seikuken. The third and most difficult stage to master is Holding of willpower: which allows the user to not only release but freely control their willpower in and out of their bodies, even able to pull in and direct aura, giving us the ability repel or dismantle Ruler techniques."

"Then, when I reach that stage, I can take in aura and have a Path," theorized the young boy.

The elder tapped his chin in thought before responding, "It's possible but we never tried as our spirits were incapable of holding madra or taking in vital aura."

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, but physical conditioning and willpower." Seeing Lindon's mouth opening with his misgivings, Elder held his hand up to silence him.

"Obviously there are things we can't do that sacred artist can, but that's true from one Path to another. But the foundation of our Paths is based off the willpower workings of Sages and Heralds. Eventually we reached the level of Archlords, just shy of the peak of scared arts power."

"Excuse this one for interrupting. Are Archlords Gold?", Lindon asked in awe.

That got the Elder to start bellowing out in laughter, "No. No child. Lords 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 was 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 was devouring the tomb's reserves. But something that powerful was beyond this weaker generation of sacred artists, and he was a spiritual type of entity bound to this tomb now.

There was nothing he could 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? Willpower can go beyond limitations. 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 smiled before his face scrunched 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 capable of detecting anything with a will, which every living, conscious thing has a will, but it can't sense madra. Willpower focused inward can drastically increase one's attack and defensive power to inhuman levels with proper training and control, much like an Iron body. Once you get to the first level, Invoking of willpower, 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 use willpower 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 willpower, 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 willpower 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 to the point that they can shatter mountains with a single blow."

"Wait. Are Sage and Herald the final stage of the Sacred Arts?" Lindon couldn't help asking.

"Yes. They are beyond the power of mortal understanding and have reached heights of power by pushing their spirits to greater heights through the usage of willpower and Authority."

Lindon then starts to grasp the rest of the Elder's meaning, "So, willpower 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 willpower 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. A Herald's ability to strengthen their bodies and spirits through willpower far outstretched our Invoking of willpower. Punches that shattered mountains and techniques that blotted out the sky. And we can resist the Authority of Sages and surpass them in physical strength, but our own Holding of willpower pales in comparison to their Authority that can directly command the world because they manifest an Icon, which we can't without madra."

"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; 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 without an Icon, though I could break their workings with my own willpower."

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 Sage or Herald. But there was nothing outside Sacred Valley but waste lands incapable of supporting human civilization. Every child of the Valley was taught that early on, but his family had 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 manifest an Icon or match the physicality of a Herald, doesn't mean you can't one day."

"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 was something that bugged him about that.

As if reading his thoughts, the Elder spoke 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 and willpower 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. Then again, they and this entire underground structure were made for this sole purpose. No matter how painful and hard it would 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?" Hongo replied coldly. "You'll need much more dedication if you hope to become a true master of karate."

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, the seem so human. 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 would 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 stopped lighting up at all a few months ago, but he doesn't need light to go down this tunnel. Even in death his body would remember the way to the tomb. The best learned lessons were the ones you couldn'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 had just survived.

He highly doubted that there was 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 was 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 were still several short-term memories surrounding his training that were just gone from his mind. Common injury and issue with warriors.

Lindon was now an adept fighter in all their martial arts and was 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 was 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 needed to advance to at least Copper before starting to show his fighting abilities.

To get to Copper he'd have to show some of it to earn the right to study a path and advance. He was not afraid of losing to any one sacred artist, but the combined might of several experienced Jades could 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'd easily crush the other Foundation children, not much pride in a fifteen-year-old beating a bunch of ten-year-old children, but he needed the win. Then he could challenge a Copper from a rival clan to an exhibition match. Once publicly beating a Copper, the clan would 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'd 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 were nothing like soulsmithing, but they were still impressive. She taught him how to best forge weapons with layered half-silver, gold-steel, and steel. The weapons will greatly disrupt madra's flow and they were 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 willpower being the key to her style. She helped him make kunai, chainmail, tekko for his arms and sangu for his shins that mirrored the Elders.

Shigure sensei had been depressed early on when he didn't take well to her weapons training. Not that he wasn't more than capable with various weapons, but they never quite fit him like the bare-handed techniques of the other styles. Taking to her forging skills helped, but it wasn't until he started integrating her techniques with his knife-handed moves. He could even perform her double-blade strike with his hand, just as sharply as a blade.

Unfortunately, they had a limited supply of half-silver and gold-steel, which meant he had to choose between the armor and a weapon. He'd gone with the armor but mollified her by making a few sets of kunai. There was her two-handed long sword, but it was buried in the stone coffin with her corpse, and he wouldn't disrupt her grave just for a weapon. He could always make one if he needed it later. Shigure's 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'd say his goodbyes to each of them and then seal off the tomb by destroying the tunnel. Hopefully, that way no one would 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 hoped 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 were spread out along the walls of the massive room. Purple dream tablets the size of his own clan house was 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, their will-infused flesh was much stronger and defined, or so they said.

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 was almost see-through this time as he desperately moved 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. He said 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 willpower 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 had shed there, 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 and a will of steel.

But that was just the beginning of Lindon's journey. He was going to start pushing to Copper, and one day he was 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'd 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'd 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 would and had 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. Akisame had 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'd been spending his time away from prying eyes to train properly. There were 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 was what was keeping him at the foundation stage -spiritually that was. He was just born without any talent for one particular aspect, his soul wasn't empty, just weaker. The Elders were stubborn old fools that won't even give him a chance, so absolute was their belief in the falsehoods of their knowledge. That was why he was here.

They won't help, so he'd 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 looked 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 were Iron. The hardest thing to do over the years had 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 was the Seven-Years Festival, so for now, he'd 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 was as unique to Sacred Valley as the orus tree. The symbol of Lindon's Wei clan was the White Fox, in honor of this valley's snowfoxes. Or rather, one snowfox in particular.

Like Lindon, this fox was 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 were they were amateurs. What predator crashes through the forest so loudly when hunting? His masters 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 was going to have to act like he was a threat, even though Lindon could cave in his chest with a single punch. Master Akisame's spirit must be testing his patients and pushing to see if he could 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.

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 had everything. He wanted to leave before they returned, which they would. 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 was better than him as Lindon had yet to reach the Holding of willpower stage. It was why Coppers were supposed to be far stronger than any Foundation stage sacred artist.

Normally Teris could beat him to death with one hand. Unfortunately for Teris, he had trained his body to be even stronger than Iron stage sacred artists. As his masters have always told him, it was 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 were as weak as a newborn kitten. Plus, the weaker their flesh was the greater the limitation of how much madra could strengthen them.

It was 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 returned, but there was no guarantee Teris wouldn't remember what he did, and Lindon couldn't use the Elder's Amnesia Fist yet to make sure he would.

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 was a Foundation artist like himself shouldn't be faster than a Copper Enforcer stage artist like Mon Teris was. 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, even a Copper Enforcer would break their fist on his hardened muscles, as a Copper Enforcer had enhanced strength but fragile flesh and bones.

That meant Lindon was 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 wouldn'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 was also why Lindon couldn't just kill Teris either, he'd be executed by the clan for it, and even though he had no love for the Mon, he was still family.

Plus killing should only be done when there was no other choice.

In the three breaths it took for Teris to bridge the gap and grab his elbow, which, come on, how slow could 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 had 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 overly 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'd just have let the little shit hit him and pretend it hurt until Teris was satisfied. He wouldn'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'd 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 Copper's attack on his person. Tightening his muscle while keeping his joints loose to lessen the impact. The hardest part was going to predict where the attack would land and fold into it right at the moment of impact, so it looked like it hurt.

Lindon heard the Copper's fist moving through the air towards him, but it went straight past him. That was 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 was going to force him to save the idiot, revealing his secret too soon. Unless...

"You idiot," Lindon half-whispered with barley contained rage. He was 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 had memorized every script he could get his hands on over the years. None of the ones in his clan's archives were a fraction as complex as the scripts in tombs, being useless in his efforts to 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, appearing to carve frantically at the ground with the tip of his kunai, but was moving at a fraction as fast as he could. "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 was 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 investigated what happened, Teris will obviously have to explain what happened once returning home, they'd see that this was more of a clever trick than a fight. The working of an Unsouled just trying to survive.

Now he was going to do a little more training, after putting some distance between him and the Coppers.

The clan was a dozen miles through wilderness and should take an Unsouled like him on foot over three hours to get there. That was two hours and twenty-five minutes more than he needed. 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 had no value to the clan, even his family looked 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 had 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. He'd also made sure to leave a trail that lead towards the Kizan and Li territories so the School would look at them as the culprits.

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 had. It was 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.

He had only handed over the fruit because his mother had sent him after it and of the incident with Mon Teris, knowing word would spread at least to the Elder's. And he'd be punished for taking a spirit fruit for himself as they'd see it as a waste of such a rare resource. Besides, having confirmation of his location and time would help encase the Fallen Leaf School pointed fingers at the Wei clan for the fruit he stole. An Unsouled could never had traveled so far and stolen from the powerful School in so short an amount of time.

Sometimes his status actually helped, though it still annoyed him.

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. His spirit 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 was why he had 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 had 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 was what everyone expected 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'd been hiding his real strength all for the unveiling at the Seven-Year Festival, he would never dropout now. He had 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 had stashed away. But he had always been ignored and pushed to the side. It was only fair he got 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 by those too ignorant in the usage of willpower -those below the Lord realm. It was why he was waiting to display his strength. He had to strengthen his madra to a point that he could use it in his fights, making his fighting style look like sacred arts his clansmen could understand.

He allowed the thrill of his prize to run through him as he took the fruit. This, and the second fruit he had stashed away, were 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 were finally starting to come together. Now he just had to make sure to have his moves ready for the Seven-Years 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'd be allowed to learn a Path and with the spirit fruits he had he'd advance to Copper shortly afterwards. Then he'd start using the advised Iron cycling technique Master Koetsuji taught him for after he reached Copper and ready him for forging his Iron body. He'd already perfected his physical preparations by changing all his muscles to pink through the jujitsu master's training method he spent twenty years developing.

Typically, there were three muscle types of the body; white that had explosive power but lacked endurance; red that had endurance but lacked power; and pink that qualities of both. The ratios of these muscle types stayed the same through a person's life, but Akisame Koetsuji had found a way to convert all his muscle to pink, giving him a small frame but one that was perfectly balanced with power, endurance and speed. His strength was on par with even the overly muscular Apachi, and he was as solid as a rock, not an ounch of fat existed on his body.

Lindon now had such a body, and with the combination of elixirs from Master Ma, his organs were more durable, and his body regenerated at a faster rate than human bodies should. More than enough to create a perfect Iron body. He just had to reach the threshold of Iron and infuse madra throughout his flesh to create what master Akisame called the Steel-blood Iron body. It should harden his body like it was steel, though based on the potency of his madra. The results might not fully show themselves until he reached Underlord, but it was theory until he underwent the changes. From there Lindon would need a Jade cycling technique, but those were dependent on one's Path and unfortunately, Akisame couldn't help him with it as he had gone dormant. Before then, his Masters kept Lindon focused primarily on finishing up as much martial arts training as possible before the end. He'd have to rely on his clan to provide the Jade cycling technique, that he was certain he'd have to correct.

So much of what his clan knew about the sacred arts was apparently wrong, as Akisame said, despite not having a Path, he knew plenty about the sacred arts having come from a powerful clan and fought countless sacred artists. Lindon would have to rework the entire Path of the White Fox upon being allowed to learn it. The clan didn't even know that they should be studying all four techniques of the Path, not just one they were talented at. Real sacred arts required knowing the four basic forms of their path before truly being considered a sacred artist. By the ancient standards, all the Elders of the Wei clan were still in training. One day, he'd reach Jade the proper way and take over as the Patriarch and correct the misconceptions of the sacred arts his clan had. So long as everything went as planned, anyways.

"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 would be different than them. He'd use his strength to protect the weak and fight the evils of the world that most people choose not to look at. Instead of just using their advancement to jockey over one another and display their superiority.

"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 led to false beliefs about the soul and the sacred arts, if his masters were 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 called "Hidden Truths." Like a punch that was 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 was 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 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, willpower and fighting skills. That his life wasn'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 entered 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 raked 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 softened as he spoke. "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 had gone pale and sweat was 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 Copper Enforcers, 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 bowed at the waist, quiet as he could 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 blow. 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 to my superior sacred arts' techniques. Without the strength of spirit one can never be a sacred artist no matter how hard they try."

Lindon was glad that the First Elder had him bow to the floor, it helped hide his relieved smile. The elder just thought that he went out muscle building and doing basic physical conditioning. He couldn't fathom the physical conditioning he had 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 could bend steel with his bare-hands and punch a boulder into tiny pieces. Time and resources would 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 ended 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 let out a pained grunt, his blood was 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 was worthless and to just stay that way until he died.

"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 took 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 helped Lindon let go of the anger, the First Elder was worried for his safety. In the elder's world, no, the world of sacred artists, those who couldn't use the sacred arts were prey to all who could. Even the First Elder couldn't let Lindon study a Path as an Unsouled, not without merit. For a moment, Lindon glanced 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'd never let him have a Path, unless he could prove them wrong first. But physical prowess alone won't convince them, he needed to use a sacred art to do it. But how could he when they won't allow him a Path.

It was a paradox that had trapped Lindon. He could continue on his path as a martial artist, but no one in Sacred Valley would accept his strength. Even if he beat every Jade, they'd just say he was an honorless cheat. Would his plan to incorporate madra into his martial arts work? He'd worked on an Enforcer technique that'd work with pure madra with his masters that should work once his madra was stronger, but it had the draw back that if used on anyone less than Iron could lead to him accidently killing them. His body was so strong as it was that he could break even an Iron's bones if he tried, a Copper wouldn't stand a chance. He'd have to create a Striker technique that worked with the willpower Striker techniques his masters devised in life. Like the Sonic Slash or Vacuum Punch that compressed air through sheer force and speed. Once he mastered Holding of willpower he could infuse them with wind or force aura, making them seem like a real sacred arts technique, but he was years away from doing that.

It was 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 let loose an impressed whistle as he faced the first step, that was 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 was 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 was better? Lindon's physically stronger, willpower enhanced body or a sacred artists madra-reinforced body? An Iron around his age would take about ten minutes 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. But what shocked and impressed Lindon was how he could feel the strong, well-developed willpower of the Sacred Beast. It wasn't uncommon for animals to have naturally stronger wills, but Elder Whisper's was even stronger than his own. Clearly, the Elder knew more about true sacred arts than anyone else in the Valley, but why was he keeping it to himself...

It was obvious once he thought how sacred artists in Sacred Valley acted with their advancement. The Elder was ensuring that he was the most powerful being in the Valley. That greatly irked Lindon as that meant Whisper allowed his clan to believe in the falsehoods of the scared arts. Possibly even his status as an Unsouled. He took a few moments to seethe, glaring at the door to Whisper's chamber, before calming down. The Elder was the oldest practitioner of the Path he created, and with his willpower, most likely correctly, having mastery of all four techniques and was stronger than Lindon. He'd gotten used to the idea that he could best any single Jade in the Valley, and now he had to accept that wasn't true. It poked at his ego, and thankfully so, as his masters had warned him about the dangers of overconfidence. It kills more than any warrior or art.

One calm, Lindon moved to open the door.

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 body's 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 had become. He could leap through trees and across roof tops like he was just lightly kipping around. He had a good twenty-foot leap and at top speed could run around 30 miles in an hour. And he had yet to break into the master realm of physical power -his body was strong enough, but his willpower wasn't. Elder Furinji said that once he does, he'd have the physical ability of a TrueGold 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. Though if his suspicions were accurate, the the Elder could escape whenever he wanted to. 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 that he just didn't care to and enjoyed living leisurely.

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, that he believed was 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 gave him an odd look every now-and-again. He had 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 had to force his body from responding to the shock of surprise, he couldn'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 knew about what he'd 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 and willpower are exceptionally well-developed for you age and advancement."

Lindon was wondering what Elder Whisper was 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? Now he was certain that the fox was stronger than him. Maybe he could flee? The snowfox was the strongest sacred artist in the entire Valley, how would Lindon stack up. No, even if he had 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 madra, focusing entirely on willpower training. 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 was 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 ended 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 Sage and Herald is the stage of advancement that Sacred Artists reach the peak of mortal power. 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 had 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 had 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, willpower 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 was 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 laid out before you."

Lindon straightened. "If all it takes is hard 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 was he looking towards earning a Path but continuing on the one he hadn't known he was on. The only problem he was facing in doing that, was he had 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 needed 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'd see if he can scavenge anything from the archives, he won't be able to get a Path manual, but maybe a better foundation cycling technique.

He eventually stopped, quickly bathed and slept.