The sentiment by and large in the wider Realms of people from Earth had been largely negative in the time Henry had come from.
Earth Realm natives were indolent. They worked at a fraction of the speed and ability the lowest serfs possessed.
They were illogical. Killing several as examples, a common practice to instill discipline, only led to them attempting meaningless rebellions. They demanded freedoms that they did not earn with accomplishment.
They were poor farmers, poor household servants. The simplest tasks needed drilled into their heads over and over again.
It was frankly less hassle to pay some expert to enslave them magically. A basic Earth slave was sold collared and compelled to silence.
Strangely, the niche they excelled at was pleasure. Earth Realm slaves were a valued commodity in that regard. Most of them were soft, with pleasing features and none of the signs of a lifetime of labor that other slaves wore. Many had even been physically adjusted to be more visually appealing before their enslavement. Better still, their world had been hedonistic to a shocking degree, meaning many of them were more versed in the arts of pleasure, song and dance and bed practices, than even the workers at high-class brothels. To have a harem of Earth pleasure slaves was something of a status symbol, a show that you were wealthy and powerful enough to have a stable of these bothersome, worthless things that only caused problems in every other aspect.
The first exercise class Henry led for his family forced him to give a grudging credence to those opinions. He was not filled with hope for the future.
By all standards of training they were awful. No flexibility, no core strength. Their stamina was laughable. They didn’t understand the capability of their own bodies. Too excitable, as well. Always asking questions as if they needed to understand the philosophy behind why they needed to hold the horse stance for an additional thirty seconds.
The worst part was the lack of willpower. He was only marginally more physically fit thanks to his physical refining, yet the differences were like night and day.
They gave up after the slightest protest from their bodies. They complained as if he was torturing them. Their attention wavered at even the slightest distraction. They demanded an incredible amount of rest and recovery time.
Henry was frustrated the most because he knew they were trying. When class was ready all three were there, wearing comfortable clothing and holding bottles of water. Even if they couldn’t truly grasp the nature of the future he had spoken to them of, they still trusted that he was speaking the truth.
What they needed was motivation. A sight of the path forward. It was difficult to not have an example in a situation like this.
On that front, at least, Henry felt satisfied. The area with the best qi flow in the house was the basement. It was walk-out, facing the south with large sliding glass doors. There was even a comfortable couch that he adjusted to be facing the door. The clean concrete walls and seclusion compared to the rest of the house made this location superior in terms of speeding up his cultivation even discounting the benefit of the better qi density.
The acupoints went faster than he thought. After the second day he was entirely done, a feat nearly unheard of outside of legendary geniuses. The geniuses that didn’t start with their acupoints unblocked naturally, that is. He was now focused on gathering enough energy to break through to the first level of Qi Condensation. Spending an extended period of time as a mortal was not something he relished.
Being a mortal was, frankly, terrible. His senses felt like he was being smothered by a heavy woolen blanket at all times. His body’s recuperative abilities didn’t impress, even considering that he was essentially a child at the peak of his natural resiliency. There was also the creeping dread in the back of his mind that anything could just come along and end him and what he was trying to do.
His schedule was shaping up to be this for the next few days: lead the family’s exercises in the early morning, cultivate in the late morning to late afternoon, and spend his evenings struggling through translating and writing down the manual he was planning to give to them all to start.
The manuals were an important part. All he was going to show them were the basics. Get them started in cultivation, maybe a week or two on individual training after he tested their roots, then a week or two on combat training and more exercises. Enough so that he could leave them alone.
This current itinerary helped keep his mind off of the looming long-term issue. Henry had no plan. After putting his family on the path of cultivation he needed to go, to get somewhere his actions could have a real impact on the global stage. What actions those would be, he still hadn’t figured out yet.
The problem came back to what it always did. What could he do as a single person in this tremendously populated world? Earth had a higher population than most Realms, even some of the far larger ones. Life was positively teeming here and he needed to try to keep as much of it alive and unimpacted as possible.
The usefulness of markers was expressed as one of the walls of his bedroom was turned over to planning. The solid white walls really helped here, with arrows going from blocks of text to papers. Newspaper articles, pictures of powerful people, pages torn from magazines and books. Most of it was speculative navel-gazing and wild ‘what if’ scenarios, but it helped Henry to feel like he had a better grasp on the situation.
What had he figured out from all of this? Very little. His current idea was to kidnap a world leader, force them to cultivate, and somehow then convince that world leader that their people should be made to do it as well.
Which circled back around to him having no real plan. If worse came to worst he would walk around a major metropolitan area until something fell into his lap.
Luck was an important attribute for a cultivator to have, after all.
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“I have reached the first level of Qi Condensation,” Henry announced on the fourth day he returned.
His family looked up from the deli meat sandwiches and potato chips which comprised that day’s lunch. None of them had wanted to shift their diet too badly but he’d managed to convince them to ditch the soda and mixed sugar drinks for water.
“Is it normally that fast?” his father asked between mouthfuls, holding his plate under his chin to catch crumbs. They were getting used to his proclamations in the living room, so most meals had transitioned to them eating in there, waiting for him to stand up and say something incredible.
“There’s not really a lot ‘normal’ about this entire situation, Father; but yes, I achieved this in significantly faster time than most,” Henry admitted with no small sense of pride.
“So what can you do then?” Liz asked, ignoring the self-aggrandizing tone.
The time had come to show them something beyond exercises. Henry couldn’t lie that he felt a warm excitement from that thought. It was incredibly freeing to be with people who imagined him as someone completely different than who he was. Who he’d become.
He bent at the waist and went into an easy handstand. Once that was stable he raised a hand and held it out to his side. For extra effect he pushed himself up on his index and middle fingers. He had to reinforce his hand with qi to pull this off, so he could only hold the position for a few seconds before he righted himself, careful to end smoothly enough that they couldn’t see the strain that effort had taken.
“Also this.”
Henry held out his right hand and snapped his fingers. A small orange flame the size of a candle’s burst into being just above the tip of his thumb.
Looking into that bare flicker of flame caused a sense of warmth in the cultivator completely unrelated to the heat it put off. It was something so simple it couldn’t even be called a technique, yet it was the first real thing Henry had learned to do himself. Over the years he’d refined it into something more profound, increased the efficiency and potency of the flame thanks to a greater understanding of the Dao of Fire. This spark represented his journey as a cultivator. To see it again felt like regaining the use of a limb after a long paralysis.
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In too short of a time he had to extinguish the fire. Right now he didn’t have enough qi to keep it going for long.
His family looked suitably impressed.
“Understand,” he said, trying to reel any unrealistic expectations, “That you might not be able to do everything I can at this level. That’s because I have more experience. But you’ll get there. I want to start an evening class the day after tomorrow to get everyone started.”
“Why the day after tomorrow?” Marilynn asked.
“I intend to spend tomorrow looking around the forest near the property to see if I can find any materials to use in an upcoming project that will aid you when you begin cultivation. Speaking of,” Henry paused, looking at both of his parents questioningly, “Is there any way to get me a calligraphy brush?”
His parents looked at each other, then back at him.
“I have a calligraphy pen,” his mother began, “But I don’t think I have a brush. There’s an art supply store in town over by the riverfront, though. I can check there.”
“Thank you kindly,” Henry said with a nod, “If you could get that before the end of the day tomorrow that’d be a big help. Also some parchment.”
“Did you become a painter?” Liz asked, curiosity evident on her face.
Henry shook his head. “No, I’ll be making talismans. They’re a kind of simple magical item powered by qi.”
Now his sister’s interest was piqued.
“What sort of stuff do they do?”
I’ll write down the designs I know and what they do for her, Henry thought, It’ll make a good going-away gift.
The cultivator smiled gently at her.
“There are hundreds of varieties, but I only know about a dozen or so. The ones I’ll be making will assist with cultivation and self-defense against other qi-users.”
Talismans had been something he’d only briefly studied. There were a few which were considered essential for any cultivator who was going to be on their own. They also required immense practice and manual dexterity to make in any significant quantities or to any proper level of quality. He’d seen others be killed by angry talisman masters for selling shoddy workmanship.
Cultivator guilds were no joke. Rarely did a talisman or alchemist guild bow to anyone except the strongest sect.
“Can you teach me?” his sister excitedly asked.
Henry shook his head.
“Not in the time I have,” he said, “But I can get you started. You’ll have to practice on your own.”
Liz nodded.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
She wouldn’t, of course. Young cultivators notoriously thought themselves more skilled than they really were. As if the wisdom of the ages meant nothing and they were the first people to ever reach the dizzying heights of power that is a mid-tier Core Formation disciple. Luckily talismans weren’t usually an all or nothing game, and none of the designs he was going to leave her were likely to be catastrophic if she made mistakes in her calligraphy.
Truly, he was treating them with the most delicate hand. Feeling self-satisfied, Henry went to the kitchen with his plate, grabbing another sandwich and a couple handfuls of chips. Even without looking he could tell it was roast beef and cheddar.
Of the things I missed most about Earth, he thought dryly, The food would be near the top of that list.
With his now secured sustenance Henry trotted back to the living room, artfully balancing his plate on the arm of the couch he sat down on before grabbing it again. With relish he bit into the fluffy white bread. He moaned in pleasure.
“This is everything I ever needed in life,” he said with his mouth full, eyes closed and leaning back on the floral print davenport.
“No sandwiches in the future?” Marilynn asked with a sarcastic smile.
Henry waved a hand in the air.
“No sandwiches,” he confirmed, “Bread has a weird status as kind of a poor man’s food because you eat it with your hands. A lot of rice, vegetables, and fish. Although if you have the money I know a place that does amazing braised pork belly. They boasted of having been at that location for three hundred years, so they’ll be around when the portals open.”
“Henry, what is the future like after the portals open? After everything calms down, I mean.” his mother asked softly.
The cultivator mulled over her question. How to sum up the Endless Realms, the entire Omniverse into a single statement? She might as well ask after all the ways to achieve immortality. He didn’t want to be dismissive (they’re family was a common refrain in his mind), but he also didn’t want to overstate it.
“Feudal,” was the answer he finally landed on.
“Bro, that doesn’t help,” Liz sniped from the wooden rocking chair, “We’re not giving up.”
He shot his sister a confused look. What she said didn’t make sense. He wasn’t telling them to...
The meaning of her statement sank in. He mentally slapped himself, then her.
But only mentally.
“Feu-dal,” he enunciated clearly, “Not futile.”
Watching her lips purse as she put on a sour look gave him a quick shot of spiteful glee. He’d have to work on that.
“What I mean is,” he started, shifting the conversation back to his mother’s question, “There are very clear social strata. The lowest are your peasants. Farmers and the like. Higher than that are merchants, who can either been seen as opportunistic scum or nearly at the level of true nobility depending on how powerful they are. Then your civil servants and priests. The highest are nobility, royalty, and practitioners.”
“When I say practitioners I’m talking about all kinds of magic-users, not just cultivators. Wizards, Sword Saints, Contractors, System freaks, Transmogrifiers, the list goes on,” Henry did his best impression of an ancient sage, complete with stroking an imaginary beard, “There are as many routes to the heavens as stars in the sky.” That managed to get a chuckle out of his sister.
Returning his voice to normal, he continued, “Really, it’s a lot like Earth, except being impolite to the wrong person will lead to your whole family line being wiped out and it’s pre-Renaissance in most places. I’m talking horses, wagons, plague, all of it.”
“Is it hard to survive?” His father asked, finally participating in the conversation.
Henry shrugged. He felt like he was doing that too much. Another thing on his mental tally to work on.
“It won’t be for you.” He elaborated, “As a cultivator you’ll be treated by pretty much all mortals as nobility unless they have serious backing. As a cultivator not in an established sect you’ll have leeway in the normally strict etiquette that keeps powerful people from killing each other at the drop of a hat. The downside to this being that even weak cultivators from minor sects will think they can walk all over you because they have their sect behind them.”
“What do you do when that happens?”
Henry had to give credit to his father. Roger Stroeder was asking pretty smart questions. He wouldn’t answer with what he’d do, of course, but it was still a great question.
“The best way I’ve found to handle a situation like that is to goad them into attacking you, knock them out without beating them badly, then apologize that you couldn’t keep the situation calm to whoever they’re in whatever location this happens at with.”
“Won’t their sect attack you?” Roger asked again. He was really on a roll with these. Henry’s estimation of his father’s acuity increased a notch.
“No, it’s an honor thing. The cultivator losing their cool and attacking you means they were in the wrong.” This started as something that had really bothered Henry and had taken him a few decades to get used to it. Democratic thought just wasn’t a good fit for the Realms. “Cultivator honor is based on perception more than action. Losing control means he doesn’t have a good handle on his emotions, i. e. he’s a poor cultivator. That makes whomever’s teaching him look bad.”
“Shaming your Master is one of the biggest taboos for cultivators,” Henry supplied, “Mostly because if they’re taking students they’re normally strong enough to defend their reputation with force.”
Henry looked his father in the eye with what he hoped was a serious enough look to emphasize what he was about to say next.
“Towns have been wiped out because of the chance a powerful cultivator’s embarrassment may become public knowledge.”
That’s what it all came back to. They needed to have a grasp on how to survive in that society. He’d probably have to run some pretend scenarios. He didn’t know how good he could play at being a peasant, but mimicking the arrogance of a Young Master from a sect would be a child’s farce. He didn’t even have to think of one in particular to see the fully formed archetype in his head.
Many Arrogant Young Masters had died at his hands over the years.
Henry’s reminiscence was broken by his sister making a sputtering sound.
“Jesus,” she said, “that sounds brutal.”
Henry took another bite of his sandwich and chewed it quickly.
“Mostly it’s not that,” he contended, “Mostly it’s just people living their lives. Sect cultivators rarely leave their sects unless they’re on a mission of some kind. Wizards stay in their little enclaves. When the strongest people can literally live forever things tend to happen to the tune of centuries and millennia. Generations pass of mortals living the same lives as their forebears, under the same rulers with the same language and the same money.”
“That,” his mother began, “Sounds horribly depressing. Stuck in the same place to do the same thing forever?”
Yet again, all Henry could do was shrug. He looked out the large window in the living room, at the trees swaying, and tried to better articulate his thoughts. Without actually experiencing it, there was probably little point in explanations in this regard. Cultures were different.
“It is what it is,” he responded, “Some places aren’t like that. There’s some real beauty out there. I’ve seen mountain ranges that make anything we have here look like overgrown hills. Trees miles high. Crystal clear waterfalls dropping into pools so deep and clear you feel like you’re flying. Actually, there are more than one flying city.”
“What I’m saying is it’s not all bad,” Henry concluded.
They all took a minute to process that.
“Except for the fact that most of the people on Earth are dead,” his father pointed out.
Henry pointed at Roger with the hand holding the last couple bites of his sandwich.
“Except for that.”