7. One Strike, A Thousand Times

"Empty in heart,

wisdom in mind."

- Unknown Buddhist monk.

The butt of the spear rammed into the left side of her torso, nearly making her topple.

"Being offensive is applauded, yet mindless aggression is beneath every member of our family," Milia said, her pride for the clan rearing its ugly head.

Niva bit the inside of her cheek and shot the instructor of the main branch a look. Family this, family that. It really was the only time the demoness showed any speck of emotion. Even being a niece hidden away in a side branch, Niva had to bear the full brunt of that expectation.

"There are as many arts as the myriads of stars up in the Heavens," Milia continued, not quelled by the set of Niva's guise in the slightest. For her, it must've felt like an infant seal throwing her a death stare— it just wasn't possible.

"Relying on your abilities too heavily is a mistake, lest they fail you in the most important moment. Regeneration can be countered, sight can be blocked, and even your flow of qi can be stopped."

"When you enter the army's service," Milia said," you represent our clan, and you will face many enemies, all with their own heritage — however feeble — and techniques. Need I say more?"

"No, Ma'am."

Typically, she wouldn't have needed to enter the army of Crayton since Niva and her parents weren't precisely citizens. However, after visiting the patriarch due to her vision, he clarified his ideology: those who choose to benefit from the clan must also bear its responsibilities.

It was a fair take. This is also why Niva would join the fight later than the regular age of eight when her three-year training finished.

"Good, then take your stance."

Niva crouched, angling the tip of her weapon to the floor. Though they shared the same set of emerald eyes and Terra-cotta skin, there was no mercy or familial compassion to be found in the fourth realm monster of a cultivator circling her like a pack of hungry hyenas surrounding a bleeding tiger cub.

"Be fearless and fierce. But, above all, analyse," Milia said, tone low and rumbling. "A thousand cuts executed by a single mind. One strike thought through a thousand times."

The floor crumbled with the giant's steps, his greatsword swinging down in an arc, carrying with it the vengeance of an entire populace.

There was raw strength behind that attack. But Niva wasn't paying him any more attention than she needed to and sent two of her lances to interrupt him.

Trust your intuition, she recalled Milia's words. Niva stirred the qi in her dantian using it to strengthen and expand her veins, amplifying the blood flow towards her brain.

The warrior was mighty, of that there was no doubt. She wouldn't be able to run over him like she did his mid-Gron brethren. However, her instincts weren't screaming that he was a threat. For the priestess, however? Oh, they were absolutely livid. That one was trouble. She'd bet the left pinky toe of her first unborn child's child…it paid to show a little prudence with these bets.

Niva probed the creature with her remaining constructs.

"Another Wednesday," the priestess' body language said. She drew a lazy circle in the air, red mist trailing her fingers, and a net wove itself within, filling the void in the middle.

That wouldn't be enough. Niva's creations weren't an art so much as they were a peculiar manipulation of qi, but her well of essence was deep, twice as extensive as the average cultivator at her stage. It was one of her talents Milia had constantly belittled since it could lead to bad habits. Still, it made it, so the lances were a force to be reckoned with.

However, when a gold sheen flared to life around the erected shield, Niva felt the pressure wafting of it crawling over her skin, and her spears splintered on the barrier, barely making a crack. Niva's eyes narrowed.

That wasn't an art. The method was off.

Techniques weren't some flick of the wand, calling on a storm in a manner akin to 'magic' in the stories of old. Arts were formed by braiding and circulating qi in specific ways, then inserting your soul's intention and will to influence it. They were special because souls were unique; not everyone had the same capacities.

A child of the sun would find it tough to channel arts linked to the dark of night since the spiritual constitutions required were simply too opposite. Cultivators capable of it existed. But, they were few and far between. That's why entire families sprouted around a set of techniques, making it their own: children inherited from their parents both physically and metaphysically and were more likely to have the necessary traits.

Moreover, in the case of proper arts, everything they needed was already interlaced into the technique before it left the user's hand. They could grow in power following activation, but only if you kept feeding them or if they sucked in energy from the environment.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

What the priestess did shouldn't be possible.

Her barrier grew more potent after her involvement ended, and not a speck of qi had been taken from the surroundings. Almost like a higher power had decided to increase its efficacy—

Tightening the grip on her weapon, she met the giant, who once more charged her halfway when he recovered from her attack. Her thoughts came faster, true. Which also meant she risked overthinking and being caught off-guard.

Niva grimaced, her arms shaking from the impact. Yeah, that was brutish brawn, alright. In the corner of her vision, the priestess murmured in that weird tongue of theirs, words tinged with qi.

No way she was letting that go unhindered on her watch.

She parried the warrior's next swing meant to cleave her in two. Stalemate. Until the vessels in her arms rippled when qi-enhanced blood pumped through them. Grunting, the warrior leaned forward, his rancid breath assaulting her nose before he yelped. A surge of energy burst forth from Niva's body, and she launched the giant backward, sending him crashing through several columns.

Niva's lips curved upwards. Didn't see that coming, did you?

Milia may have more pride for her family's arts than was proper, but Niva would give her this: their heritage was damn helpful. Her Blood Fiend Eruption used the properties of blood to enhance her body, multiplying the number of white cells and increasing oxygen transportation, the least of many things. The one downside was that it strained her immensely.

However, that only meant she had to use it sparingly or finish the fight soon.

The pillars to her right shook when she took her next step as if a titan had deigned them a visit, and Niva hurled herself forward into striking range of the priestess biting down on the last syllable of her chant in surprise.

That was the thing about cultivators who fought at a distance. Granted, their position in the back of a battle was considered less risky because they had more time to react to developments or flee in case of an emergency. But, it was also a double-edged blade. Sometimes they felt too safe. What could possibly happen to the creature when she had a literal two-and-a-half-meter tall bodyguard keeping the enemy away from her?

Me. I can happen to you.

And what's the first thing a ranged fighter did when faced with a significant melee threat?

The priestess dispersed into a fount of mist, reappearing next to her mountain of a butler.

Niva's sheening armour nearly matched the glee glinting in her eyes.

Gotcha.

Whether it was an unwritten Dao rule or a pure genetic evolution passed down to every being throughout history, humans and other animals had this tendency to crawl back to their cosy homes even after you ripped off the roof and kicked them out of the door.

It made predicting them easier when the gloves came off.

Still in motion, Niva turned her feint into a half-spin, balancing on one foot like a ballerina. Two dark-red, coiling slits the size of a pin formed between her thumb and index finger that she threw with all the velocity she could muster. She didn't even follow their path, knowing sure as day they would hit. The giant was rebounding from his fall and the priest…well, let's just say movement techniques at their stage were a little flawed. Arts that made you intangible were potent since they allowed you to dodge many sure-to-kill hits but diluted your senses. Between the moment you turned from physical to corporeal and vice-versa, there was a gap where your mind had to adjust.

Niva's teeth showed — or would've, had she not worn a helmet — when her attack caught both creatures in the shoulder. Her nearly invisible creations sunk into their skin.

Most fights between high-tiered cultivators are decided in the first few exchanges, Milia repeated in her mind.

"Even if the battle lasts for days or weeks afterwards, it's nothing more than one side trying to mitigate the damage or recovering lost ground and the other keeping or pushing their advantage."

Any moment now, Niva thought, cracking her neck.

Expectedly, the priestess was the first to feel the change by the scowl on her face. The giant just rolled his shoulder. That one, indeed, was all muscle. No matter. He would notice soon enough.

It was a simple enough thing, really. Blood cultivators couldn't directly control the blood inside another entity's body because there was more involved than simply flexing your will. Your blood was yours. Claimed by nothing other than your soul. If Niva wanted to bend the fluid inside another being, she would have to beat their soul into subservience first, and she was far from the amount of power needed for such a thing. She wasn't even sure if their patriarch could do it.

But attacking someone from inside was too valuable an ability. So, naturally, the greatest minds of the realm — and with that, Niva meant the biggest and baddest killers in existence — had found a detour: if you couldn't control an opponent's blood, influence your own.

After invading their body, of course.

Made complete sense on paper. In theory, it was more difficult than traversing the nine Hells. Though low-realm cultivators didn't have access to their more spiritual means, their souls would defend them by instinct; foreign invasions would be fought off to the best of their innate ability. Not to mention their own qi flushing you out. No, not just any drop of blood would be able to survive in an enemy's system, which is where her art came in.

There was a delicate balance: invade them with wanton aggression, and their spirit would fight back with the same. However, affect them enough not to make any real dents, and your dominion would go uncontested.

All Niva was doing was disrupting their natural circulation of ichor and infecting some key organs with a feathery touch. Nothing dangerous, she assured. It wouldn't kill them. Yet, she now forced them to contest her internally and externally, drawing away their attention and making them waste precious qi. They couldn't ignore her. An ant would chew through a lion, given enough time.

Thus, this became a battle of attrition. A marathon Niva had entered on a divine steed that didn't tire.

She tilted her head sideways. Interestingly enough, she found her connection with her own blood to be stronger than usual, making it easier for her to manipulate it. Could their strange physicality be working against them?

The priestess coughed. A thick smear ran down her mouth, watching Niva as if she saw her for the first time. Her head bobbed up and down as a long, sharp note repeated itself over and over.

…was she laughing?

The giant slammed his sword into the ground before scraping his nail against his forehead, drawing a cross. The change was immediate. His back now stood ramrod straight, his already muscular arms bulging as they expanded to twice their size and a red halo flared around his head. When he next took up his sword, holding it in front of him with the tip facing toward the ceiling, a chill crept up Niva's thigh.

A knight — no, a Knight, she couldn't help but think. Capitalised.

The laughing abruptly quit when a third eye opened on the priestess' head. The change of the warrior, Niva saw. This one, she felt. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sheer tension of that…thing constricting her breathing.

Looks like the real battle was beginning.