The stranger’s enigmatic smile was something out of place, like a river flowing in reverse; a painting that stared back at you more than you at it. Tret Ku’s ambitious sword was indifferent to the change of the wind, or the weathering of life, which’s why men like him guided such things as they could not take care of themselves, and in return annihilated all at the tip of. Here, this random peasant who had no idea he’d be getting cold steel shoved at his face and barked at, looked anything but distressed as Tret Ku or anyone would see as obvious as an effect.

His interest was as small as an ember and possessed a quarter of the passion. Tret Ku didn’t need his eyes: this man was ordinary exemplified. As such, he had no use to him. He did, give him credit however—physically, this man was in great shape. But who cares when the one holding the sword could order petty lords under his command, and if desired, carve out his own small kingdom? This peasant’s survival was a happenstance; no, he didn’t believe in so much of that, why, of course he survived when the child of destiny, Tret Ku unknowingly bestowed mercy upon this soul.

Myths and fables spoke of men who’re so riddled with destiny, or heaven’s favor, that they bended the will of the world without consent; a special star could make a business fail or explode in popularity just by a casual purchase. Seeing it in the flesh there wasn’t much room to contest.

Only a day out on their journey, and this happened. An overcast grey that did no sort of work to distinguish it from the low-flying mist at their boots—the stranger’s footwear was in excellent condition, as weird as it was to think—combined with the soundless death knell for the forest, made for such a depressing way to stretch his legs. The stranger’s hat made it hard to see where his eyes lay. Probably, most definitely, was enviously scanning he who walked in wealth as he’s owed. Ridiculous, brandishing to a honeycomb-brained peasant.

Tret Ku, with a longing look to the corpses of this forest, muttered to himself as he sheathed his weapon. Sodden leaves gravitated to his cloak, depositing filth that’s the birthright of men like the one behind him, any longer out here and he’ll need a weeklong wash. Disappointing. Perhaps, this great Shade Beast was stricken in terror at my presence. It’s the only thing that explains. I exist on an unexplored stratum likely none but myself could stand upon, phenomena will be a norm for me. Best I get used to it. But then he turned around.

“Did you say something?” Tret Ku said accusatorily. The stranger didn’t move, but if he so much as tried to beg for food or water—

“Why yes,” the stranger said. “You didn’t hear me the first time. I’ve seen your carriage; your travels are taking you to a direction. I beseech you, lord”— awkwardness, or nervousness? Did he fear the strap already? — “please permit me to ride along, under your protection.”

It made Tret Ku’s eyebrow raise, slightly. For someone as beaten on his luck as he looked his pronunciation was off, too proper. Foreign accent to boot. Had this man showed up anywhere within five li of his sect this creature would’ve been in irons before the younglings woke. Spies get death no questions asked, and this one if suspicion spoke right was the worst of them all. Did an idiot think they were idiots too?

But this spy… was much too weak. Cultivators and martial organizations had guarded secrets as did anyone did with something worth intellectual or military merit. To dispatch someone who wouldn’t even be able to infiltrate much less disguise himself properly around humans who could detect mortal deceit while juggling five plates and writing a letter, was too farcical to be real. He snorted; as if.

And this was before he really thought about what he had just heard. Who was he talking to? Him? Tret Ku, Second Sword of the Unbreakable Hilt Sect and a shining halo of the younger generation was being asked by a peasant, whether he could be carried along? He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, a cold wrath took the reins.

Tongue laden with venom, Tret Ku was about to speak until figures dropped in from overhead.

One of his guardians landed at his side. “Young master!”

The others arrived in short order and, as they had been drilled for rigorous amounts of hours, instinctively created a formation with their “Young master” at its center. Yan whisked himself behind the newcomer with a solemn sword kissing his throat; achieving the One Sword, One Man state at an early age, Yan had all the qualifications for attending the Rosewater Exchange when his age made him eligible, but for whatever reason, he refused. Now that talent was being spent keeping an already frightened peasant frozen still. Even Tret Ku could spare some pity.

“Young master, where’s the beast?” An elder asked, head scanning.

“I am an infant in comparison to you, wise elders,” Tret Ku said. He forced a smile.

“I’ve no idea. Rushing here did nothing, for it seems as though that Shade Beast vanished. As though it never were. Possibly, it’s already out of my own limited Spiritual Awareness’ range, might you elders give your take?”

The elder to his right shook her head. “Apologies. Nothing.”

To his left, “Regardless of the damage done here, animals have a keener sense to things like this. I believe even if this part of the land regrows, wildlife will have reason to avoid this area for quite some time,” that elder said.

For all that excitement pumping in his heart, all of it led up to nothing. A bead of sweat, lonely but he was all too aware of it sitting there at the line of his hair. Sweat—For—Nothing! Tret Ku smoothed out his robe, “It’s all right. We’re already behind on time, as we know. If there’s no mystery to find, then that’s that. Besides, I think that presence was far too much for us to handle.” Useless wrinkleskins.

“And this one?” Yan said.

He’d wanted to roll his eyes. “Coincidence.”

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“Odd place for a peasant to be,” Yan muttered. “Nearest city is Rangako. A fifteen day walk with no horse out in these lands is a corpse walking. That’s if bandits or a Shade Beast is kind enough to leave it. What’s your story?”

“I’m an aspiring alchemist,” the straw hat man said.

Taken aback, the group exchanged glances as though they thought they’d misheard. But the unknown man wearing stretched, beaten, holey, ragged things called garments were in such a state that the tailor would be so inclined as to slap him for treating his work this way. That with what he’d just said was too ludicrous for a laugh. A man’s insanity was untouchable for humor. No glory, but I found an idiot. Perfect.

Yan sheathed his sword; the man was probably more frustrated with him than the beast threatening his charge: a waste of a sword draw, a waste of everything he’d been training for up to this day. Tret Ku had seen men crippled for less, again the peasant’s luck struck gold, he’ll keep his legs for another day.

“Alchemist, you say?” Tret Ku said, almost grinning. If he was bored, why not get a speck of some amusement? “Have you apprenticed under someone? What’s your degree? Third? Fourth?” Empty words, however the moment’s distraction might give him some goodwill if he gave a joke to his elders; no doubt they’ll be of help in the future when he needs to oust the highest wrinklebag of their sect. Why not start now, he figured.

“Amusing,” an elder said, joyless. “However…”

The stranger tilted his head. Said nothing. That strange way he stood, or maybe even existed—put a sensation in Tret Ku’s heart that unsettled him with no Juva spent. Was this what it meant to dislike a man at first glance?

“…disrespectful to even address a man as esteemed as my charge without even showing us your face. What people raised you? Whoever your lord is, they’ll be informed of your rudeness and punished alongside you. Instructor Yan,” the elder gestured.

Tret Ku seems to be imagining it, to him the peasant’s shaded eyes felt like, though they may be studying the group he carried with him, they were colored with nothing but… boredom, and that was putting it mildly. For some reason, it felt counterproductive to worry about such a thing like—

A voice interrupted: “Leave him be.”

Snickering, he turned to who he knew it was. The girl who looked like a valiant hero out of a fairytale had long since released her sword back to its sheath, instead she offered the stranger an amiable face.

Mai Jing crossed her arms. “He means no disrespect. We’re the ones that disturbed him.”

The elder protested, “But, mistress—” and was silenced as fast as either of them could cut.

“I heard you’re an alchemist,” she said, then corrected: “an aspiring alchemist. Not out of rudeness, but I mean to check the validity of your words, stranger. For I have no business or interest in liars in my midst.”

So, all heads turned to him. While he, who was put on the spot by a lady who had enough clout to make him a rich man, a miserable man, or anything in-between and unsaid for however long heaven permits him to walk this earth. If anyone asked what Tret Ku was thinking, merely he himself oh so wished what kind of frantic, borderline lunacy’s going on in the mans head either to delude himself into thinking his lies are passable, or is self-aware of the lie and endures on with arrogance. Then again, it’s only a lie if the man himself knows it to be. Has the crazy bitten that deep?

He took one step. A step watched by men who have no compunctions about beheading him and leaving the rest to nature’s disposal. Our First Sword has a soft heart, if you admit fault and prostrate yourself for mercy, she’ll surely spare you, Tret Ku ran a hand through his hair. That bothered him almost as much as her embarrassing of him: she was much too naïve. How she manages to be so strong yet so much of a bumbling idiot stumped him.

A few more steps and he came around a boulder, reaching behind it, he did one heaved breath-and-pull. He hadn’t even revealed what it was fully but light that managed to make it through the grey curtains for skies gave notice to what he was holding. In fact, he rudely made them wait! The man was throwing a necklace on himself first, instead of getting to the point! Bending over again, coming up a sack was beheld.

At no point during all of this had he shed that straw hat he wore. He supposed that the mystery would be dead soon as he held that necklace in his hand but, much to his annoyance, the stranger had merely tied the string instead of throwing his head through. It was like even the terrain had respected an unsaid wish, with foliage disguising the features shadow and straw couldn’t. He did have a carpet flowing out, though. And leaves took residence in there like he was a tree adopting them.

The man tossed something—he dares?!—at Mai’s direction. Such audacity, Yan intercepted the item with a face of contempt, unlike the other two the man had a sixth sense to the mood and displeasure of his lord, master, what have you. Reflecting Tret Ku’s frown, Yan gave a gander at the item.

“This is…” Yan said, rolling a vial that had an unnatural blue within; glass with a stopper, though its owner was filthy this thing was spotless to the definition. Even after being handled, no fingerprints remained.

The day was killed enough by the distraction, and now another bled irreplaceable time. With Mai Jing here, he had no choice but to sit while she entertained the fool. And he told his story while Yan and the elders gazed warily at the vial. He is not an alchemist: to nobody’s surprise. And he isn’t apprenticed either. To achieve both, that is his dream. He told he was previously apprenticed to a man, however, “that man” suffered a sudden illness and now converses with his ancestors. So he says.

“If this is true,” Tret Ku said with an impatience that hurried even his speech, “why are you here, dressed like a wretched beggar whose forgotten even his own name? You should be in Rangako, or Elsma. Is that vial supposed to be your proof? Could be dyed, or you’re a man on the run who stole from his betters.”

The stranger shrugged. “Believe or don’t. I’ll find another if you cannot permit me.”

Yan’s special talent had him near to disposing of the man, Tret Ku could tell. However…

Mai Jing nodded, smiling. “That’s fine.”

“I also request to ride in the carriage. I don’t drive.”

Tret Ku snickered. “Ungrateful swine.” Which left him feeling Mai Jing’s searing glare behind him.

“I will compensate for the luxury; that’s yours now,” the stranger pointed to Yan. “And there’s more. Enough to pay my share.”

“Mistress,” Yan said strangely, nobody knew at what point did he even take the cork off the vial, “it’s legitimate, though the origin is still dubious. Obviously, it isn’t enough to pay for his ride, but if there is more to come then…”

She didn’t care to hear the rest. “So that settles it.”

“Leimuth’s the destination, correct?” The stranger asked.

It surprised no one that a wildman or dreamy peasant had heard; at best, he gave out a reasonable speculation. Some villages sit by the window for years hoping to gain a small bit of favor in their service to their lord during the exchange, and from there it’ll trickle upwards to the Queen herself. Favor that could change lives. Make a village into a town, a town into a city. All original inhabitants wealthy landowners, that sort of hope.

“We’ll be welcome to have you,” Mai Jing said. “Though, I don’t think I’ve heard your name, stranger.”

The straw hat paused. What, did Tret Ku’s joking thought hit true on it? There’s no way he’d forgotten it, had he? The straw hatted stranger from nowhere, wielding no affiliation but screamed foreigner had a distant look to him, his fingers twitched like they were taking the wrong messages from the brain. Slow and robotic, the man (from what he assumed, anyway) looked at him, and Mai Jing.

“A name, yes. Of course, I have a name. You may call me…”

“Ren Yunhei.”