The smell of old leather, yellowed paper, and idle cigarettes greeted Isaac as he entered the Naval Archives. Inside the wooden hall, the librarian didn’t even look up from her desk as Isaac passed by her, heading for the general reference section. After scanning through several shelves containing atlases, thesauruses, and general dictionaries, he finally found what he was looking for - a Zhanghai-to-Common dictionary. He actually found the first of several dozen; the dictionaries were in high supply following the nationalization and subsequent establishment of the 1st Zhanghai Cultivator Marine Regiment.
Nearby, a couple of Cultivator Marines lounged around a smoky table, each reading a book about a particular art. Isaac found his own spot in a back corner and placed the green tome from the depot on the table alongside his new dictionary. He cracked his knuckles and revved up the powerful organ inside his head known as the brain.
Alright, let’s get to work!
Approximately five minutes later, Isaac took a deep breath and frowned. The Zhanghai characters on the title of his book stared up at him in untranslated mockery. Even just finding the first character in his dictionary proved to be a mountain far too high for him to climb. There must’ve been thousands of Zhanghai characters, and trying to find this symbol in particular felt like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Maybe even like trying to find a particular needle in a stack of needles - it certainly felt just as frustrating and painful.
Isaac knew what he needed to do and decided delaying it any further would serve no purpose. And, deep down, perhaps Dan had a point. With a heavy sigh, Isaac collected his things and checked out the dictionary with the librarian. The elderly women, her white hair done up in a bun, didn’t even look up as she stamped the back of the book and sent Isaac along. He pulled his greatcoat close around him as he stepped back outside into the cold.
The winter chill had gnawed its way to his bones by the time he made it back to the barracks. The interior of the building felt slightly warmer, so at least Isaac could relax a little as he found Bell’s door. As he raised his hand to knock on it, he hadn’t even considered the possibility of Bell being somewhere else at the moment. But after Isaac knocked, a quiet, calm voice on the other side of the door told him to come in.
Bell’s room was identical to Reed’s except it bore his personal touch. His bed appeared neat and well-made, his desk featured an organized stack of books and a notepad, the floors and walls were immaculately clean, one spot even shining. Bell himself sat in the middle of the room in the meditative cultivator pose, his legs crossed. His eyes had been closed, but as Isaac entered and shut the door behind him, they opened.
“Isaac,” Bell greeted, that lone, thick strand of black hair jutting down his forehead at an off-kilter angle, perhaps the only thing out-of-place on him that Isaac could find. For a brief moment, Isaac imagined Babs sitting there, her auburn hair out of its ponytail and down around her face, but he shook away the thought.
“I, uh…need your help with something,” Isaac began. He then explained the situation to Bell, who remained seated on the ground, a pleasant smile on his face the whole time. Bell reminded Isaac of Dan, except the cadet with the staff had an air of theatricality around him, while Bell kept quiet and to himself. He had blue eyes that never waved as Isaac spoke.
“Translating,” Bell surmised. “Sure, I can help with that. But I respectfully request that you help me with my own training afterwards.”
For another brief moment, Isaac imagined Kieran there, recalling the way he thundered out a similar question after suffering one too many defeats during their training days. But then Isaac snapped out of it when saw Bell extend his hand. The motion, the same one made by Reed, Babs, and Kieran, almost made Isaac sick to his stomach, but it was only fair. Isaac clasped his hand and pulled Bell to his feet.
While Isaac looked over his shoulder, Bell placed the two books on his desk and studied the title closely. “As Dan told you, I’m not an expert, but I know enough to get started,” he explained, tapping a finger on the title. After a moment of thought, he flipped open the Zhanghai dictionary and arrived at the needed page. He made a little nod at himself. “As I thought. The book describes a Zhanghai cultivation power - the Red Lake Illusion Art.”
“An Illusion Art, hmm.” Isaac glanced down, looking back and forth between the book and the dictionary. Despite the pit in his stomach, Isaac found out that the words matched up and Bell was telling the truth. “What does the illusion do?”
Silence settled in the room as Bell translated the first couple of pages while Isaac reflected on his experiences with Illusion Arts. They’re annoying as hell, that’s for certain. The first time he got trapped in one was during the fight with Jackson aboard the Melusine. Funnily enough, Jackson’s illusion seemed quite rudimentary in hindsight. The illusion created by Harburg at Machigonne was far more devastating, even if it was only on an emotional level.
“The Red Lake Illusion Art starts off simple, but can scale over time,” Bell explained, having written down the translated pages in a spare notebook from his desk. “The caster traps the target inside an illusion of the caster’s own creation. The setting of the illusion can be whatever the caster decides - a prison, a farm, a shed, a building. Then, as the cultivator strengthens and continues to improve the Art, the illusion can be built up further, cast on a wider scale. More structures can be added, little details can be included, all to make the illusion more real. At its peak, the Red Lake Illusion Art can’t be discerned from reality.”
Bell grinned. “At least, in theory. The author says it would require Circuit 6 to acquire that sort of power. All he could do at Circuit 4 was the shore of an autumn lake in the mountains that he first began as a small pond. Hence the name.”
Jackson’s illusion simply added disorientating affects to the existing cargo hold of the ship. Harburg’s illusion put us somewhere else entirely and utilized memories to make the illusion appear more real. But the Red Lake Illusion Art would let me create an illusion of somewhere else entirely. And compared to Jackson’s and Harburg’s illusions, it sounds like this one would have less holes to exploit.
Sealing an enemy in a mental prison of his own making sounded intriguing, but considering Isaac was only Circuit 2A, he supposed the best he could do at the moment would be something equivalent to that small pond. There was also the issue of unlocking the meridian necessary to train the Art - according to Bell, a meridian would need to be opened within the brain itself, which would require months of training and surgeon-like precision to accomplish.
“And there’s other skills I need to train as well,” Isaac continued aloud. “I want to reach Circuit 2B, I want to unlock the second power of the Fists of Anji that would let me call down a lightning strike, and I’ve also been toying with the idea of training a shield art. I’m tired of dodging bullets all the time.” He glanced down at his wrist and his leather bracer. “And Dai Hong was able to cast this huge fire dragon spell with this bracer. So many things to train…”
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“And so little time,” Bell concluded with a wry sigh. He closed the book, having translated all he could for the day, which was enough to satisfy Isaac’s curiosity. “I heard you were there when Dai Hong perished.”
Isaac leaned his back against the wall. “Yeah. I was there when a lot of people perished.”
“Your progress astounds me. I don’t think I could’ve done what you did that day. Not a whole lot of people could.”
Fragments of memories - death cries of Restorationists, the Armed State Police rappelling down into the stadium, the metal shudders and groans of Polyphemus as it was blown apart in the sky - ran through Isaac’s mind. “Yeah. I guess I have something worth fighting for. A lot of people do. A better world. Freedom. Justice. Revenge. Loved ones. Wealth. Self-worth.” He looked at Bell in a new light, having never considered his new squadmate might be undergoing his a journey of his own to find what he was seeking. “What do you fight for?”
Bell leaned back in his chair, pondering the question. Then he stood, returned the book, dictionary, and translated notebook pages to Isaac, and grabbed his greatcoat. “Your turn to help me. I can explain on the way.”
Isaac’s teeth clattered as he followed Bell outside to the training field, his companion lit up by overhead floodlights. Maybe I oughta learn a warmth Art.
“I want to find my brother,” Bell began.
Isaac stopped in his tracks. “...your brother?”
Bell kept his eyes forward, not even noticing Isaac had stopped. “I came from an impoverished family. My brother used to run with a triad gang of stick-up artists. I told him to stop, because I’d be old enough to work soon, but he told me that if he couldn’t find a job, then it wasn’t likely that I could, either. So he kept robbing until he pulled off his biggest heist - a State Police train filled with valuables.”
The floodlights seemed to swirl around Bell as Isaac stared at his back before finally catching up to him.
“Nobody robs the State Police so brazenly and gets away with it,” Bell concluded. “They tracked his gang down. They killed them and their families one by one, until they got to mine. They shot my mother and father and would’ve shot me, but my brother took the bullet. It only wounded him, though, so before they could try to shoot me again, he pleaded with them for my life. He said he’d do anything asked of him as long as they spared me. The officers agreed and took him away.”
They arrived at the field. After hearing a story like that, Isaac found himself paying closer attention to his squadmate. His eyes were blue and he had a scar below the ear that only appeared when his black hair swayed and bobbed as he walked along. When he stopped on the field, the scar disappeared beneath his hair again.
“I…understand how you feel,” Isaac said quietly. “The State Police shot my brother, too. He didn’t make it. And they took my best friend back with them when they left. I know I need to rescue her, but the State Police are everywhere, and it hurts too much to think about what they’ve been doing to her.”
Bell walked a few feet away across the grass. Outside of a few isolated cultivators, they had the whole field to themselves. Isaac hadn’t realized it was already this late at night - perhaps even after midnight - but the translation process made the hours tick away unnoticed.
“Let’s get stronger then,” Bell proposed. “We can find our loved ones together.”
After a moment, Isaac grinned and nodded.
As for Isaac’s part of the deal, the two men stood facing each other on the field. In unison, red lightning bolts sparked out of them as they activated their Rddhi powers - for a moment, Isaac felt grateful for the heat it provided him. He assumed a defensive combat stance - offense wouldn’t be part of the training session. Bell reached into his greatcoat and scattered a stack of charms. He lit the nearest slip of paper, and one by one in a chain reaction, the rest of the charms activated, creating a cloud of lightning and ash. Each charm disintegrated and turned into water that froze upon hitting Bell’s shadow. The ice then snaked across the grass, heading right toward Isaac.
Isaac raised his superpowered fists and got ready. As the ice patch closed in on him, red bolts sparked within it and then spikes of sharp ice jutted out of the wave. These spikes twirled like snakes in the air and bore down on Isaac. Bell’s face remained serene as he attempted to land a hit on Isaac.
But the ice was too slow. Isaac backhanded the first spike out of the air, shattering it into a million shards. The next set of spikes reached the same fate, as did the next set and the next, even as they attacked two at a time, three at a time. When one went for his legs, Isaac simply roundhouse kicked it out of existence.
But the spikes kept coming. Bell’s face, usually so serene, was marked with sweat while he gritted his teeth. Isaac himself felt a little winded, but compared to everything he had been up against so far, knocking ice spikes out of the air wasn’t all that difficult. That’s when Bell clapped his hands and the spikes receded back into the patch on the ground, which elongated and grinded as it rose back into the air. Rather than an isolated spike, a giant tsunami of ice - one big, rolling wave of ice - rose taller than Isaac and threatened to engulf him wholesale.
During the fight, Isaac had also been training his own powers - his bracer had stored up energy, and he was now ready to use it. Right as the wave crashed down on him, Isaac lunged forward and emptied the bracer’s energy into his fist. There was an explosion of light and a storm of ice shards as Isaac punched a superpowered fist into the wave while activating his Fist of Anji at the same time; the attack carved a hole wide enough in the wave for Isaac to burst right through it. Bell clearly didn't expect this, as he reacted slowly as Isaac landed right in front of him. He gripped Bell’s collar and sleeve and swept out of his legs in a jujitsu move. Bell landed with a thud, with Isaac still holding onto him in victory.
The two remained there for a moment, catching their breath.
“You got me,” Bell admitted with a grin. He spread his patch of ice wide across the field and then deactivated his power, turning it back into a thin layer of water that would be absorbed by the ground before the cold would simply refreeze it. Isaac shifted his grip and hoisted his comrade back to his feet.
“We’re both 2A, yet you have far more combat experience than I do,” Bell said, stretching his arms and legs as a cooldown following the exertion. “I would like to catch up. I’ll keep translating if you keep doing these late night training sessions with me. Deal?”
Isaac almost laughed. Here he was, facing yet another outstretched hand in the moonlight. Reed remained his friend. Kieran died. Babs betrayed him and then died at his own hand, the hand that once shook hers in promise.
Maybe life’s just a series of handshakes. And just because some don’t work, it doesn’t mean all of them won’t.
Isaac raised his own hand and clasped Bell’s hands beneath the waxing moon. They trained for another hour or so, deep into the night, until they were the last ones on the field. When they finally trained to their satisfaction, the two departed, heading back down a road that cut through the base. All the exertion relaxed Isaac and made him feel accomplished, but a new sinking feeling arose in his stomach: he had to run through the gauntlet of a cold water shower before going to bed. This would be his toughest battle in a long time, so he steeled himself-
And then he noticed something. There was a tiny scream carried by the wind before being muffled and silenced entirely. Isaac paused; Bell stopped as well, having noticed it as well. This late at night, they were the only ones on the road, the only ones that would’ve heard the cut-off scream coming from an otherwise quiet building across the street.
“That’s a Naval Police admin building,” Bell observed. The flag with its golden scales of naval justice hung limp above the door.
The two men glanced at each other, then headed towards the building.