A messenger hawk soared through the air, gliding down from the high reaches of the mountains. The target was a great city built in one of the few valleys. Though it had high stone walls, only a small part of it actually fit within them. The rest spilled out into the wider valley, filling it nearly completely.
Goldplume City. Once known as the City of Eminent Mortals.
The hawk shot over the walls like an arrow from a bow, bypassing the protections entirely. It rose over the outskirts of the inner city. It glided above the secondary walls of the outer court, moving towards the section devoted to the Mor clan.
And finally, it flew above the walls of the Mor clan itself. Past the gilded gates with their stone tigers. Past the barracks. Past the courtyards where men and women trained their martial path. Straight to the heart of the manor at the very center of it all.
There, a man stood on a balcony, one arm outstretched. The hawk alighted on his arm, ruffling its feathers as he stroked it. Gently, he untied the scroll on its leg and let it unfurl.
For a while, he considered the contents with a thoughtful expression, going over them again and again. Finally, he shook his arm, sending the hawk back off to the roost before returning to his office.
Mor El Tyran had arrangements to make.
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What was the best part of training new initiates?
If someone asked Aten this question, he’d answer without hesitation: getting to watch them suffer while he lounged on a bed of pillows and was cared for by beautiful women.
Mor El Aten watched his trainees sweat and groan in the burning light of the waxing sun from his position in the shade of his patio. Mira, one of his personal maids, held a fat, juicy grape up to him. He lazily opened his mouth for her, letting her push it past his lips.
It was disappointing to see the lack of a blush on her face as her fingers brushed him. She'd gotten used to him, it seems. More’s the pity; he’d quite enjoyed teasing her.
Aten shifted his head to glance at Ana, the maid playing the zither. Now, there was a woman who was fun to tease. It could be hard to get a reaction out of her, but it was always worth the effort.
Rea shifted by his side, leaning her head against his shoulder. He smiled fondly down at her. Honestly, it was too damn hot to be holding a woman, no matter how beautiful she was. But he'd always found it hard to say no to Rea.
Rolling his eyes at his own small weakness, he glanced out at the courtyard. Immediately , he locked eyes with one of the twelve training out in the courtyard. The boy was glaring at him like Aten had kicked his dog. The bitter and resentful gaze of the sweaty, dirt-covered boy made Aten’s heart sing with delight as a wide grin spread across his face.
Yes, truly this was the best part of training.
His silk pants and shirt rubbed smoothly against his skin as he indolently sprawled deeper into his cushions, hugging Rea tighter. They were fine clothes, made of the best silk in the city: steelheart silk. A product of the infamous black grass spiders.
Black grass spiders were rare things. Hard to capture and harder to contain. Their bite was viciously venomous and even their silk had to be carefully processed to remove the acidic and poisonous properties of it. Only the Bethel Clan knew how to do it. Which meant they were free to set the prices.
As such, to get a full set of clothing made of steelheart silk cost more than most merchants made in a year. Those with the money declared it a waste. Those without weren’t worth mentioning.
Aten had seven sets, all in different colors. One for each day of the week, if he felt like it.
Another grape was lifted to his mouth. He accepted it, chewed, and washed it down with a sip of blue lily wine.
A pair of trainees had stopped sparring to stare at him. It was hard to read the expressions on their exhausted faces. But if he had to sum it up in a word, he’d call it envy. Or perhaps hatred.
“Get back to sparring,” he called out, raising his cup at them in a mock toast. “It’s not time for a break.”
His grin returned in full force as his words registered in their heads, rattling around and making their faces turn redder and redder. Several other trainees had the same reaction, all stopping to glare at their supposed instructor. Their impotent rage only made his wine taste all the sweeter.
Chuckling, he motioned at Kua. She quickly raised her large fan, waving it at him. Simple designs embroidered on the delicate fabric lit up with a dim glow as she channeled her aura into it, cooling the air as it passed over Aten’s face.
He closed his eyes, basking in the pleasant sensation. It really was a hot day. It must be horrible to be out in the sun sparring and exercising.
Mira held another grape up to him, holding it against his lips. Without bothering to open his eyes, he opened his mouth for her. He chewed absently, enjoying the mix of sweet flesh and tangy juice.
A moment later, his eyes popped open. He glanced slyly over at the two unhappy trainees. Sure enough, they still weren’t sparring like they should be. They stood there, panting and seething as they glared venomous hatred at him. Wonderful.
“Rem,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice. His servant would hear him. “Tell those two to go run laps around the yard. They can’t stop until I tell them to.”
Rem Alicos stepped out from the shadows he’d been hiding in. Like all Masters of the Martial Path, he was a powerfully built man. More akin to a carved statue than something any human could be expected to achieve. Combined with the large frame of his Alicos heritage, he was more than enough to intimidate a couple of boys into obedience.
Aten watched as Rem stalked across the yard, his black and orange robes making him truly look the part of a tiger in human form. Which was, of course, the entire reason for the robes having been designed that way.
The two boys quailed as Rem reached them. Their eyes widened in blank horror as he gave them their new training exercise. They pleaded, they begged, and they quickly gave in. As they began to jog, they shot Aten malevolent glares. His eyebrows shot up at their audacity.
After considering them for a moment, his eyes drifted over to the other ten martial disciples sparring in the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard. They were, to a one, entirely unimpressive. He’d been more skilled than them as a child.
Though, to be entirely fair, they weren’t much older than children themselves. Twelve and thirteen, to his fifteen years. By that measure, they weren’t half bad. After all, not everyone was him, either in natural talent or the training they received.
It was still embarrassing to watch. It hadn’t been so bad before the sun rose. At least then they’d had the excuse of poor vision. But now the light of the rising sun was illuminating the world. What was their excuse now?
His gaze drifted back to the two impudent children who’d had the temerity to glare at him. Perhaps…
“Ana,” he asked, rolling back so he could get a good look at the woman playing the zither. “Do you think I should go out there and give those insolent fools a beating?”
His maid hummed softly, the sound harmonizing naturally with the soft plucking of strings. Aten watched her as she frowned down at her zither, giving the casual question far more respect than it deserved.
All of his maids were beautiful. It was only natural. He was the son of Mor El Tyran, patriarch of the Mor clan. Just as importantly, he himself was a prodigy the likes of which was rarely seen. That he'd have beautiful, well-mannered maids to attend to him was simply a matter of course.
Ana plucked the strings of her zither with an elegant grace that truly turned it into an art form. A simple dance done with just the movements of her arms and hands. Aten waited patiently, a light smile playing around his lips. Even Mira and Kya had turned to look at her, Mira pausing in her efforts to select the best grapes from the small vine she was holding.
“If the young master so desires, then of course they deserve a beating,” she said at last, looking up from her zither with a serious expression. Aten laughed, saw her face morph into a pout, and laughed again.
“All that thinking and that was your answer?” Aten asked, smiling fondly at her. “Come on Ana, just toss out the first thing that comes to mind. To beat them or not to beat them?”
“Oh.” Ana paused her playing for a moment, an embarrassed flush gracing her cheeks. Then she nodded sharply, raising her clenched fist into the air. “They got angry at the young master out of petty jealousy. They definitely need a beating!”
Aten laughed again, reveling in her simple honesty. This time, even Rea, Mira, and Kya couldn’t hold back their amusement, laughing along with him.
Ana looked at her fellow maids with a faint expression of betrayal. Her hand fell back down to the zither, seeming to pluck the strings without thought as she straightened her back and did her best to ignore their amusement.
It only made their shoulders shake harder as they watched her desperately try to look the part of an elegant musician in a futile attempt to maintain whatever scraps of dignity she had left.
Still chuckling, Aten rolled over and sprang to his feet. He stretched languidly, looking down at the lowly disciples training in the courtyard.
"Very well!" He announced proudly. "I'll put on a show for these sorry fools!"
His maids all clapped, looking suitably impressed by his statement. Aten grinned back at them before letting the smile drop as he turned back to the courtyard.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Time to actually be an instructor, he supposed. Well, if something was worth doing, it was worth doing right. He'd go ahead and put some effort into this. It'd be a chore for sure, but he could deal with.
“Disciples of the Mor Clan,” he called in a voice that brooked no disobedience. “Gather!”
At once, the ten boys and girls that were still sparring broke apart and ran to assemble at the foot of the raised pavilion Aten had been lounging in. The two that Rem had sent to run laps looked over uncertainly, clearly unsure if they were to be included in the command.
“You two!” Aten waved at them. “The stupid ones! Come stand at the front.”
He smirked as outrage rippled through their bodies at the little insult. Their indignation only rose further as their peers began to mutter and whisper, sending strange looks their way. The bigger of the two already looked ready to pick a fight, whether Aten wanted one or not. Good for him. He lacked sense, but at least he had a spine.
Aten considered them as they pushed their way through the little crowd. The bigger, and likely older, of the two was still nearly a head shorter than Aten himself.
That was something of a problem.
Despite what he’d said to his maids, this wasn’t meant to be a beating. Well, not just a beating. It was to be an object lesson, performed using the two unlucky fools as living props. But how was he supposed to give a good demonstration with such weak opponents?
Nominally, he was in the same realm of cultivation as all twelve of these initiates. But in reality, he could beat them like dogs and not so much as dirty his robes. There was simply no comparison. He leapt down from his patio with an easy grace as he mulled over the problem, landing an arm’s length from the two.
What had their names been? They’d all announced themselves earlier when they arrived, but he hadn’t been paying much attention. He'd been much more interested in teasing Rea about those strange books he'd caught her reading.
…Hvath and Mel, was it? Yes, that sounded right. Aten snapped his fingers as he recalled, startling the initiates. Mor Joi Kes Hvath and Mor Ket Mel. A member of an inner family and his accompanying servant.
“We’re going to spar,” he informed them. “We’ll keep going until the two of you give up. You’re free to use whatever methods you like. I won’t use my aura.”
Not that he’d need it. It didn’t look like either of them had manifested their blood aura, so foregoing his own was just leveling the playing field.
Well, not really. He'd have to hold back the great majority of his physical strength and speed as well. There wasn't much he could do about his durability, but Aten didn't plan to let them get any hits in.
Looking over them, he spoke to the other ten. “You’re all going to watch. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
That said, Aten turned back to Hvath and Mel. Naturally, they were both glaring at him. He’d expect nothing less by this point. Mel spat to the side, advancing on him.
That… actually made him rather angry. Anger was one thing, but blatant disrespect?
“Anything goes, right?” Mel asked as he stalked forwards.
“Yes, anything from the two of you,” Aten confirmed, folding his arms. “Lowly Beings like yourselves could never harm me, so don’t bother holding back.”
Mel sneered as Hvath circled around to Aten’s back. “What gives you the right to be so high and mighty? You’re in the Copper Step too!”
Aten hummed, not bothering to respond to the nonsensical statement as he listened to Hvath’s footsteps. The boy was, what? One, one and a half meters away?
Mel seemed to take his non-response as pure contempt, from the way a vein started popping out of his forehead. Which was completely accurate. Aten had never taken him seriously and didn’t plan to start now.
At least he had an explanation for the kid’s sheer idiocy. The fool didn’t even understand the difference between them. Saying they were in the same Step? It wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean he was right.
Oh well. Perhaps he’d realize the truth during this fight. If not, well, there was always next time. Mel seemed like the sort to pick fights with his betters on a regular basis.
Aten fell into a loose fighting stance. As he did, he made sure to keep a tight grip on his aura. It would be pretty embarrassing if he used it on instinct after saying he wouldn’t. Not like he’d need it, but habits were easy to fall into. Besides, he wanted to make a particular point. That power was important, but skill was king.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he invited. An arrogant smile curved his lips as he met Mel’s gaze.
Mel didn’t waste a second. The dust around him scattered as he launched himself at Aten, rising to meet Aten’s face. Behind him, Aten could hear Hvath doing the same.
The urge to roll his eyes was nearly unbearable. It wasn’t a bad strategy. Just… predictable.
Spinning on his heel, he raised both arms, palms out. Hvath and Mel reached him an instant later, Mel lashing out with a vicious kick towards his head and Hvath going in low for a liver shot.
Aten easily ducked the kick, slapping Hvath’s punch to the side. In the same motion, he backhanded Hvath across the face. Which didn’t do much damage, but it still knocked him off balance.
Seizing the opportunity, Aten turned his full attention on Mel, who was only just recovering his balance after his failed kick.
Aten didn’t go for the kill shot. He could see it clearly in his mind’s eye. Step in close, driving a fist into Mel’s gut. Shift to the side when Mel doubled over, then slam a hammer blow down on the back of his head.
But that would leave Mel unconscious for the lesson. Which wouldn’t be good. Aten already knew the sorts of answers his questions would get. They’d be wrong and give him a chance to thoroughly explain the correct answers.
So instead, Aten slammed his fist into Mel's gut, slid to the side, and dropped a hammer blow on his shoulder. Mel crumpled like a sack of dropped bricks as his shoulder was dislocated, letting out a grunt of pain as he reached with his good arm to push it back into place.
Aten didn't stick around to wait. Like a whirlwind, he spun back to Hvath. The audacious young servant immediately aborted his Pouncing Tiger strike, falling into a defensive posture and giving Aten a wary look. Aten smirked at him.
That had actually been some rather decent form. Nowhere near good enough, of course, but much better than he’d expected from the flunky of someone like Mel. Maybe this kid actually had some real talent?
Aten figured it would take Mel at least a few seconds to pop his shoulder into place and get back in the fight. That was plenty of time. He could afford to indulge a little.
A sharp flex of his legs put him up close and personal with Hvath. The boy threw a punch, clearly moving according to some boxing style. Aten met it with a palm, redirecting it with the sort of skill normally only seen in people thrice his age.
Normally, Aten would have followed up by taking another quick step forwards and landing a punishing blow to the liver or kidney. But he wanted to see what this servant boy was made of.
So instead, he stood his ground. Hvath quickly rebalanced himself and drove forwards with an onslaught of punches. Though calling them an onslaught might be giving them too much credit.
Still, there was the beginnings of what could one day be a decent boxing style. Nothing truly remarkable, but not bad for a kid from a servant branch.
His curiosity satisfied, Aten did what he should have done from the start, stepping in past Hvath’s guard and slamming a fist in his solar plexus. While Hvath folded, the air knocked from his lungs, Aten knocked his legs out from under him with a low sweep. Hvath hit the dirt hard, choking and wheezing.
That had been, what? Four seconds? Maybe five?
Glancing back at Mel, Aten was satisfied to see that the boy was still clutching at his shoulder. It looked like he'd popped it back into place already, but hadn't gotten past the pain yet.
Looked like his training hadn't included fighting through injuries. Pity. That was the sort of training that kept you alive in a real fight.
Shrugging, he took the opportunity to turn to the other ten disciples, who were all looking at him in a mixture of awe and horror. He smirked at their awestruck expressions. It had been a pretty clean takedown, hadn’t it? It had been like beating up children, even if they were supposedly all Coppers.
For a moment, the smile slipped off Aten’s face, replaced by something much more complex. Then he blinked, an easy grin reasserting itself. Time to play at being a teacher. With Mel as the bad example.
"Tell me, Mel," he asked, squatting down to look the boy in the eye. "Why did you lose?"
For a moment, Mel considered attacking instead of answering. Aten could see it in his tight, angry eyes. But apparently, the effortless beating he'd just received had managed to knock a bit of sense into him.
So instead, Mel settled on giving Aten a surly look as he answered. "You were stronger than me. And faster."
"Wrong," Aten said flatly. "I restricted my strength and speed. Try again."
Mel snarled. Behind him, Aten could hear Hvath dragging himself to his feet. Given the sounds of scuffling, Aten guessed one or a few of the other disciples were helping him. None came over for Mel though.
Poor Mel.
“I don’t know,” Mel spat through gritted teeth.
“Yes you do,” Aten countered. “You just don’t want to admit that I beat you through superior skill.”
Aten waited, giving Mel a chance to respond. But nothing came. Mel just kept silently glaring at him. Aten rolled his eyes.
“Mel,” he asked, a bit exasperated, “What do we cultivate?”
For once, Mel answered immediately and without any venom. “Essence.”
The word came with the certainty of having been asked this question a thousand times and having given the same answer every time. But it was still- “Wrong.”
Aten looked around, meeting the eyes of his temporary students one by one in an effort to drive his point home. “Essence is not what we cultivate. Never make that mistake.”
He picked up a handful of dirt and held it up so they could see. ”If we compare ourselves to a garden, essence is the soil. It’s required for growth, but it isn’t what we cultivate.”
The soil fell as he opened his hand, then clenched it into a fist. “In a garden, the gardener cultivates plants. But as martial artists, we cultivate our skills. Our martial arts.”
They nodded along, easily understanding his point. Which was expected; all of them must have heard this at some point already.
Looking back at Mel, he concluded his little lecture. “A cultivator refines essence, growing the size and quality of their Source. But we are more than mere cultivators. We are martial artists. To neglect our skills is to neglect the entire purpose of the garden we develop.”
Aten didn’t bother waiting to see if Mel or any of the others had accepted his words. He was done trying to teach them. He turned towards his pavilion, smiling at his maids. Mira raised a bunch of grapes invitingly.
He waved disinterestedly back at the students, not bothering to look at them. “Alright, lecture’s over! Go back to sparring!”
With a soft grunt, Aten leapt up the small staircase in a single bound, twisting in midair to snatch a grape off the bunch as he flopped into his bed of pillows next to a startled Rea, who gave a little yelp as she desperately tried to prevent his wine from spilling. He tossed the grape into his mouth as he wrapped an arm around Rea, smirking at the disgruntled expressions of his maids.
He let his eyes drift shut, all lingering tension from the little fight leaving his body as he listened to Ana's music. Maybe he'd have Kya or Rea give him a massage? It'd be nice to relax before his Baptism in the afternoon.
Abruptly, Ana's zither went silent. Aten blinked his eyes open. He turned his head towards her, a question in his eyes. That question died the instant he saw the man in black, gold trimmed robes.
A gilded servant. An elite who served at the whims of the elders and patriarch, accomplishing whatever task was asked of them, no matter how minor.
"Young Master Aten, your father requires your presence," the gilded servant said, not bothering with any pleasantries. Not that Aten had expected any.
"He does, does he?" Aten mused, raising a questioning eyebrow at the servant. "Pretty unusual that he’d send a gilded servant to come fetch me. Must be important. Is it about the happenings on the Highest Mountain?"
“I cannot say, young master,” the gilded servant said.
Aten waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I know. You’d never dare to put words in my father’s mouth. I was merely speaking my thoughts out loud.”
The gilded servant said nothing. Because of course he didn’t. Aten scoffed, reluctantly getting to his feet. He scooped his wine glass out of Rea’s hand, downing the contents in a single go before handing the empty glass back. There was no sense in wasting good wine, after all.
“Well, I suppose you four can clean up here,” he said casually. Rea, Mira, Kya, and Ana all bobbed their heads agreeably.
That settled, he turned to follow the gilded servant.