Aten watched as the gilded servant knocked on the door to his father’s private office. It was completely unnecessary. His father was a Martial Grandmaster of the Iron Step. He’d have noticed Aten and the gilded servant long before they reached the door.
Still, his father was the patriarch. The appropriate courtesies had to be shown. Even if you were his only son.
The door swung upon immediately, making Aten raise a questioning eyebrow. It was unusual for his father to be able to see him as soon as he arrived. He was ordinarily busy with something else, forcing Aten to wait at least several minutes.
Had his father been waiting for him? That… didn’t bode well. The last time his father had made time for him like this was after Aten had beaten the city lord’s son into a bloody pulp. His father had taken great care to impress upon Aten what a very bad thing he’d done.
It had been a deeply unpleasant experience.
But that couldn’t be what awaited him now. He hadn’t done anything!
Okay, sure. He’d started a drunken brawl in the Peach Blossom House. A bit embarrassing for the clan, but nothing warranting this! Especially since he’d won.
… And he’d gone gambling in the Winding River Hall. But that shouldn’t warrant the personal attention of Mor El Tyran. At most, a couple of elders would give him some token punishment.
Had he done anything else noteworthy? As far as he could remember - and his memory was excellent - he’d just been cultivating and practicing his martial arts.
Aten tried not to let his nervousness and uncertainty show on his face as he strode into the room, moving with a confidence he didn't feel. It'd be better if he at least knew what he was being reprimanded for.
His father was standing off to the side, looking out a window at the Highest Mountain. The office itself was rather small. At least, when compared to what would be expected for a martial artist of his father’s power and influence. A single desk, some shelves, a few chairs, and a small balcony off to one side.
"Greetings, father," he said, bowing with his left fist pressed against the palm of his right hand in a classic martial arts salute.
The urge to ask why he'd been summoned was hard to resist. But given that he was already in trouble, it was best not to push at the edges of proprietary. Still, that his father was looking at the mountain gave him hope that it wasn’t about something he’d unwittingly done wrong, but about something to do with the strange lights and mist on the mountain.
His father didn’t acknowledge him immediately and Aten didn’t dare break his bow without being acknowledged. Disrespecting the elders was one thing. But filial piety, his respect for his father, and his own sense of self-preservation all demanded that he give Mor El Tyran the respect he was due.
So he just stood there, head bowed and hands clasped. Finally, his father’s voice entered his ears.
“Relax. You aren’t here to be punished.”
A wave of relief washed over Aten. He dropped the salute, looking up at his father.
Mor El Tyran looked much the same as always; a handsome man who seemed to fill whatever room he was in. Tall, powerfully built, and wearing the black and orange robes of their clan, stylized in accordance with his position as patriarch. His hair, like Aten's, was black. Though his eyes were gray to Aten’s yellow.
“Glad to hear it!” Aten beamed at his father. “So then, what orders do you have for me? Something to do with the Highest Mountain, I presume?”
His father clasped his hands behind his back, nodding gently. “Yes. Come, join me on the balcony.”
Aten frowned slightly, but obediently followed his father. The view was quite something. Goldplume City itself was built on a small hill in the valley, allowing those in the inner city to easily look out upon the entire city and surrounding farmland and homesteads.
His father's office in particular was located on the highest floor of the Great Manor of the Mor clan's inner city compound. It therefore had an excellent view, allowing him to see the entirety of the Mor clan with a single sweep of his eyes.
"Do you remember the stories of the Dragon's Gate Sect?" His father asked as they stepped onto the balcony. "In particular, the stories about this city?"
"Of course," Aten said, a hint of dismissal in his voice. "The Dragon's Gate was a high divine sect famous for their boast that any with sufficient diligence could leap the dragon's gate and become a god. But one day, the entire sect vanished. This city, where they kept their failures, is all that remains as proof that it existed at all."
His father nodded, a strange look on his face. "Failures indeed," he mused. "Our Mor clan was around back then. Did you know that?"
Aten nodded. It had been part of his history lessons. The Mor clan was the only one of the five great clans that could be considered an ancient power, as they were the only one to have been established before the Dragon's Gate vanished.
One would think this advantage would leave them as the strongest clan in the city. But while it was true that the Mor clan’s roots ran deep, they’d gone through hard times more than once. On more than one occasion, they’d been on the brink of total annihilation.
“Although we credit the establishment of our clan to the Tiger King, Mor Lin,” his father continued, “He was merely responsible for pulling our clan out of obscurity. Our clan was truly founded by descendants of an Exalted Being from the Dragon’s Gate Sect.”
Aten nodded. This, unlike his father’s previous question, wasn’t common knowledge. He only knew it because he was the son of the clan patriarch. As far as he knew, there was no real reason to keep it a secret. But it had been the habit of their clan for a thousand years.
“I say all this so that you understand the gravity of my next statement.” Mor El Tyran turned to his son. Aten's mind staggered under the full, unrestrained weight of his father’s focus. “We must obtain the Rising Tiger Scripture.”
“Not the Dragon’s Gate Scripture?” Aten blurted out, unable to hold back his surprise. The legendary scripture was the namesake of the Dragon's Gate Sect. It was, for those with the conviction, a straight path to divinity. Or at least, so said the old stories.
His father snorted. “If possible, yes. I’d certainly like that one as well. But the Rising Tiger Scripture is the one that suits our clan the most, as it was established by our ancient ancestor. The true progenitor of our clan, of whom we’re the ‘failed descendants.’”
Aten wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. His father sounded bitter in a way he'd seen when his father talked about Kees Nervant, the Nervant Clan patriarch. He'd never realized how much his father despised the term 'failed descendants.'
"The Rising Tiger Scripture will resonate with the bloodline of our clan members," his father continued, all traces of bitterness gone from his tone. "Over the generations, this will allow more and more of our clansmen to undergo atavism, like what you experienced."
Like what he experienced? Aten frowned, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the thought. Then he shook his head, letting out a slightly self-mocking laugh.
What an idiot he was. Wanting to be special instead of working to help the clan. Besides that, Aten normally asserted with great confidence that he would be great even without the prowess granted to him by the purity of his bloodline inheritance.
Was he not talented, focused, determined, and intelligent? Was his confidence so easily shaken? To instinctively reject the idea of any other clan members having his same level of bloodline purity felt like a slap in the face to his conviction and self-confidence.
When he regained his clarity of thought, he noticed that his father was looking at him with a knowing gaze. Aten felt another stab of embarrassed shame. Wanting to move past the awkward moment, he quickly spoke up.
“Did the ancestors leave behind any records of where it could be found?” Aten asked. Then, idly, he gestured towards the gray mist visible on the Highest Mountain. “Though it seems like the more pressing issue is that murderous fog.”
Aten didn’t actually think the fog would be a problem. His father wouldn’t have started this conversation if there wasn’t some sort of solution. He just wanted to prod his father into telling him what that solution was.
If Aten had to guess, it was likely a matter of cultivation. Perhaps having a lower cultivation was a boon to whatever method his father had discovered?
That would explain why his father had called him here instead of simply climbing the mountain himself. The sense of unease that had been slowly winding up in his chest loosened a little at the thought.
Perhaps there really was nothing to worry about?
Still, something about his father felt off in a way Aten couldn’t quite put his finger on. If it was anyone else, he’d have called it guilt. But he’d never seen his father feel guilty about anything. He wasn’t sure the man was even capable of such an emotion.
“The fog isn’t an issue.”
Yep. He'd called it.
“It’s dissipating,” his father continued. “In a month, perhaps two, it will be possible for people to begin ascending the mountain. Those with lower cultivations will be able to ascend sooner than those with higher cultivations, as the fog is more drawn to those with denser essence.”
His father hesitated. Then, as though choosing his words with great care, he said, "The Mor clan will need allies for the conflict that will surely come."
Aten wasn't sure why, but the look in his father's eye made his stomach drop. It was guilt. He was sure of it now that it had become so pronounced.
"But even more important," his father continued, looking him directly in the eye, "Is that we break the alliances of the Nervant clan."
A frown creased Aten’s forehead. Something about what his father said was niggling at him. Establishing new alliances. Breaking Nervant alliances. There was something- Aten felt his mouth go dry as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.
“You want to break Hela’s engagement with Sion and engage her to me instead,” he said flatly.
It wasn’t a question, nor was there any doubt in his voice. He knew he was right. It was just the sort of thing his father would do. Accomplishing three goals in a single master stroke. Break the alliance of an enemy clan, establish one of their own, and get one over on his old rival, the Nervant clan patriarch.
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“It’s already been arranged,” his father said bluntly, not bothering to spare Aten’s feelings. “Tonight, at the City Lord’s banquet, their marriage contract will be annulled and a new one between Hela and you will be established.”
“She’ll hate me,” Aten said. His head was starting to feel fuzzy as the real implications of his father's plan started to sink in. “You do realize that, right? Sion and her really do love each other.” His own voice sounded like it was a thousand miles away. “I wouldn’t put it past her to murder me in my sleep.”
“The contract will have a binding component. She won’t be able to act against your interests.”
His father’s merciless words were like the swing of an executioner's ax, killing Aten’s final hopes. He swayed slightly, grabbing the railing for support. This was too sudden. Tonight? He’d only just found out. It was happening tonight?
“What part will I play in the proceedings tonight?” Aten asked mechanically. He wasn’t sure how he’d come up with the question, nor where he’d found the energy to ask it.
His father’s jaw tightened for a moment. “Sion will be there. It’s likely he’ll attack you out of anger and humiliation once his engagement is canceled and Hela is arranged to marry you instead. If he does, you must publicly humiliate him.”
Of course. It would be the final nail in the coffin. A dagger in the heart to the political momentum the Nervant clan had been building under the leadership of Kees Nervant.
But that wasn't what this was about. Not really. If it was for the sake of the clan, his father wouldn't look so guilty. This was personal. His father had always hated Kees Nervant ever since Jiris Illian chose Kees over Aten's father.
"Understood," Aten said tightly. "May I go now?"
His father looked at him for a long moment. The guilt was still plain to see on his face. But so what? It didn't matter that he felt guilty. He was still doing it.
Aten wanted to say something. A cutting remark. A comment about how he was doing this for his own sake, not the clan's.
He didn't. He couldn't. He couldn't string the words into coherent sentences, much less get them out of his mouth.
"I still have more to tell you…" His father hesitated, looking at Aten closely. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. "No, it can wait. Go clear your head."
"Thank you." Aten bowed, then left the room. He tried to not make it look like he was running away.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Aten sat outside one of the Mor clan compound's medicine halls. A smaller one meant for the personal use of the clan patriarch and his family. Maybe the occasional elder as well, if needed. His thoughts weren't so chaotic anymore, but his mind was still frazzled.
It was one thing to have his marriage arranged. He'd half expected that; it was simply what happened to the children of the clan's patriarch. But this… this was different.
He'd always expected to be married to one of the Bethels or Hui. Not to Hela Kaats. He'd never even considered the idea of marrying her; as long as he'd known her, she and Sion had been promised to each other.
Aten sighed heavily, trying to expel his frustrations. He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the winding streams and well-kept gardens without really seeing them.
Unconsciously, he began to regulate his breathing according to the Tiger Breathing Art. The foundational breathing method used by everyone in the Mor clan.
The chaotic eddies and ripples in his aura began to slowly smooth as he fell into meditation. He didn't practice the meditative forms that normally accompanied the breathing method; he wasn't doing this for the sake of cultivation, after all. He just needed to calm down.
Really, this wasn't so bad. So he'd be stuck in a loveless marriage. So what? It wasn't like she'd actually kill him in his sleep. The Mor clan elders, let alone Aten's own father, would slaughter the Kaats clan in revenge. It wouldn't get to the point of clan extermination, but Hela and her close relatives would certainly die.
…Besides, he was immune to most poisons. Cultivating a resistance to them was a requirement with the Bethels as one of the other major clans of the city.
He could strike some sort of agreement with Hela. He'd overlook her indiscretions if she overlooked his. So long as she and Sion were discreet, he could accept them continuing their romantic engagements. Aten wasn't like his father; he didn't have any particular grudge against Sion or Kees Nervant.
It wasn't like Aten had his heart set on any particular woman anyways. He'd always been too focused on his study and practice of martial arts. Success was something built day by day, after all. Only diligence would see him rise to the top.
Really, this situation was much worse for Hela than him, given her genuine feelings for her current fiance. Which was why his gut reaction had been that she'd murder him so she could go back to being engaged to Sion.
Aten snorted, breaking his meditative trace. Sighing, he looked up at the sky before shaking his head. It was an unpleasant situation. But life wasn't a fairy tale. He wouldn't always get what he wanted. His near loss of control earlier was just embarrassing.
So, the Nervant clan would be losing their alliance with the Kaats clan. That was big news. The two had been inseparable allies for several generations now. His father must have paid a pretty shocking price to convince the Kaats elders to betray that alliance.
Something like that wouldn’t normally be worth it. But with prizes like the Dragon’s Gate and Rising Tiger Scriptures on the line, there was no such thing as being too careful. If the Kaats and Nervant were able to work together to bar the Mor clan from competing over the scriptures, it would be disastrous.
Which was probably the exact train of thought his father and the clan’s elders had followed and why they had decided it was worth paying the price. It was also likely the main reason his father had been willing to force him into this situation.
After all, his internal accusations of his father doing this for the sake of revenge were just petty. His father wouldn't do this to him if it wasn't for the sake of the clan. That his father could stick a knife in Kees' back was an added bonus, not the main point.
That was what Aten would choose to believe. And he certainly hoped it really was the truth.
"Young Master," a soft, feminine voice called out. "The Baptism has been prepared."
A wry smile worked its way onto Aten's face as he got up, nodding his acknowledgement at the physician's assistant. It certainly wouldn't do to miss his Baptism after all his worries of being poisoned by his future wife.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Aten breathed deeply, trying to ignore the stinging, itching, rotting sensation of the poisons infecting every part of his body.
The 'Hundred Poisons' of the Hundred Poisons Baptism wasn't hyperbole. First, various needles were poked into acupoints along his body. They were used to both dose him with the medicines he'd need to survive the Baptism and to act as entry points for the poisons.
Next, a bath of sixty-four poisons was prepared. While soaking in that bath of malfeasance, thirty-six more poisons were intermittently drunk, taken as pills, or breathed in. His entire body was submerged in the poison bath throughout the process, with him breathing and taking in the oral poisons through a tube alongside various medicines.
It was a miserable experience that always left Aten feeling like he was made of broken glass. More like a walking corpse than a martial artist. It took hours for him to recover enough to cultivate.
Still, the benefits were undeniable. Aten took a deep breath of poisonous air as he tried to focus on that.
Not only did it increase his resistance to poisons, it increased the strength and flexibility of his body. The physicians claimed it had a positive effect on the soul as well, but their inability to prove it left Aten skeptical. Though, in spite of all those benefits, he still thanked the heavens that he was nearing the end of the treatments.
According to Master Jelwir, the physician who'd pioneered the development of the method, another thirty or so days should take him to the limit of what he could get from the process. At that point, he'd supposedly have the physical strength of a weak Iron and a high enough resistance to poison that he'd have little to fear from the Bethel clan.
Supposedly.
Aten was far less certain about it than the physicians, despite having studied and understood the theory behind the Baptism's methods and the expected effects. The methods and process of the Hundred Poisons Baptism had only been perfected a few years ago. So far, only Aten and his own father had begun the process of attaining the so-called Hundred Refinements Body.
Other than the test subjects, of course. But they'd all been immediately executed after verifying the effectiveness of the method. Aten and his father were the first important people to undergo the treatments. In other words, Aten had never personally seen anyone display such impressive strength due to the benefits brought about by the Hundred Poisons Baptism.
The very idea was bizarre. The poisons were expensive, but not horribly so. The process wasn't especially complicated either, in spite of the genius required to actually invent it.
Most importantly, it didn't require any active effort on the part of the person undergoing the Baptism. As far as Aten knew from the research he'd done over the last few years, all similar body enhancement methods required a person to have opened their Fate Palace. Possessing a divine sense was just a basic requirement to make sure the body refinement process worked correctly.
If this Hundred Poisons Baptism process truly brought people's physical strength to the level of a Noble Being… calling it revolutionary would be an understatement. The Mor clan could quietly double or triple its strength in just a few years by having the elders undergo the process.
Sure, it did nothing to increase his cultivation of vitality. If anything, it hampered it. While Aten could and did cultivative as soon as a few hours after his Baptism, he could only do so gently and with great care. Even the following morning, he'd feel brittle and sore to the point that cultivation was difficult.
But that didn't matter. The increase in physical strength was far more than enough to make the process worth it, even if it turned out to be less than promised. It was just a pity this whole business with the Dragon's Gate was happening now, not in a decade's time.
Thinking of the Dragon's Gate brought his mind back to his future bride. Within the poison bath, Aten's expression soured.
Fortunately, he didn't have any time to sink back into his earlier frustrations. On either side of him, plugs were being pulled out of the bath, draining the poison he was submerged in.
Above him, he could just make out Master Jelwir's nasally, weedy voice. The man was one of the few people he genuinely respected, but Aten really did hate needing to hear him speak.
"Alright, that's all for today," Master Jelwir was saying. "You'll have a few hours to recover before you need to attend that party the City Lord is hosting."
Aten relaxed his jaw, letting his breathing tube fall to the side as he gave a weak nod. The first few minutes after the Baptism were almost worse than actually being in the poison bath. He felt so frail and helpless. His skin, muscle, bones, and organs were all absurdly sensitive as they readjusted to the lack of incoming poison and every puff of air that touched his skin felt like it had riddled his body with tiny holes.
A bit of drool tried to leak out the corner of his mouth, but he refused to allow something so embarrassing. With an enormous effort of will, he licked his lips and swallowed. The lingering poison on his lips burned.
"Send Eli and Yan in." Aten had to force the words out, his voice raspy and raw. But having his two manservants here to help him would be a whole lot easier and less painful than staggering around to wash and clothe himself on his own. It was worth a bit of pain in his throat.
Master Jelwir waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, they're already here. You'd have seen them if you'd bothered to sit up."
Aten twitched, ignoring the spike of pain from the action as he was once again reminded of why he respected Master Jelwir, but did not like him. Master Jelwir was entirely aware of how damaged Aten’s body was. Sitting up wasn’t outright impossible, but it would be agonizing and he knew it. The comment was just meant to poke at Aten’s pride.
To either side of his tube, Eli and Yan silently stepped closer and into his line of sight. Without commenting on his inability to move on his own, they reached down and picked him up with gloved hands. Over the next few minutes, they rinsed him down, dried him, and helped him dress.
He’d still need to take a real bath later, but this was good enough for now. A little bit of his normal strength was already starting to seep back into his body. He still felt like a sack of rotten meat, but at least he could move around. In a few hours when the banquet started, he should be in adequate condition to give Sion a beating.
Aten sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. Sion wouldn’t be that stupid, right? The Nervant young master had once been Aten’s equal, but that was when they were children. Then the yellow rot had torn through their valley like a wildfire.
The fungal disease had robbed Sion of the strength in his lungs. And while Kees Nervant had spared no expense to heal his son, there wasn’t much that could be done.
Naturally, Sion’s cultivation speed had fallen dramatically. Cultivation had a heavy emphasis on being able to use breathing arts, after all. By this point, Aten could easily crush him. Sion had to know that.
Aten sighed, helplessly running a hand through his hair. He really, really hated the role he was playing in all this. He may have accepted his unfortunate new marriage, but that didn’t mean he liked being the feast’s two-bit villain, breaking up the star-crossed lovers.
Well. It didn't really matter, did it? It was out of his control. His only two options were to embarrass his father and the clan by publicly rejecting the engagement when it was proposed or accepting his fate.
His lips twisted in a wry grin. While the first was a nice daydream, Aten knew he'd never really do it. The clan was his home and his pride. His father was his rock and greatest reliance. He could never betray them like that.
He would do his duty.