A sweet smell woke Yuan up.
He had dreamed of guns, smoke, and blazing ammo since they had left the Thunderlands. His bullet-core pumped his brain with visions of firearms and desolation, of duels between faceless shadows and gunpowder songs. His soul yearned for battle, and so did his body.
His metal veins hungered for qi. The air inside the spirit-train felt so dry to cycle through after the Thunderlands’ supernaturally rich atmosphere. He was a thirsty man who had jumped out of a lake and into a pond.
Not that cycling will help me reach the Third Coil any faster. Yuan slowly opened his eyes as the sun shone through the panoramic window. I can’t cross that stage on my lonesome.
Reaching the Third Coil required the consumption of a pill harvested from a distilled spirit-fruit. Ingesting this concentrated source of qi allowed Scraps to form a core, but harmed cultivators without a strong enough constitution. The entire cycling process leading to the Second Coil allowed them to reinforce their flesh enough to sustain the sudden power influx.
The hard part was finding an untainted pill.
Not only were these medicines difficult to prepare, but the slightest exposure to radiation or demonic influence could corrupt it. Consuming a tainted pill might result in death or worse. Most of the wasteland’s mutants could trace their origins back to some fool who ate one from the wrong batch. The good stuff’s rarity meant that charlatans flooded the market with fake ones, making powerful sects the only safe sources to find one; and they never gave them away without strings attached.
An alternative option would be to slay a powerful spirit-beast and consume their core, but they would need to be beyond the Third Coil and unmutated. A rare and difficult catch.
Would he even need a pill or the equivalent? Gunsouls didn’t play by normal cultivation rules, after all. Reaching the Third Coil might require other steps for his kind.
Yuan banished these thoughts from his mind for the moment, since he had more pressing concerns. A dead white sea of calcified flowers stretching as far as his eye could see beyond the window, infesting milky white lakes and blooming on rusting Lost Age ruins. Yuan heard that these flowers used to be one of the Fleshmancer’s oldest—and least effective—attempts at creating new flora that could thrive in the wasteland. Their seeds contaminated water sources, with the only cure being boiling temperatures. He and Holster would have to be careful when buying local supplies.
At least breakfast smells good. Yuan arose from the sofa to find Holster missing. I wonder what she prepared.
The thought sent a chill down his spine the moment it crossed his mind. Something wasn’t right. Holster hadn’t shown any aptitude for cuisine. Yuan had been the one to cook their rations so far.
And that female presence nearby… Yuan scowled upon detecting it. He had already picked up on it yesterday in the spirit-train’s air, but it had grown stronger since. Coalesced. Although he sensed no hostility from it, Yuan wasn’t one to take chances.
“Holster?” He called out to his charge, only to realize that she was missing from the panoramic wagon. Fearing the worst, he immediately rushed into the dining cabin. “Holster!”
He found her eating a meal that he did not recognize in the company of an unknown woman.
Yuan immediately adopted a fighting stance, his fleshy hands tightening into iron fists. The only thing that prevented him from overwhelming her in a burst of speed was the short distance separating her from Holster. She was sitting right next to his charge, who ate her food completely heedless of the danger right next to her.
The mystery woman greeted him with an eerily kind smile and melodious words spoken with an accent he did not recognize.
“Greetings, Honored Master Yuan,” she said with a formal bow. If she felt threatened by his presence, she showed no hint of it. “I hope you’ve rested well.”
“Well enough to blow off your head if you don’t step away from my protegée right now,” Yuan warned her. He leaned forward a bit and prepared to leap at her. “I don’t know how you sneaked onto this spirit-train, stranger, but you’ve picked the wrong target!”
“Sneak in?” The woman answered his words with a smile filled with confusion. “Honored Master Yuan, I’ve been here from the start.”
Her answer, and the way Holster briefly looked up from her plate to stare at Yuan in confusion, made him wonder if he hadn’t misunderstood the situation. His charge showed no fear even now.
Yuan studied the woman more closely. She looked around his age, with a slim, slender figure and auburn hair bound in a bun. Her eyes were a pale shade of gold, the kind of which he had never seen before. She dressed elegantly in some type of red uniform that included a black cap showcasing words written in a language he didn’t understand.
Yuan detected a familiar resemblance to Holster in the woman’s face, like an older sister or mother. She was beautiful, with fair and unblemished skin. That part bothered Yuan. He had never seen a woman without some dirt on her; even cultivator beauties boasted scars or sweat from training. Even the most talented of thieves would have accrued some dust boarding a spirit-train in motion.
This woman was a supernatural entity of some kind. She radiated a qi that felt both unknown and yet somewhat familiar…
Yuan’s eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the rad-hag?”
“Not anymore, Honored Master Yuan,” she replied with a slight frown, as if he was somehow the one who didn’t make any sense. “Not entirely. Don’t you recognize my aura?”
No, he didn’t. Her qi appeared hardly distinguishable from the spirit-train’s–
Wait. She was there from the start?
“It can’t be,” Yuan muttered as he lowered his fists in recognition. “You are the spirit-train itself?”
“You could say that, Honored Master Yuan,” the woman confirmed with a sharp nod. “I am its caretaker spirit.”
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“That’s impossible. Only Thunderlands can generate enough qi to manifest a caretaker.”
“And yet, here I am. I have a theory, but we can discuss it while seated.” The woman invited him to join them at the table and waved a bottle full of strange darkish liquid at him. “Would you like some tea with your breakfast, or a bottle of oil? Though I find the latter tastier, my previous passengers seemed fonder of the former.”
“Tea?” Yuan narrowed his eyes on the drink as he sat at the table. Now that he looked more closely, it did remind him of the jasmine blend he often served to the Stoneskin Sect Elders. “I didn’t find any tea onboard.”
“You did find leaves, Honored Master Yuan,” said the spirit. “Time simply rotted them away. I managed to restore them by using the same magic that lets me repair my body when damaged, alongside today’s meal. May I suggest fried eggs and bacon to go along with it for a full English breakfast?”
Yuan had no idea what bacon was, let alone the word ‘English,’ though both sounded edible enough. As for eggs, the few he’d ever tasted didn’t look half as yellow as the ones in front of him. He hesitated to take a bite until he watched Holster finish her own meal with a ravenous appetite. Yuan reluctantly grabbed a silver fork—feeling awkward as he did so—and then picked up the ‘bacon.’
One bite later, he found that he couldn’t stop eating.
“Do you like your food, Honored Master Yuan?” the woman asked.
“Uh?” Yuan had his mouth too full to answer. By the Wayfinders, he had never eaten anything with such a soft, tasty texture! “Uhm!”
Thankfully, the caretaker took his bestial answer in stride and swiftly proposed more meals. “May I suggest bolts to go along with the meat? The battle with our unwelcome guest must have surely damaged your internal workings.”
“Uh, sure?” Yuan replied, only to find himself staring at a plate filled with metal parts. He thought bolts might have been a nickname for some kind of fruit, but the spirit served him engine parts instead. “I, uh, I don’t eat those.”
“Oh.” The caretaker spirit’s smile immediately faded away. “Oh, I am so sorry, Honored Master Yuan. I thought that since you had metal for veins like I do–”
“It’s fine,” Yuan replied. He figured he shouldn’t ask a spirit-train to immediately figure out the inner workings of human anatomy. “The rest is good.”
“I feel so relieved by your appetite then,” the spirit declared upon swiftly removing the bolt-filled plate. A trapdoor opened in the nearest wall and she swiftly threw the ‘food’ down a shaft. “I wanted to thank you and Miss Holster personally for repairing me, but my understanding of human culinary tastes is purely academic for now. I slumbered underground for God knows how long.”
“God?” Was she speaking of a Wayfinder? Yuan managed to stop crunching his food just long enough to ask her for details. “Which one?”
“I cannot say,” the woman replied with slight embarrassment. “I only have vague memories from my existence as a train, but I recall that my human passengers used that expression now and then.”
She spoke so formally that Yuan wondered if she picked up her mannerisms from some old book. He swiftly set his now empty plate aside, much to Holster’s delight. Was that how cultivators ate all day at the Stoneskin Sect? Why did they always complain then?
Those people never appreciated their privileges.
“If you are this spirit-train’s caretaker spirit, then are you its will incarnate?” Yuan asked, with the woman nodding in confirmation. “How did you manifest?”
“I suspect I owe you my new life.” The woman glanced at an empty spot near their table. Yuan recognized it as the place where he and Holster had killed the rad-hag. “When at death’s door, our unwelcome passenger attempted to possess my metal frame in a last-ditch attempt to survive. Though she failed, she infused me with enough of her spirit that I managed to coalesce. I created this avatar based on the memory of my previous crew, so I hope it feels at least comfortable for passengers such as yourself and Miss Holster.”
Yuan didn’t know enough about spirits to tell whether or not this was a normal occurrence. He assumed it was a good sign though. The spirit-train appeared well-disposed towards Holster and him, and uncorrupted caretakers always took care of their dominion’s inhabitants. If she was anywhere near as powerful as the rad-hag was, then she could help defend the train from invaders.
A detail did bother Yuan though. “Why do you look like Holster?”
“I can take any shape you wish, Master Yuan.” The woman blinked a few times, too abruptly for it to be natural. It looked as if she had suddenly remembered that humans ought to do that in public. “I assumed this one because I thought you and Miss Holster would be more predisposed towards a familiar face. Was I wrong to assume as much?”
Yuan shrugged his shoulders. He cared less about her appearance than her character and power. “Look however you want,” he replied. “As for Holster, she clearly trusts you already. That’s enough for me.”
Holster nodded vehemently, much to the woman’s happiness. “Thank you kindly. I will do my best to ensure that you have a pleasant stay onboard.”
“What am I supposed to call you though?” Yuan asked. Though he knew that spirits put great importance on names and titles, since it represented their power, it felt odd to travel with someone without at least a nickname.
“My name is written on my side,” the woman replied proudly. “Orient Junction TR-61. But you may call me Orient for short, Master Yuan.”
Orient Junction? What a strange name for a spirit. Yuan would have expected something more awe-inspiring, like Great Heavenly Train or Cosmic Wheel. He wisely kept that thought to himself though.
“I am master of nothing, Orient,” Yuan insisted. Master was a title reserved for sect disciples, and he belonged to none. “Just call me Yuan, if you must.”
“As you wish, Honored Passenger Yuan,” Orient replied mirthfully. Somehow that sounded even worse. “Based on your map, I am happy to announce that we will soon reach our destination of Fleshmarket within an hour’s time.”
This news both excited and worried Yuan in equal measure. On one hand, he should be able to gather information on Slash’s band in Fleshmarket, since they likely stopped there; and he might be able to negotiate getting a pure pill from the local sects. On the other hand, Fleshmarket was also a slavers’ den under the Yinyang Khan’s influence. The spirit-train’s approach would bring undue attention, not to mention Holster. A Hitobashira like her made for a tempting target.
“I’ll need to settle a few affairs in town,” Yuan said before patting Holster on the head. “Can you take care of her in my absence? People will come after her the moment she steps off this spirit-train, so she’ll need to remain onboard and hidden for her own safety.”
While Holster shrank in her seat in worry, Orient’s smile didn’t waver in the slightest. “Believe me, Master Yuan, unwelcome guests will not find Miss Holster onboard… nor a safe way out of my wagons, for that matter. I control this train’s layout and while I am not as powerful as a Thunderlands’ caretaker, I can handle myself.”
Her firm tone surprised Yuan. He hadn’t expected a spirit-train to feel so protective of its–her?–passengers.
“I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t mind a short spar,” he said. It would be a good occasion to test how crossing the Second Coil had improved his body too. “What do you plan to do after we reach Fleshmarket though? You don’t owe us anything.”
“On the contrary, Honored Passenger Yuan, I owe you and Miss Holster my life and for my many repairs,” Orient replied with refined poise. “Moreover, my only duty is to bring proper passengers where they wish to go while ensuring that they have the most pleasant and safest of stays. This directive is inscribed into my very frame.”
Ah, that made sense. Spirits didn’t quite think like humans. They each had a role or purpose, from caring for a piece of land to answering certain prayers, that drove all of their actions. Yuan considered himself lucky that he and Holster earned their places onboard.
“So you will bring us to any destination we wish?” Yuan asked.
Orient confirmed it with a nod. “Though I must remain bound to the earth’s leylines to travel, I will be more than happy to carry you and anyone else you wish to bring onboard anywhere you want until you no longer require my services.”
It was rare to find gratitude in the wasteland, and Yuan was all the more appreciative for it. He nodded sharply at Orient and promised himself not to let her kindness go unrewarded.
Her proposal opened up many possibilities to him. He had been considering restarting his activities as a courier, and sects would pay a great deal of money to transport supplies and passengers on a spirit-train across the wasteland.
He might be able to negotiate a pill’s purchase.