When Aisnam — and her puppet — returned, I was in the kitchen, cooking a small feast for her. I cooked mostly the local cuisine, a soup, a nice salad, some stir-fried meat; a nice spread, but not overbearing. However, I added a nice creme brûlée to the mix, even though caramelizing the crust had been a challenge.
It was one of my more functional discoveries. A nice dessert worked wonders in dealing with a bad mood. Naturally, not as much as the precious bottle of wine I opened early to allow it to breathe and reach the ideal situation. I didn't know for a fact that her mood would be bad, but it felt like a safe bet.
And, even in the case that I was wrong, there was no harm.
She walked down the stairs ten minutes later. She tried to look calm, but she wasn't particularly successful, making me glad that I took that particular bet.
"Tough night?" I asked casually as I looked at her, acting like I was more interested in her mood than the source of frustration. To be fair, it was half right. I cared about Markas somewhat, but ultimately, it was merely a place I visited for a couple of weeks, and I had done more than necessary.
On the contrary, keeping Aisnam happy was much more beneficial.
"Somewhat, but I don't want to talk about it," she answered absentmindedly as she approached the kitchen. "Smells good," she whispered.
"It's better. I cooked them just for you," I answered with a seductive smile. "Now, why don't you take a seat while I give you a massage."
She might have reacted differently earlier in our relationship. However, we were long past in such false kindness. A ghost of a smile appeared on her face as she nodded as she sat down, and I served the first course.
I stood behind her, my fingers dancing on her back, delivering a combination of ordinary and essence massage, helping her drain her stress. What she discovered must have been significant, because she was even more stressed than I expected.
"I find that talking about things can help the stress," I commented, but only after fifteen minutes of massage, turning her earlier frustration into a mellow calm. The wine certainly helped.
She stayed silent for a minute after my comment, but I didn't push her. I kept messaging, acting like I commented only because I was concerned with her attitude. "I can't believe how reckless the cultivators are, trying to plot against an ordained city lord," she commented.
"Really? From what I saw, cultivators don't care much about the mortals in general, do they?"
"Normally, yes. But an ordained city lord is different. It's a reward for the merits of the Great Battlefield. Violating it directly goes against the pact between the sects."
"What's the Great Battlefield?" I asked.
"You never heard of the Great Battlefield —" she started, then nodded. "Sorry, sometimes I forget that you're an itinerant martial artist," she added. I hummed and continued to massage her back. "The Great Battlefield is a dimensional weak point between our world and the demonic world, where they constantly attack our world. Every sect is responsible for supporting the battlefield."
"Really. Can martial artists play a role in such a battle? Maybe I should join the battle myself as well," I asked, surprised by it. I would have thought that, with the difference in the strength between the cultivators and the martial artists, martial artists would be useless.
As for joining the battle, I was just playing the role of the brave martial artist. I had no intention of joining such a thing, not even with the promises of rewards.
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"Only if you want to die without a grave," she warned me sharply. "Every year, millions of martial artists are sent to the frontlines. Do you want to guess how many returns?"
"I'm guessing, not many," I replied, still shocked at the mention of millions. And, from her tone, it wasn't just a few million either. This world was ridiculously large and crowded, but even with it, the number sounded excessive.
Her derisive chuckle showed that even that guess was an understatement. "Maybe one in ten thousand," she said. "And, even then, most die in a few years due to after-effects of the forbidden martial arts or the side effects of the medicine they took."
"Point taken. Don't go to the Great Battlefield unless dragged," I said. "Still, that doesn't explain how the Martial Artists can help the cultivators."
"The Great Battlefield is huge, far bigger than your mind could comprehend. Only through sheer numbers our world could occupy some of it. We don't have enough cultivators to cover the whole field," she explained. "Moreover, the Great Battlefield doesn't have a stable structure. Often, some phenomenon happens, suppressing Qi significantly in certain areas, forcing the command to rely on martial artists."
"I see. Definitely a place to avoid, then. I don't want to be used as cannon fodder," I agreed. Her tone showed that she didn't want to talk about it anymore, and I was happy to follow that direction. Though, I couldn't help but wonder if Black Tiger Onslaught was one of those forbidden martial arts.
It was a reasonable guess. Using that technique for years — or, maybe even weeks — would turn someone into a bloodthirsty monster, unfit for society.
"Surviving martial artists receive huge rewards, including being ordained as a city lord. The pact between sects openly forbids targeting ordained city lords," she finished explaining.
I understood the rationale, but I doubted the fight between Entsa Pavilion and Kartpa Valley was the first time an ordained city lord was targeted through proxies.
After all, it wasn't the cultivators that targeted them, but other martial artists. Also, it was interesting that, during my visit, I had learned nothing about the city lord being ordained by the cultivators, the battlefield, or anything else. Nothing I had read about the history even indicated such a thing. However, it didn't make me distrust Aisnam's account. Her explanation clearly included a lot of secrets, and it was absurd to assume a random book from a bookstore would share state secrets.
"So, my guess was right. Tiger Fist army is here to invade Markas."
"Officially, they are invited to clean up the savage beasts, but otherwise, yes. They are here to take over Markas unless Entsa Pavilion helps. But, since there's no movement, it's clear that they have other priorities."
"Why all the trouble for a mere city?" I asked. "It doesn't look like something cultivators care about."
"That, we don't know," she admitted. "Maybe it's just a way to take over the kingdom. Zaim is supposed to be allied with Entsa Pavilion, but Kartpa Valley is making some moves in the region," she explained.
"Why not take over the kingdom first, then deal with Markas."
"If they do it, them breaking the pact would be too obvious," she said.
"You don't seem happy about it," I said.
"No. My Queen has an invitation to join the Entsa Valley to establish her Foundation once she reaches the peak of Qi Gathering, but there's no guarantee that invitation would still exist if the kingdom switches sides," she explained absentmindedly. Then, she tensed. "That was my mistake to reveal it. Please don't reveal it," she added.
Her tone was intense enough to convince me that she had revealed that particular nugget by mistake.
"As you wish, madam," I said playfully as I leaned forward and kissed her neck, making her shiver. She believed my words easily, as it was hardly the only secret I knew about her. And, if I wanted to work against her, all I needed was to sell the medicine to someone else rather than bring it to her.
She giggled, but that was the extent of her reaction, showing that she was not in the mood for some … escalation. I followed that wordless clue. After all, one rule of being a freeloader boy toy was to follow those wordless clues religiously. For a powerful woman, the constant humping that ignored her desires was very important.
"Have you tried the dessert," I said as I grabbed a spoon, scooped some of the creme brûlée, and fed her gently. She looked hesitant at first, but her eyes brightened instantly once she tasted it. "I never had that dessert! It's delicious," she said as she reached for the spoon.
"No need. I got it," I said as I filled another spoon, happy to take the opportunity to soften the moment. I let the discussion fade into less important topics. I was tempted to ask her a question about whether she wanted to support Markas, but, ultimately, I decided against it. I didn't want to show undue interest in that topic.
The last thing I wanted was for her to start suspecting my connection with the mysterious apothecary helping her. Instead, I decided to extend her help through another mysterious letter.
After I had a talk with Marana.