10. Will to Power IV

“I first wish to apologize,” Kal continued. “The reason why I lied is because I wish to keep myself hidden from this vessel’s family, and in extension, Pria Summerborn. If she ever finds out, there could be far-reaching consequences. You’re a stranger, and thus more privy to this truth.”

“I feel… wrong.”

“It’s time. Time is meaningless in our souls,” he explained. “In the surface world, a second will have passed while we spend several hours to days here. Don’t get any ideas. I’ve tried using this to learn quicker, or rest faster, but they always slip away as soon as I wake.

“You’re a transmigrator,” she said, breathless. “A cultivator from a higher realm.”

“I’m not a cultivator,” he said. “But as far as truths go, that will have to do. For now.” He waved a hand.

Wooden pallisades sprung up around them. Stone walls served as the foundation, and earth were shaped and molded into a soldiers. An Almorian Republic Military Encampment, strategically placed on a hill near a river. The clay soldiers wore standardized equipments of reds—breastplates, elongated shields, spears, javelins, helmets, iron boots. Details differed from soldiers and utilities, from messengers and healers, aspects and avatars, officers and grunts, but she wouldn’t know all that.

He rather liked the small details, even if they weren’t necessary. He turned and shaped them into something closer to fantastical—silvers and smoothly shaped stones, with differently patterned banners to hide his home. It wasn’t a closely guarded secret, but it wasn’t something he would tell to strangers.

“This is a mental manifestation that defends my soul against external attacks,” he said. “Come. I’ll show you something.” He climbed the ladders, helped her up, and gestured out into the darkness of the world. There were little sparks in the distance. “Do you see those lights?”

She nodded.

“Those are memories. Yours, mine, I don’t know. They appear around us the more vivid they are. We can re-experience the past if we decide to visit them.”

“And where is my soul?”

“A part of you is here, conscious. The rest is within you still.” He cleared his throat. “This defense doesn’t only guard my soul. It protects my body as well. When your skin is wounded, little demons can seep in and corrupt the body. It may never decide to stay there and feed on your flesh or disguise itself as your blood and plant its eggs around your body.” He pointed at the distance. “I was wounded heavily, and my skin has been exposed to cold air and forest for hours. What monsters do you think has found my body as its home?”

In the far horizon, a purple egg-like shape tower sprouted from the ground. It expanded and contracted like a heart every second, and spilled out black bile on the ground. The first monster hatched—a four legged, black creature with sharp claws and a grotesque human face.

“A demon,” she said. “It looks similar…”

He was surprised. “You’ve seen these creatures before? In the surface world?”

“Something like that,” she shrugged. “What has this to do with healing you?”

“It’s a narrow but laborious path, I’m afraid. Destroy the nest, these demons stop spreading, and my body can heal itself faster.”

Around them, dozens upon dozens of similar nests sprouted from the ground, some closer than others. “I say we can’t take anything we’ve learned here to the surface world, but I admit, it is quite fun defending my soul so long as they don’t break through.”

Reimallia Mars stretched. “Does my soul look like this too?”

“I never saw a soul map from a cultivator. Perhaps. We’ll have to see.”

She gave a nod. “What happens if they injure me?”

“Headaches, bruises, lightheadedness, fatigue, vomiting… your soul will be injured. So be careful. I’ll be here to assist you in any way I can, but I can’t protect you from your carelessness.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Reimallia punched the air, kicked the palisade, then nodded to herself.

Kal gestured to the army of clay soldiers. “I may not be adept in single combat, but I was in command of a century once. And aspects are far easier to command than men.”

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If this information somehow gets in the hands of dangerous cultivators, Kal would’ve been in danger. So it was, revealing this secret to Reimallia Mars, had been a calculated risk. He wouldn’t be able to predict when another unexpected and unpleasant visitors may come.

The Fortson brothers may visit tomorrow, and he would have no hope of defending himself. What he could do now was latch Reimallia in hopes that sticking with him would allow her access to Imperium rather than sell him out for silvers.

He noticed something at the corner of his eye. A flash of light—a memory Reimallia hadn’t noticed.

The past died, along with Kal Sorvenn, his family, his friends, his nation, his brothers in arms. There was nothing left on that land but crops of cinders and rains of hellfire.

Kal turned away from it—from all of it, and wished nothing more than to never stumble into these memory pockets.

There was an order to these. Logistical awareness wasn’t a priority within a soul, so his clay soldiers would obey him without question, and would never tire nor grow hungry.

“I’ll kill the majority of them before they swarm. Stay here and wait until my signal.”

Kal sat down cross-legged. Unlike in the surface world, he wasn’t limited here by vision. His mental faculties were in sync, so he was capable of understanding how many clay soldiers he had, and how many, which was around five-hundred, or a cohort.

He divided these cohorts into contubernums or groups of ten and spread them all out from the walls, divided. Normally, this wouldn’t be an effective strategy. It would be better if he could leave a fifth of the army within the encampment to man the walls, and the rest to destroy the nests together. But these swarms weren’t very intelligent, nor do they pose any real harm, so he didn’t need to exert any effort increasing the defenses of his mental faculties and replacing his clay soldiers to more durable ones.

He killed a group of demons, or whatever they were, one after another, as he slowly advanced toward the nest. “Can you kill the ones that snuck past?”

“Yes, but—“ she looked about. “There hasn’t been any. Yet.”

There was a flash of light, and suddenly they were somewhere else. On dirt ground, where the sky was bright, and the sun peeked through the clouds. It was summer again, a season that felt so distant. Kal did opened his eyes, looked around, and found that he didn’t recognize this place.

“This is your memory,” he said, shutting his eyes. “This happens from time to time. You can’t avoid it. Just,” he yawned. “Let it slip past you like water. I’m too focused on killing these demons.”

Reimallia spun around, then, “This is the Weeping Sect.” A young girl ran with four other children—and that girl was one without hair. She was left behind, gasping, when she fell down clutching at her chest. “This was when I was ten,” Reimallia said, with clouds in her eyes. “My chest tightens whenever I run for too long.”

Kal stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. “Snap out of it, Lady Reimallia. I’m a soldier, not a Teacher. I can’t pull you out if you drown.”

She pointed in the distance and laughed dryly. “Look. See that woman standing over there?” There was a glint of fear in her eyes. “This is what cultivators are. Monsters.”

Kal watched as that woman took the four children inside, glanced at Reimallia, and left a parting remark: “Your qi is weak. Your heart can’t bear the weight of the cultivation. Leave.” When Reimallia didn’t get up, the woman walked over, knelt down, and sighed. Her violet robes were stained on the cobblestone. “The elders will punish me for this.”

She pulled Reimallia into her arms and walked back inside the building. The scene changed abruptly, as though the memories were willed by Reimallia. She was being tended, massaged and healed by this woman.

Kal said, “This is the first time I had to ponder if an act of selfless kindness is considered monstrous.”

“You’ll see.”

He blinked, and the scene changed. Reimallia was carrying a platter of food to a feast. She carefully walked past the group of seemingly powerful cultivators who were kneeling down.

“This is an annual feast at the Weeping Sect,” she said. “The sect master and his elders are gathered togeter. I was an outer disciple then. And I have many enemies.”

As the little Reimallia neared the woman, she was ‘accidentally’ pushed, spilling the soup to the man next to her. The man seemed more shocked, and when his peers laughed at him, his face was flushed with blood.

“Ingrate!” The woman said and punched Reimallia, forcing her to keel over and forcing her to gag. “Senior brother,” the woman began. “I will personally punish this cultivator.”

The man’s lips were trembling. But he was able to control himself. He breathed in, let his hands rest on his lap, and said, with trembling lips, “I trust you will, junior sister.”

Little Reimallia was grabbed by the neck and carried off beyond the door.

“I was beaten and whipped,” Reimallia said. “I suffered three broken ribs under her punishment. Then she put me in the rooms of my enemies.” She paused here, and thought for a moment. “Curious. Spilling soup over an elder is considered an expulsion. And my enemies, they didn’t touch me. They always look away whenever I’m in the room, and they followed me around like wolves.”

She blinked in confusion. “She didn’t take me as her disciple, and for every punishment, she forced her cultivation onto me. One time she made me run in a field of several hours, at very early in the morning and evening. She was—um. She was…”

“Protecting you—“

“Shut your mouth!” She looked like she was in tears.

She turned to the distance. Eight out of twelve nests had fallen, and the clay soldiers left a bloodied battlefield. He had killed all of them in the first wave. He meant to leave some for her, but it had been a while since he stretched his control over his aspects.

She rubbed her eyes, sniffed, and looked away.

Then she drew her hand back. And upon regaining consciousness, Reimallia took a few halted steps back, dropped a pouch on the ground, and made her way to the front door.

“Lady Reimallia!”

Kal clutched at his head. He saw one other memory he was certain he shouldn’t have been able to see. Inside that memory was when Reimallia exacted vengeance against the woman.

Upon assuming a high position, Reimallia beheaded the woman herself.