41st of Season of Air, 57th year of the 32nd cycle
Newt sprinted back, spear in hand, and charged into the still-feasting allosauruses. The nearest beast raised its head in time to see its own blurry reflection in the spear’s tip before sharp steel pierced its eye. The allosaurus’s roar died before fully forming, leaving the monster’s throat as a pained gurgle.
Newt kicked its massive neck, hurling the dying dinosaur at its packmate. The three remaining allosauruses roared and growled, one of them chomping at the human.
Newt sent a surge of Magmin Flames along his weapon, and the flaming spear pierced into the monster’s open maw. The allosaurus squealed as its seared flesh hissed and parted, but it pulled its head back before Newt could land a lethal blow.
The prone allosaurus threw off its dead packmate and twisted to return to its feet, while the other three-thousand-pound beast stepped onto the overturned cart, snapping it into kindling and squishing the cabbages to paste. The allosaurus lost balance, and Newt used the opening to plunge the spear into its neck.
Blood sprayed as Newt withdrew his spear, and the allosaurus clawed at its own throat. The beast thrashed its tail and turned to flee, colliding with its packmate just as the other allosaurus got back to its feet. They toppled together while the one whose mouth was scorched turned around and fled.
Newt made short work of the prone monsters, then caught up with the last survivor. He jumped, aiding his leap with a burst of hot air beneath his feet. The spear entered the back of the allosaurus’s neck, and the lifeless dinosaur fell, tumbling head over heels along the field of still-green wheat.
Newt drew a breath and exhaled, an overjoyed grin on his lips.
I didn’t even break a sweat.
Newt’s third eye told him the allosauruses did not have a speck of spiritual energy beyond what was expected for normal living creatures. They were mere beasts, descendents of evolved ancestors which had attained the second or third realm. Still, Newt was satisfied. Even as mortal beasts, allosauruses were powerful adversaries, able to match Elder Noble and his ilk in single combat.
Newt returned to the overturned cart, the peasant finally reaching it in his own mad dash.
“I’m ruined!” The man pulled at his hair again, weeping before his dead gastonias and trampled cabbages.
Newt felt sorry for the man.
“How will I feed my wife and little ones?”
The words tugged at Newt’s heart, and he considered giving the man several gold coins to purchase new beasts of burden and make up for the lost cabbages. When he was desperate, a stranger helping him would have been a blessing, a saint sent by the heavens.
It would have been a curse. If someone else took me out of the mines after Father and Mother were sold, I would have been devastated. Elder Brave and the rest would have taken over, and I would have been a waste or a puppet at best.
“The eighth baby is on the way! Will Daisy lose the baby from shock when she—”
“Heaven’s lightning, man! Here,” Newt stuffed a fistful of gold coins into the peasant’s face, filling his hands and coins rained on the ground.
“Go, buy whatever you need, just stop. Get a hold of yourself! You’re alive! Don’t you understand how big of a difference it is for your family that you have not died to a random dino attack?”
Newt almost slapped the man, but even a casual blow would likely break a mortal’s neck, if not smash his skull outright. Unaware of how close he was to death for the second time that day, the peasant went down on his knees.
“Thank you, Lord Cultivator, thank you.” Instead of gathering the coins, he growled before Newt’s feet. He tried to hug and kiss his shoes, but with a light burst of hot air, Newt jumped outside the peasant’s reach.
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“What are allosaurus doing this far from their habitat?” Newt asked as a crowd slowly gathered.
“The carnivores have been getting restless lately,” the innkeeper said. “There’s enough woodland to hide them, so we can’t tell for sure whether these are random attacks or a larger movement. Stegosaurus and triceratops have trampled several fields. We sent a request to the Association and to the Black Fist sect three days ago, but the messengers probably haven’t reached them yet.”
The innkeeper lowered his gaze, and Newt knew what the problem was. Black Fist sect did not care about the mortals and several fields of mortal food being destroyed, as for the Association, the village was at the fringes of the empire, an irrelevant region, and they would not move for several carts of cabbages. Maybe not even for an occasional peasant devoured by the passing non-spirit beasts.
Newt would think the same if the suffering people were a week away. They would have been somebody else’s problem. But he could not turn his back on them with them standing right before him.
“Could you show me where those other incidents happened?” he asked and the crowd’s mood lifted, the people shining with hope.
“Certainly, Lord Cultivator,” the chubby innkeeper bowed thrice, motioning Newt to follow.
He took a step when he looked at the cabbage transporter once more.
Eight children? You’re not even thirty years old.
“Congratulations on your eighth child,” Newt said, and the cabbage transporter looked at him with a stupid grin. “You should give your wife some breathing space. Maybe a separate bedroom.”
The grin froze, but then the surrounding men approached the cabbage transporter.
“Daisy’s pregnant again?”
“Congratulations!”
Newt left the wellwishers and the confused father behind, following the sweaty, anxious innkeeper.
“We have enough time to visit two farms before sundown,” the innkeeper explained, and Newt followed, considering the situation. He asked about the village and its people, as well as the history of dinosaur attacks.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No great person was born or had a tomb in the irrelevant village of Wheatfield. No secret realms, nor extreme losses during previous dinosaur migrations. The place was practically the Blazing Salamander clan’s back yard. Only then did it dawn on Newt that they asked for help from two distant organizations without even alerting the one next door.
“Why didn’t you ask for help from the Blazing Salamander clan? A runner could have reached them in a day.”
“They were a mighty force once, ages ago, but that clan has long since declined, Lord Cultivator,” the innkeeper said, apparently unaware of the implication of Newt’s robe. “We still tell the legends of their ancestors defending us during times of peril to our children, but right now they are weak. Even if they send their people, the dinos might kill them.”
Newt wanted to argue, but could not. If he sent Brave and the five other elders, some of them might have died to the five allosauruses, and elders Stronggrow and Marrow needed to watch the clanhold. In the end, he simply nodded.
“You should at least notify them about what’s happening. This is their territory, and they should know about potential threats. Even if they are weak, if the danger is great they might help, or shelter you where they can protect you. Better to lose your fields than your lives.”
The strained smile made it obvious the innkeeper doubted Newt’s words, but he still agreed.
“Yes, Lord Cultivator. Sorry, Lord Cultivator. I will have someone deliver the news tomorrow.”
Great, now I feel like I’m strong-arming mortals.
“You don’t have to. It’s just common courtesy.” Newt said, and the innkeeper repeated his assurances before their conversation died an awkward death.
They inspected the two farms, but there was little to see, other than trampled fields and several giant mounds of poop left by multi-ton dinosaurs wandering around. Newt noticed that the field visited by stegosauruses seemed less tormented than the one flattened by the much heavier triceratops, but that was about it.
The eyewitnesses claimed the animals were jittery and often turned to scan their surroundings for predators. A worrying sign, but reasonable, considering the allosaurus attack.
Newt and the innkeeper returned to the inn just as the sun was about to set. The innkeeper insisted on giving Newt free accommodations and a free meal, and for some reason, Newt found the polite gesture comical. He had just given a random peasant enough money to purchase farm animals and to make up for his losses. A potage and a night’s rent is a drop in the bucket, but he still thanked his host and went to the room after finishing a bowl of warm stew.
Newt made himself comfortable on the bed, and read his notes late into the night. Most of the techniques were evolutions of the ones he already knew. With a bit more spiritual energy and an intricate manipulation of heated air, Flashfire II became Flashfire III, releasing a loud boom along with the flash.
Cauterize Wounds had suffered heavier modification, and its big cousin, Fiery Purge, helped burn away foreign energies from the cultivator’s body. The next level of Flaming Fist launched flaming projectiles a dozen feet away, while upgraded Firewall burned incoming attacks from a foot away, hopefully deterring wild dinosaurs.
Long hours of the night passed, and two hours before dawn, Newt allowed himself to doze off. He planned to spend the day investigating the forest and believed a quick nap would help sharpen his mind.