60th of Season of Air, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

Newt wowed, staring at the massive, forty-foot-tall sandstone walls which surrounded the imperial city of Thunder Ridge. Viewed from the imperial capital, Thunder Ridge was the imperial family’s furthest outpost, a backwater town controlled by insignificant branch members.

From Newt’s perspective, it was a city of splendors. Towers dotted the thick walls, fifty yards apart and evenly spaced. Soldiers at the first realm patrolled the walls and guarded the gates wide enough to fit a titanosaur, while dozens upon dozens of wagons waited in line, appearing insignificant before the city’s majesty.

More importantly, an imperial city had all the infrastructure needed for cultivators to grow and prosper. It had stores selling spirit beast cores to awaken the young generation’s spirit roots, cultivation instructors, training areas, the exorbitantly expensive library, the Association, and finally, the guild houses.

The latter two interested Newt the most. He wished to visit the Association and join as a novice member, as well as take the test for the Formation Scribes’ Guild. Blackfist should also be somewhere inside the city, the former sect master promised he would leave a note for Newt at the Association, using his original name, Dandelion.

But first, he had to enter the city. The weather was already getting hot, the sun baking men and dinosaurs alike, and as he approached them, Newt wondered who smelled worse. Probably the dinosaurs, but their handlers smelled more or less the same. Newt joined at the back of the line, and a middle-aged merchant dressed in rich red silks turned around to see who was behind him.

“Young man, are you a cultivator?” he asked politely, and Newt nodded.

“This is the line for merchants, the line for mortals and cultivators is over there.” The merchant pointed towards a much shorter line with pedestrians only. “First realm cuts in front of the mortals if there are any in line, second realms come in front of the first, third in front of the second, and you understand how it works.”

“Thank you.” Newt nodded and moved to leave, but the merchant spoke before he took a step.

“I run a monster-reselling business in the Quarter of Coin, The Clearjade shop. Do pay me a visit if you are interested in trading spirit beast parts or spirit beast cores.”

“How much for a second realm core?” The second realm core was the lowest cultivators could reasonably find and use, without bringing the youths to hunt with them and immediately absorb the first realm cores before they dissipate because of their frail and unstable nature.

“Fifty first realm spirit gems,” the merchant said without hesitation, “but forty if you purchase them before they enter the city, and I pay the tax for them.”

Newt stared wide-eyed. No wonder the clan struggled. A mortal would have to trade an entire village for the cheapest, most basic spirit beast core, and a successful awakening was not guaranteed. The chances increased with the core’s realm, but he guessed the price must also increase astronomically.

Newt was about to ask what he could expect if he sold one, but realized the merchant would not tell him if he asked like that. Newt hesitated for a moment, but found no reason not to try.

“And if I am selling?”

“That depends on the quality of the core, how old it is, whether it has already stabilized,” the merchant spoke further, listing conditions and possibilities, but as Newt had expected, Clearjade did not give him a price.

Newt thanked him again and went to the cultivator line. As Clearjade had guessed, there were no mortals waiting. Newt cut ahead of the first realm cultivators, who accounted for roughly half the queue, then passed another third of them before reaching the last third realm cultivator waiting.

“Hey, kid, get back in line,” shouted a scarred man waiting behind Newt.

Newt turned around, trying to come up with a response. “My realm is higher than yours, sir.”

The man wore armor made of black scales, but Newt could not guess the type of dinosaur it came from as most of them had thick, dark skin. The stranger wore a turban, and he used to be handsome before something mangled his face.

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“What are you looking at?” The stranger seemed eager to start a brawl, but his friend grabbed him and held him back.

“Stop it, the guards will send us back.”

“He pushed me!” the scarred stranger argued, and Newt eyed him. He had not touched the man.

“Ah, so that’s the problem,” the aggressive stranger’s calm friend said.

“Young Master,” he addressed Newt, “my associate here claims you injured him—”

“He said pushed, and I didn’t touch him,” Newt argued, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“He is willing to forget the slight and the injury he suffered for five first realm spirit gems—”

“I’m not paying anything.” Newt turned around and pretended the two did not exist.

“Hey! Young Master,” the calm one shouted. “You have injured my friend’s body and dignity, he demands—”

“Let me shank him,” Scar hissed, and Newt spun around, reaching for his spear while covering his skin in a black flow of spiritual energy.

“What’s going on back there?” a guard shouted and pushed his way towards Newt and the two scammers.

“They—”

“Honorable imperial guard,” the calm one spoke swiftly, “this Young Master, injured my friend, offended his person, and was about to draw a weapon against us, peace-abiding citizens who quietly minded our business while waiting for the chance to enter your glorious city.”

The guard regarded the smooth talker seriously and nodded before shifting his attention towards Newt while the rest of the crowd looked the other way, unwilling to involve themselves in Newt’s matter.

“Young man, pay these men ten first realm spirit gems for their trouble. You were about to start a fight before the gates of an imperial city, the punishment for that is—”

Newt was struggling for breath, thinking what to say, when someone interrupted the guard.

“My friend,” Blackfist materialized out of nowhere, putting an arm around the guard’s neck like they were drinking buddies. “Look at him closely. His robes are cheap and travel-worn. You can see the smears where he tried to wash it free of blood. He cannot replace soiled clothes and has to wash them by himself, meaning he is dirt poor.

“You stand nothing to gain if you throw him into the dungeon. The city will take his spirit gems and release him from the dungeon in a week, meanwhile you have gone through all that trouble and paperwork for nothing.” Blackfist eyed Newt.

“Boy, show him your purse.”

Newt obeyed, revealing several hundred coins and four spirit gems.

The guard tsked and reached out to snatch the spirit gems, but Blackfist yanked him back.

“Listen, friend, those could cause you a lot of trouble.” Blackfist suddenly dropped a spirit gem on the ground.

“Look here, you dropped this.” He gave the spirit gem to the guard, who eyed him suspiciously, but Blackfist kept talking. “We all saw you drop it, it is perfectly fine if you recover your own property. Nothing anyone could complain about.”

The guard nodded very slowly, pocketed the crystal Blackfist had stuffed into his hand, and left.

The smooth talking scammer opened his mouth to speak, but Blackfist spoke first.

“I can break your legs here, and nobody will say a word. Move to the back of the line. Behind the commoners.” The smooth, friendly voice turned to barbed hooks, giving Newt the creeps, and the conmen paled. They turned around and left without making a sound.

“How have you been, Newstar?” Blackfist said as if nothing had happened, before continuing in a jovial tone. “Right, you owe me six spirit gems.”

“Fin—What? Why six?” Newt was so shocked, he did not consider why he owed Blacklist the gems, rather, he wondered about the former sect master’s logic regarding the sum.

“I paid one out of my own pocket, saved you some trouble, and a ten spirit gem fine, so I deserve half.”

Newt considered the words and nodded.

“Good. I am not poor, and I would have just taken my spirit gem back, but you need to learn a lesson from this.”

“What lesson?”

“Sometimes being reasonable with people is unreasonable, often because people themselves are unreasonable.”

Newt frowned, but said nothing as they moved forward two steps.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to be amicable with everyone?”

“No,” Blackfist corrected. “I was certain I have told you already, but I will repeat myself, just in case. Amicability is reserved for reasonable, amicable people. With those weaker and unreasonable, you resort to force, while stronger and unreasonable require evasion or cowering. To simplify, reasonable people use words, unreasonable people use fists.”

Newt nodded, vaguely recalling the talk, and clearly recalling how Blackfist said he would kill his own son if he had done something stupid and lethal for the family.

“Why are you here?” Newt got the answers he was looking for, but the questions seemed endless.

“A little pterosaur told me you were in trouble, so I came to help you out.”

Newt wanted to ask more, but it was obvious the former sect master had secrets he wished to keep. He would have allowed the conversation to die, but Blackfist engaged him in chitchat, passing the time before they reached the gate.