Without any obligations for her final week in the Laskarian Empire, Laurel spent most of it alternately wandering the city and making lists. Lists about what she would need in a new sect location, lists for types of cultivators to recruit, lists about the priority of the other lists. It was an exercise in frustration. Farin had always been the organized one, he could have established a sect in a few months without missing a beat. Laurel was struggling, but failure was not even a consideration. Not again. She had to do this, and she would, and that meant planning ahead. It also had the benefit of keeping her occupied before it was time to leave the city.
*******
Laurel puttered around a market as the sun went down. Colorful awnings stretched over tables covered in crafted goods. Clothes, glass bottles, cheeses and preserves, everything someone might need but didn’t have time to make. Eavesdropping had revealed the market was young, having sprung up over the last three decades or so, catering to the portion of the city working all day in the myriad factories. Vendors showed up in the afternoon and stayed until late at night, waiting for those workers to head home. Laurel meandered from stall to stall, occasionally buying some small trinket and tossing it into a canvas bag. The true purpose of her visit, and the lifeblood of the night market, was the gossip that flowed like water between the stallholders and patrons. Even the guards would join in with choice bits of news as they lazily kept an eye on the surroundings. Laurel absorbed the news as she walked, learning as much as possible about the state of the world. She’d surveyed the local bookstores to get a firmer grounding on the political climate, but everything was either too old, or too steeped in Laskarian propaganda to be of any use.
As the market emptied out, Laurel slowly made her way back towards the inn. The streets were quiet but not empty, and some of the more well-off districts had a light system using a slow-burning oil and wick set into glass lanterns atop poles, which she found rather ingenious. Detestable as the behavior towards cultivators was, she had been forced to admit time and again that the mortals had solved a great many problems with pure ingenuity when magic was not an option.
A twinge in her spiritual senses gave just a hair of warning when she turned down an alley and another cultivator stepped into the other end. They were dressed in all black, their face hidden by a hood and mask. The absence of any sect markings was expected, but still jarring to her more traditional sensibilities. This stranger was doing nothing to veil their cultivation, or even keep their mana from leaking out. It was a sloppy practice common in the poorly trained. Laurel quickly examined her own veil and found it firmly in place. However they had found her it was not this fool’s doing.
“Good evening.” Laurel broke the silence as it extended into awkwardness. Patience to let others make the first move was not her forte. And besides, she was itching for a fight. She had plenty more rage to vent on cultivators that didn’t know their proper place.
“Witch, you have been using magic without direct dispensation from the Emperor. You have been observed fomenting trouble in the night markets of the Roskin neighborhood. The punishment for these crimes is death. Rejoice, the Emperor is merciful. Come with us and you will have the opportunity to work towards the glory of the Empire.”
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Laurel was dumbstruck. This cultivator, and the half dozen friends she could sense hidden in the surrounding blocks, was no threat to her. And the absolute arrogance to insinuate she would be subborning herself to them, or this so-called Emperor, the people responsible for Borin’s death, was too absurd to comprehend. Almost.
“No, I won’t be doing that,” she replied.
The stranger paused, obviously expecting her capitulation. Dealing with dismissal was never part of the script that the lackeys were given. At a gesture, the rest of the gang stepped into the alley, all dressed in the same uniform black. Laurel made a show of looking at all of them. Then she flicked her wrist and a sword appeared in her right hand. This fight was personal and she wanted to be in close. The masked cultivators shifted among themselves at the sudden appearance of the weapon. If lights powered by mana were rare in the Empire, spatial storage was probably unheard of.
Untrained initiates might have submitted in the face of six to one odds. But Laurel was far beyond an initiate, she was angry about the fate of her sect, and she had just been given the perfect targets to take it all out on.
“If we’re going to fight then let's fight” she announced to the crowd.
Immediately a few weak wind blades flew towards her face. From behind she could sense an earth spike and a bar of flame, while the rest rushed in with mana reinforcing their arms. Pathetic.
Laurel jumped directly towards one of her attackers on the right, letting the elemental strikes dissipate harmlessly against each other. Her sword slid in between ribs, and the cultivator slumped to the ground. The others didn’t hesitate. Another round of weak techniques came towards her, the cultivators keeping their distance. Wearing down an enemy from afar while avoiding close combat was a good strategy, in theory. Instead, a flex of Laurel’s will had her taking control and dismantling their attacks. While they attempted to recover, she closed in again. Her blade flashed and two more enemies fell.
The final three tried to run. In another time she would have let them go. But she was alone in a hostile country where common weapons were dangerous to her and these people had at least claimed to work for the Empire. They had gotten a good look at her as well, and she still had a few days before the Lion’s Tooth departed. With a grimace, she leapt after the retreating cultivators. Two more were butchered in an instant. At this point Laurel’s anger had been replaced by shame. Combat and death was a part of cultivation. Adversity often paved the way forward, but butchering those weaker than her was not how she wanted to walk her path. They had attacked her first, but they didn’t pose any true danger to her.
The final imperial was facing her now, resigned. The same cultivator that had first spoken.
“How did you notice me?” Laurel decided to get directly to the point and see if this initiate had any useful information. They stood in silence until Laurel tried again. “Why do you work for the Emperor, where are the sects?” More silence “Why is no one cultivating the City Core?” This last question had been on her mind since arrival. The coalesced node within the massive mana flows of a population center this large needed careful tending so that beast manifestations or mana storms didn’t occur in the middle of the city. The excess mana should be turned towards reinforcing structures or providing protection, but the core here was uncultivated, and the mana was reaching violent levels from the crush of humanity packed into the city.
Laurel had no stomach for torturing this stranger. When she was again met with silence she flicked her blade out one last time and the cultivator joined the rest on the ground.