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Reforged from Ruin [Eldritch Xianxia Cultivation]
Chapter 104 - Father Of Puppets, With All His Strings

Chapter 104 - Father Of Puppets, With All His Strings

“She did what?”

Maen and Taran flinch. Kaena manages to keep calm, casual as can be, and Yun Ka doesn’t seem particularly responsive to the rage. Raika… well. She lets out a fresh cloud of smoke, breathing out nice and slow and indulging in the bluish haze of it.

“Started a tournament,” Kaena says. “Then, transformed into a giant bone monster and beat up half the competition in the starting round.”

“It wasn’t half,” Maen mumbles. “More like a quarter. And they rather earned it. Sir.”

Taurus pinches the bridge of his nose, a much more dramatic event with how massive his hands are and how large his snout is. He glows ever so slightly, the image of him projected from a crystal and a set of runic formations and lenses set up from the many slim mechanical limbs emerging from Yun Ka’s setup. He is in some sort of room, significantly more basic than the blatant opulence of the Imperial Palace around them; beyond several large stone bookcases, a stained glass window, and delicate wooden doors and flooring, it seems rather bare. Raika can see hints of smoke in the projection’s frame, possibly from some kind of incense, and he’s likely staring into his own runic setup.

He looks tired. Not worn, or exhausted, but… tired.

“And you’re telling me she used…”

“True Flame, yes,” Yun Ka says, head tilted and softly clicking away at some runic tablet or another (she has more than a few). “Cataloged it myself after the fight. Not that it was hard to determine, the color is distinct. As were its effects on the constructs and techniques arrayed.”

“And those effects were…”

“As expected of True Flame. Consumption of all Qi as fuel, dissipating only when its fuel source is removed, dramatic harm to organic tissue. It abraded and consumed large pieces of many of the combatants, most of whom have left the competition and require severe medical assistance. The Imperial authority, as wielded by myself and the captain of our Guard detail, has assured that such medical needs are met.”

“And pray tell, honored cultivator… how in all the many, many hells did you develop True Flame?”

Seeing this question directed at her, Raika toasts Taurus with her cigarette, and shrugs. “Dunno. Figured True Flame was a myth, the sort of divine technique masters of Dao can accomplish and no one else.”

Taurus sighs. “Not particularly accurate anymore. Mix the right materials and their concepts together and anything can be done. Still, the fact that you did it is… frustrating. I’ve been trying to keep some of your capabilities under wraps, and this is not one I was aware you possessed. Your method of Qi creation has consistently been noted as distinct in terms of purity and potency, but… how did you transfer other properties to it?”

Raika hesitates, then shrugs.

“The blacksteel, from the Cold Sun. The same new fangs I grew from the piece of it I ate, a while back. I found out back in the mines that whenever a pocket of my Qi got cut by the swords, it ignited. I’ve been using that ever since. The fangs are… they’re not like the blades were.”

“I would assume not,” Yun Ka says, still idly tapping away. “Black Steel is a relatively new material, but Cold Sunstone is old, and its properties well recorded. Those few that have successfully modified it can refine elements of its portfolio, moving from true entropy into stillness, death, hunger, dissolution, even shadow in one noteworthy instance. If you’ve successfully made fangs of yours, it is likely to follow a more specific subset, perhaps-”

“It’s a bite,” Raika says. “Consumption. I’ve been picturing it as the bite of a predator, that which rips out a throat and calls out death in the name of hunger.”

Yun Ka nods. “A poetic descriptor, but such is often the case. Factor into that raw Qi, universal life-force as neutral as can be achieved, agitated to movement, growth and chaos, and the fusion of said factors makes some sense, though I believe there is an element of luck involved as well. Not every manifestation of that might have been as fruitful for you.”

Raika shrugs. “I work hard for my luck.”

“If you work half as hard for your luck as you do fucking over stable plans, I can see how that’d be the case.” Taurus snorts. “Is there a reason you just unveiled a slew of new abilities and the fact that, apparently, you are one of the few living beings without a Dao of Flame capable of generating True Fire?”

Raika takes a long, slow drag of her cigarette. It’s partially savoring the moment, and partially preparing, but either way, all eyes are on her. She puts the mask on.

“I was taking the fight seriously, and that means using all my tools. Maybe I wouldn’t have used the fire if I knew it was quite that special, but it hardly matters now. In the end, I still got what we wanted out of it.”

“What we wanted out of it?” Kaena asks.

“Yes. Fundamentally, while we’re here, our options are in two categories. The first is to support Taurus from afar, and the latter is to acquire information and resources. I got us both.”

Taran laughs, dry and rasping. “Now this, I simply have to hear.”

Raika takes another pull, indulging in the fact that she can’t feel them all, and breathes out another cloud of smoke, the dense blue vapors clinging to her and framing her against the light. The mask smiles at them, half warm, half feral, just enough of both to make them think it’s her speaking.

“There’s things in motion in this city. Non-Imperial groups. It got me thinking. I needed to stretch my legs, so to speak, but it’s more than that. The tournament has dragged out the sects and the cultivators for a few hundred miles around. It gets us out of the house, but it’s also a hell of a distraction. A bit of a dog-and-pony trick, just enough to keep them sedated as things move. Makes opportunities for people that are usually hiding to be more active. Your loyal subjects get to showcase just how well your care and cultivation of them has made them grow, how much your methods has granted us power, and I get to use that power to find out what’s really happening in this city. There’s something beneath it that’s stirring. Still waters and dark stone rooms. We find that rebellion, snuff it out, we only get more points to cash in with your bosses. Making myself the focus, the barbarian who can only think of blood and violence, means they underestimate me, let things slip, and it draws the heat away from everyone else, who can move to find out more.”

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Taurus says nothing for a while. Eventually, he turns to Kaena.

They shrug. “You know I’m not one for looking at things I’ll have to deny later. Some of the nobles know about something happening, something to do with the mines, but I haven’t bothered to look into it. Beastie here has kept me busy enough.”

He nods at that. Then, slowly, he moves his hand. His palm curls, his fingers stiffen, and even through the projection she can sense that hint of pressure that comes from the use of higher mysteries and powerful Qi.

A single droplet forms in his hands, just like the last time they spoke privately, and for a moment, Yun Ka braces as a wave of silence emerges from her crystal, the scent of sharp wind and mountains overwhelming even the numbing effects of the cigarette for Raika.

And then, Taurus speaks, the world around them made null and silent.

“Perfect honesty,” he says quietly. “You really found some sort of cult or group in Cragend? One that defies the Empire?”

She pauses, then shrugs. “Yeah. They reached out to me. Think they’re interested in me.”

She frowns. Not sure why she said that last part. The mask slipped? No. Maybe.

Taurus nods. “Fine then. I trust you remember you still have far more to gain working with me than with them, and a lot to lose either way. If they turn out useful, though, it’s always good to get a new tool in one’s grasp. Kaena, I trust you to spearhead the coordination. Taran, you’ll act as lead on direct action while Raika keeps focus. Try to contact them first. IF we manage that, we can decide when and how they might be most useful.”

Taran sighs, scratching idly at one of his belts. “You sure about this, boss? I’m not a fan of using people like this.”

“Neither am I, but needs must. Raika here has taken it upon herself to change my timetable, which means the more tools we have, the better off we’ll be. I’m not so confident that I can’t use the advantages placed before me. And Raika?”

She raises an eyebrow, says nothing.

“You proved your value dealing with Zhoulong. As a trump and wild card, you’re still useful. But our leashes only extend so far. Hide information like this again, and things will be different between us.”

Her mask tries to smile, but… she nods instead. There’s only so far that arrogance, performative or not, can go. “Understood.”

Taurus nods, and there’s a moment where she feels…

She’s not sure what she feels. The moment is gone.

Her mask is off, for some reason. It slips back on easily enough, but for an instant, as he looked at her with intent, it… blinked.

“That’ll do for now,” Taurus says. “This is already proving useful. If you find this group of yours, keep me appraised. Kaena, we’ll maintain contact more consistently, now that the worst has passed.”

“Zhoulong’s death has been cleared?” Yun Ka asks.

“Yes. As I said, there were pieces in place. Using them early has shifted some of the placements, but not out of order. The timetable remains.”

He turns to Raika, and says something that only she hears. “Four years. It’ll be done by then. Make his death mean something.”

The mask is stiff and harsh, painful and vile and worming on her face, but it holds, and her face shows nothing. She gets up, takes another drag of the cigarette, and walks out of the room. There’s a flicker, like walking through a bubble or membrane, as she crosses the boundary of silence Taurus erected from thousands of miles away.

The smell of tangerines cuts through the haze of fragrant death as she walks down the halls of the palace, surrounded by gilded bars. The mask grips her, smiling with her teeth, neutral and pleasant as only a lie can be, and she exhales smoke through it, forcing herself to breathe in the scent of a dead friend instead.

She sees him, for a moment. A bloody thing, with one sandal. He is gone by the time she passes the crossroads where she glimpsed him.

And then she is on the balcony, outside. If she put out the cigarette, she might regain her senses soon enough to pick up some lingering remnants of their conversation, after they break the silence perhaps. She might hear Taran or Kaena saying something nice, chastising the bull-blood for her to hear. She’s sure Maen is waiting, giving a bit of space before she follows behind to check in.

None of it matters. Her Truth chafes and strains, wrapped tight in chains and nails. Some are tied to the palace. Some, to the slave who holds her leash. And some she gives, freely, to the dead thing behind her, reeking of citrus and sweetness. She deserves that pain, as she does so many others.

And she learned something.

Everything she said was true. The tournament lets her shape what people think of her, lets her slip the leash to seek out the witch, now even with some support, and it lets her see what she can do now, push herself in a new way. But there’s more to it.

For one, it lets her see who she can use, and how. Who among the independents has resources or connections she might be able to exploit, who among the sects she can use as a further distraction, what techniques or allies she might take, if she plays things right.

For another, it’s a challenge to Taurus. A move that could have been something minor, a tournament purely beneficial to all, which she has made into something more chaotic. He didn’t order it, didn’t see it coming, and the way it’s changed surprised him, even if only a little. And in that surprise, he let something free.

He has some kind of hold on her. Something to make her slip, something to make her speak. She’s not sure what, but she felt it, when she twitched in her mind, when the mask blinked out. He had to use it, to make sure she wasn’t lying, to get back in control of what she was telling him. She hasn’t slipped like that since the beast-tide, left without sleep for a week, it was more than just feeling uncomfortable. It proves the control he has, but more, it proves what he doesn’t control. He didn’t know about the conversation with the witch, or the cultivators spying on them in the alley. He couldn’t tell if she was lying or not until he did whatever it was that made her blink.

And he said that thing at the end, the thing no one else reacted to. It was heavy handed. It was useful, it was true, she does need to make J- his death mean something, but it was still an unnecessary step. Reminds her it’s not forever, of how he promised her his death, and reinforces her guilt, all in a few easy sentences. Heavy. He’s subtle enough with the others, with the bureaucracy, but with her, he felt a need to reinforce.

He needs her. More than she expected. Could be it’s shifting, that her True Flame or her planning here with the tournament showcases more than he was expecting, but that final statement cinched it for her. It wasn’t just opportunity and a random whim that had him choose to recruit her.

He needs her. And his leash on her throat is tighter and less in his control than she thought.

Leverage on the one hand. A threat on the other. Both useful to know about.

She leans against the balcony, staring down at a city all abuzz with lights and heartbeats and smells, and breathes in floral ash. Hurting. Hungry. And patient.