Shen could indeed sense no spirit from the weapon, and yet, it already emitted a fearsome sword qi. He felt as though he might be struck, or cut, or run through at any moment. This was of course due to the fact Xiān Dì was holding it, but the fact the blade could resonate so strongly without a blade spirit spoke volumes to its quality. An unsettled feeling in his stomach told Shen the reason behind all this. There was no other possible reason for Xiān Dì to take such action. It was the Vision of Seven Fangs which had swept across the continent recently. Always the same inspiration, and always containing ominous omens of opposition to Xiān Dì’s rule. If he didn’t take heavy measures to redirect this, subversive elements would latch on to argue that the Heavenly Dao had forsaken him for his failure to fully conquer Ikesia in one fell swoop.

Raising the weapon into the air with just the force of his qi so that Shen might get a good look at it, Xiān Dì spoke again: “I have ever held the square truncheon as an unfairly overlooked sibling to the noble longsword; after all, it is a weapon of armored elites even in the Divine Army. It benefits from many sword techniques, it can penetrate armor with concussive and thrusting force both, it is easier to use for nonlethal purposes than a longsword… And this particular design is one I am particularly fond of. Not only can it cut well and produce swordlight with its frontmost segment, it can coalesce Sword Qi into coherent manifestations with a fraction of the effort normally required, and its natural shape means that even the crudest manifestations will be useful.”

It was clear that the Emperor was terribly fond of the weapon. Shen wagered that the only reason he did not keep the weapon for himself had to be that he possessed something greater still.

“These treasures ought to go to a nobody. A nobody with the willpower and appropriate aptitude to practice the Supreme Law of Gold and Ebony, but one foolish and self-righteous enough that I shall be able to steer him or her as I see fit.”

Xiān Dì made the other things float as well, and with a gentle wave of his finger sent them across the table to join the sect’s worth of treasures already lined up in front of Shen.

“Create a hero for me, would you?”

It was a rhetorical question, of course. There was no choice. Shen gave a resolute nod. The two of them drank and talked for some time after, speaking both of light-hearted and heavy matters.

Shen continued drinking even after Xiān Dì left.

“The Supreme Law of Gold and Ebony…”

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It was a terrifying method born of a terrifying intellect; not for its demonic provenance, or its upfront power, but because there was theoretically nothing it could not do, no one user it could not adapt to. A foundation that could be broken and mended freely without detriment, yet whose strength and stability did not suffer a bit for this property. A soul entirely made up of golden cores, or “Golden Grains”. It was a scaffold that would elevate any other cultivation method the user practiced, or as Xiān Dì had once said: “It is the method by which any art may become profound and worthy of an emperor.”

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A great procession and time of revelry awaited Zel and Jorfr’s return to Oasis City.

One thing she noticed, rather a thing she couldn’t ignore, was the absolute absence of any trace of Eisengeist. Not the destruction the dragon had wrought, that was very much plain to be seen, but rather any trace of its severed flesh, fur, scales, and even blood was utterly absent. Not even the tiniest stain of his lively ichor remained anywhere it had been split, save for the wood which had been struck and permanently warped by it. It had not been burned, but rather now burst with new given radiance in unnatural colours adjacent to those of the beast’s own bones and flesh; black and purple.

The colours of black and purple were to be found at the feasts as well; after all, the Boreans had claimed a share of that which Eisengeist had left behind, and it seemed that some of it was indeed being used here. A preternaturally large razorflayer had been butchered in such a way as to make it appear more like Eisengeist with fake scales set into its hide and one foreleg completely stripped of skin. Its meat even had the appearance of Eisengeist’s.

One of the chefs who had worked on it boasted that it had taken only one in twenty parts of the dragon’s blood to produce a brine which had imparted that colour and flavour, and a unique flavour it was. Zel also partook of the small portions of actual meat from Eisengeist which were offered, chopped into tiny thin strips, served raw with strong drink and purple blood-bread. She found the meat to be so flavorful and invigorating that there was no wonder these portions were so small; it was not the only reason to limit portion size, either, given the paralytic toxicity of the dragon’s blood. This was absolutely not a meat to be eaten in large quantities. That aforementioned chef also raucously recounted how he himself, alongside several of his assistants, had paralyzed themselves through extended exposure to Eisengeist’s blood.

“That tingling in your mouth? That’s all you get at first, and it’s nothing more than that until you try to turn around and you can’t!” he laughed as if it wasn’t an absolutely mortifying situation to find oneself in.

Zel wasn’t getting tired of such celebrations per se, but they were very much bleeding together at this point. As far as she could tell by the end of it, three or perhaps four days of drinking and making a show of herself passed before things settled down once again. Several artisans had taken a surprising degree of interest in Carnifex’ humanoid form, enough that Zel eventually found it tiresome to distinguish between the weapon’s true form and its spirit; she decided that, when distinction was needed, she would refer to the cleaver as Carnifex and the spirit as Fulguris.