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“You fucking useless shitfaced idiot of a cultist. Did you even stop to think? Did it cross your mind to use your brain for a single second? Perhaps to check who they were? Fucking cult, always screwing with–”

Dantou forced his mouth to stay shut as colour rose from deep within his chest to light his face with bright red, adding a new tint to the sunburn he had acquired yesterday. His hands shook with the effort it took to not strangle the idiot Leader of the Guild of Collectors that was berating him. Berating him, Cultivator Dantou, Sect Member of Iron Rank and ranked third with the local sect. And for what? For enforcing the respect he was due.

He let the Guild Leader’s words wash over him and smiled inwardly as he recalled the sweet memories of yesterday’s events. He had been on his way to dinner, minding his own business, when that… that spawn of a mortal had remained in his way. Oblivious to his approach, the idiot child had failed to remove itself from his path. He struggled to not let his lips draw into a smile as he remembered the crunch of the child’s skull as his knee struck it above the ear, and a shiver of delight ran down his back when he remembered the woman’s screams. Why did that bitch scream so loud? She could make more–no, she should make more. Having children was her only purpose of existence, making more babies to fill the Sect’s Vaults with those glorious essence crystals.

Spittle flew across the desk as the Guild Leader renewed his verbal assault, and Dan schooled his face into a placid expression as he remembered the sound of his palm slapping the woman’s cheek. A great slap, Dan recalled. Perfectly weighted, the arc of the swinging arm powered by his Iron physique, the strike of his palm strengthened by skin tempered by thousands of hours of practice. It was not his fault that the bones of her skull were so fragile.

“Are you laughing at me?” The Guild Leader practically jumped over his desk and came to a stop right in front of Dan’s face. Fuck, Dan thought as he realised a smile had forced its way to his expression as he recalled the way the woman’s cheek had caved in as her neck broke from the force of his slap.

“Sorry, sir,” he forced himself to say. Clenching his hands together behind his back, he reminded himself that strangling the head of the local Collector’s Guild would not end well, regardless of how nice it would feel in the moment. Silently he cursed Zhan, the Sect Elder assigned to Brook. Zhan just rolled over, like he always does. Couldn’t fucking stand up to anyone, Collector’s Guild or the Duke. Useless fuckwit.

It had all started going downhill with the Duke’s insane ideas of social programs and food distribution. At least in the beginning, Zhan had seen it for the idiocy that it was, but at some point, something had changed. Dantou was sure that bribes must have been involved, as the Sect’s reluctance and resistance turned to scepticism, then to acceptance and support. Now, Zhan was fully onboard with the programme, even if anyone could see it for the stupidity that it was. Dantou was the sole voice of reason remaining.

Feeding people who don’t work, who are sick or injured… It rewards weakness. It made the peasantry stronger every month, and what would happen when they had to wean them off the easy access to food? Had no-one considered what a horde of hungry peasants could do?

Sure, Dantou alone could easily suppress any attempts at rebellion. But he was just one man, and with the Sects currently being stretched across the lands… Accidents could happen, and from what he heard, the fighting at Northshield was still drawing in cultivators every month, sucking them into that big machine of blood and death.

This can’t go on for much longer. Standing there, he decided to act. He would write to his Uncle, Wei Fengshen, Eternal Sect Elder and head of their clan. Even Zhan would be forced to listen if his Uncle got involved. Sure, he would be spitting mad at Dantou for escalating the matter above his head, but he had tried… He had! He would drop the letter off on his way to Gamut.

“–are you even listening?” The Guild Leader was screaming into his face, and Dantou took a step back as he wiped the spittle off his cheek. This useless, no-good ant of a mortal was of no matter to him.

Looking back at the idiot with a calm that surprised himself, Dantou said, “Yes, sir. I admit that I might have acted in haste,” he lied, playing the game he had to play. It was always the same with People of the Foci. One glance at a sacred pattern and the promise of a longer life, and they thought they were invincible, indestructible. Dantou drew comfort and power from his Iron Huo Core and barely stopped a snake-like smile from breaking out on his face. If only the Guild Leader knew the real disparity in power between them, he would grovel on the ground like he should. That longer life could easily be cut short.

Dantou indulged himself in a moment of fantasy, imagining the guild leader on the floor, his skull crushed beneath his heel. With his foot covered in brain and blood, he would find the man’s wife and order her to clean his feet. But alas, for now this idiot would live another day, protected from his rightful ire by an irrelevant position that a new mortal could fill as easily as it would be for Dan to end the man’s life.

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Instead, he reached back for the memories and fondled them. The grief-stricken face, the cracks of breaking bone. A shiver of delight went down his back as he heard her screams again.

The Guild Leader took a step back and returned to his chair behind the desk. Dantou brought his attention back and saw the man’s breath calm down, his movements losing the edge of anger. Finally. He began to turn to leave the room, already planning the letter to his Uncle, when the idiot mortal held a hand up for Dantou to wait.

The man had picked up a page from his desk and read over it before he looked up at Dantou. “Cultivator,” the man practically spat the word, “I have a job for you.”

“Job?” Dantou exclaimed in surprise. “You don’t have the authority to–”

“Here,” the man simply said, holding the page out for Dantou to read.

Reading quickly, Dantou cursed inwardly. That fucking demented, cocksucking moron. Zhan had assigned Dantou to work for the Collectors for 4 weeks as penance. Dan was so angry he almost missed what the other man was saying as blood rushed into his head again.

“–and I need you to check it out. If our estimates are correct, there are only two living adults on the farm. Two males. And a bunch of children. We don’t expect the adults to have much longer left to live, and none of the children are old enough to take over the farm. We need to bring them into the orphanage, where we will… put them to use.”

“I’m supposed to fetch a bunch of kids?” Dantao almost shouted. “I need to train. The tournament in Gamut is only three months away. I can’t be spending my time–”

The man’s glare cut him off. “Go. To. The. Farm,” he said. “And get those kids. I expect you back the day after tomorrow, and no later. Understand? Or…” It took every ounce of self-control Dantou had to not strike the sly grin off the man’s face. “Or I will have to let Zhan know you were… disobedient.”

Shackles of wrath constricted around Dantou’s chest and he took a step forward, his hand raised with a flat palm ready. I don’t fucking care what Zhan will say. This mortal has gone too far, and… With supreme effort, Dan shifted his attention to his core. A weak pulse sent essence into his body, washing away anger and leaving behind a cold purpose. I will do what this mortal asks, and then…

“Understood,” Dantao said through gritted teeth. “I will take my leave now, then?”

Giving the Guild Leader no chance to respond, Dantao pivoted on his heels and marched out of the room.

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Leaving the Collector’s Guild, Dantao’s first impulse was to leave straight for that damned farm and drag the whelps back to Brook. The sooner they were thrown into the orphanage, the sooner he could write his letter and bring it to Uncle. Squinting against the glare of a sun hanging low in the sky above the Dagger Mountains, Dantao reluctantly conceded it was getting too late. It would be better to rest tonight, and set off early tomorrow.

Sensing hunger from his core, he cycled energy and took off with determined strides toward his favourite tavern. Holding his head high, he tried to avoid looking at the misery of humanity lining the street. Useless, homeless beggars. The very bottom of the pit that humanity could produce, the distance to one like himself, unimaginable. The smells, the sights… Their very presence threatened to disturb his essence cycling, and he shuddered as he imagined the pure energy mixing with and being corrupted by whatever essence that was certain to emanate from the foul people.

His nose twitched as he passed them, and his eyes fell on a building that must have collapsed recently. The last time I passed this way, that house was still standing, he thought. Perhaps a beggar had leaned too hard against the wall. He smirked as he imagined the stonework collapsing and burying one of the useless creatures.

This city is really going to shit. When he had arrived here two years previously, the Duke had still paid for repairs, and the homeless were denied passage at the city walls. Since introducing those social programs, the Duke had invited the worms inside the city, spending his money on food instead of bricks and wood. He could at least keep the dregs out of the streets, Dantao thought, conveniently forgetting that the cult had denied the Duke the funds he had requested to build them a place to sleep.

Approaching the Mistress Heaving, he planned tonight’s cultivation. When he was a boy, he’d always been envious of his friends who could cultivate the elemental essences like Fire, or Earth; or the martial essences like Swords. He had considered his own essence stupid, a waste of potential, until he discovered how he could practically manufacture endless sources of the essence needed to fuel his ascension.

Dantao, Iron Cultivator of Anger Essence, plotted how to instigate strife as he approached the tavern. Since childhood, he had spent countless hours observing people, becoming a master at his craft. The wrong word in the right ear, a hard poke delivered to sore ribs, and the whole place would explode with uproar. Today’s performance would direct the crowd’s anger at the Collector’s Guild.

Then he would sit, unnoticed in a corner, absorbing their ire and their anger, cycling it into his core, fueling his cultivation as he reached for the Heavens.

Tomorrow was a new day, and he would head to this farmstead with these soon-to-die men. Dantao smiled to himself when he realised the Guild Leader had said nothing about bringing the men back to the city when he fetched the brats. And they were about to die anyway…

Excitement filled Dantao when he realised he was about to come into the possession of two essence crystals that he might forget to declare.