One Decade Ago…
Jun-Ra still remembered that day as vividly as if it were yesterday. Her mother, a woman of humble origins with the Seamstress calling and the tailor class was reading her a classic folktale as she knitted a sweater with her deft hands, clearly not troubled by the multi-tasking.
A knock had rapped against the door of the small wooden cabin they lived in. By the time her mother had kept the half-knit sweater to the side, told Jun-Ra to wait and walked over to the door, the cultivator that had knocked was long gone.
A single letter was the only piece of communication they left behind.
A few words scrawled upon an unassuming piece of paper had managed to irrevocably alter the trajectory her life would take.
Jun-Ra still remembered her mother’s unsteady steps as she began reading through the letter, before seating herself on the bed next to her. A few moments later, her mother fainted from the shock, still clutching onto the letter as her eyes rolled inwards and she fell backwards onto the cushioned bed.
Jun-Ra knew her mother to possess a delicate constitution and she had fainted once before, a few years ago, as far as she could remember. However, her gut told her that this was different. The shock in her mother’s eyes, the despair etched onto her expression as her wrinkles seemed to accentuate by years in the moment before she fainted…
She could not resist herself from prying the letter out of her mother’s arms, unfolding it with haste.
Every word she read left her in anticipation for the next. It was news about her sister, the pride of Verdant Valley’s Elkosh Village. The cultivator that had chosen her for ascension had praised her talent, calling her the Verdant Valley’s greatest prospect in a century. The village had thrown a grand celebration for two days and two nights, with food and drink spilling out of the village’s storehouse as if it contained a limitless supply.
For the Elkosh Village was rewarded for every cultivator they produced, both on the family level and as a collective. Considering how deeply the cultivator in question had praised her sister, there was no doubt that the compensation would be equally immense.
Her sister, who had ascended to the ranks of the elusive Central Courtyard in the Martial Law Sect was…
Dead.
Killed by the son of the man whose words were the words of the heavens in the region, the Magistrate of Zenari-Shu.
Zenan Zi-Yao, son of Raikis Zi-Yao.
The magistrate’s son had fancied Jun-Ra’s sister and had been pursuing her despite repeated refusals on her part. Their interactions had gotten increasingly bitter, until Zenan Zi-Yao, accompanied by two of his guardians, tried to kidnap her when she left the sect premises.
A bitter battle followed and one of the Guardians had not returned to the sect until now. From the traces left behind by their battle, the Guardian was likely dead. Jun-Ra’s sister was dead too and the anonymous cultivator who had written this letter personally confirmed it. Her corpse was left behind, the scene set up like an errant beast attack that she had fallen pray to.
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‘I recommend you to change your names and let others in the village know about the situation. Do not try to find me, I shall have long transferred to another sect by the time you come even close to deducing my identity.
Forgive me for not being able to do more.’
Tears dripped down her puffy eyes, before she burst out into full blown crying. A few moments later, a neighbour entered the house, clearly worried.
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Her mother was never the same after.
She had lost the will to fight and even if she wanted to, what could a seamstress calling do to a martial artist calling?
The system itself had declared her unsuited for combat, or perhaps more suited to the role of a seamstress.
In a kinder society, perhaps those two callings would be valued at an equal pedestal. But as things stood, her mother was completely powerless to seek revenge against the cruel magistrate and his despicable son.
The same was not true for her.
When her calling awakened as a Martial Artist’s, the one now known as Jun-Ra swore an oath.
She would tell the magistrate’s son what her true name was. But she would do it only after he was lying on the ground, a fatal wound puncturing his vitals beyond repair.
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Jun-Ra learned the art of deception. She lied where she had to, used hyperbole when it suited her and subtly manipulated others around her— all done for the purpose of improving her standing in the Martial Law Sect.
She studied Elder Shirong, her likes and dislikes, her personality and her history. She had ‘accidentally’ run into her on one of her morning walks and displayed just about enough charisma to make the Elder take notice of her.
A Guardian thinking they could manipulate an Elder—- the very notion was preposterous.
But Jun-Ra didn’t care about that.
If she wasn’t enough then she would adapt, she would re-invent herself on the fly if that was what the situation required to her. There was only one reason— a singular purpose that she lived for and even if she died trying to accomplish it, that was acceptable.
It helped that she was a fairly talented cultivator, had managed to befriend powerful and influential guardians even as a disciple and offered more favors than she received.
They did not know that her name, the life she had lived and her cheery, friendly personality was all a lie.
Neither did Elder Shirong, when she appointed her as a Guardian of the Martial Law Sect.
Jun-Ra would long have gone insane trying to build a future upon a castle of lies, which was why she was so grateful for Shen-Ya, a martial artist who had awakened in her village a few years after her.
The one person in the Martial Law Sect that knew her truth.
Shen-Ya was gruff and blunt before people they did not know well, but in truth, she was everything that Jun-Ra pretended to be.
If there was one reason why Jun-Ra hadn’t thrown herself at the Magistrate’s son with a poisoned dagger in hand, it was because she had come to love Shen-Ya as perhaps her sister had loved her.
She did not wish for her junior sister to suffer from the consequences of her actions and Jun-Ra knew that while both her and Zenan Zi-Yao were E ranks, the difference in their respective strengths was almost insurmountable.
She was not her sister.
She was no prodigy.
Her class was a mere common, her calling an ordinary martial artist.
“So,” Griffin began, his tone heavy after listening to Jun-Ra recount the tale of her heart-wrenching past. “You want me to take out this asshole, right?” Griffin bluntly asked.
“Yes, but I do not meant to force it on you now. In a few years, you will hopefully be strong enough to—-”
“Taking out a spoiled piece of trash sure beats getting experimented on in the equivalent of a CIA blacksite. Sure, I’ll do it.”