CHAPTER EIGHT: WHO CAN YOU TRUST

Dunstan walked back to his room burdened by his thoughts. Talking with the Preceptor had not alleviated his worries like he had hoped but only magnified them. When he roamed the Desolate Fields, The ‘traitors’ and the danger they posed were nebulous and malicious. It was an indistinct faction that aimed to destroy everything he loved. The only face he could put on it was Elder Anthony. A man who had once watched over him and given him sword lessons only to turn about and stab him in the chest without remorse.

Now?

Elder Anthony was dead. The evil and ‘traitorous’ faction he served turned out to be a bunch of maybes and forsaken that actually had a good reason for their actions. The sect could not afford to cut them off nor could it endure a war with itself. Honestly, Dunstan could now see where Elder Anthony was coming from. The Vast Heaven Palace was nothing but a broken and empty shell. He looked around him and saw the disused facilities and crumbling buildings with new light. The physical appearance of the sect was a symptom of its disease. How had he not seen it before?

Lifting his left foot, he stared at a broken paving stone that should have been replaced long ago. In his mind, he knew why. However, that only made things worse. When the vast heaven Palace was founded, three Outer Courts were built around the central mountain with plans for two more. Each court was to house one thousand students but in the sect's golden age, the plans were changed slightly. The sect was expanding on multiple fronts and money was tight so it was decided to expand the living quarters in the existing courts rather than build new ones. With some creative engineering, new floors were added and the living space was tripled. It worked... until the great decline.

Today, only the sky court remained in use and even then, most of it was disused. The others were practically abandoned. In the span of five hundred years, Vast Heaven Palace had gone from a sect that boasted ten thousand disciples in the outer courts alone to 2000. Speaking of, this was the sect itself. The outer territories and resource points were given up long ago. Without the might and manpower they once had, holding on to their property was practically a child's dream.

The Vast Heaven Palace was a relic, Dunstan realised. Its once pristine halls had fallen into disrepair. The valiant lords that once led the charge were either dead or enfeebled by age. Its coffers were near empty. It could neither afford to arm its soldiers nor maintain its lands. The younger generations were nothing but shadows of their ancestors. Even if the Phantoms did not exist, The Vast Heaven Sect would collapse. It was just a matter of who would step up to strike the final blow. The deciding moment was already drawing near and anyone who was perceptive enough could tell.

Even with everything the Sixth Preceptor said, Dunstan could see that this was the true nature of the trouble facing the sect. It was not a matter of betrayal or evil intention. It was a family dispute. The Vast Heaven Sect was essentially a declining noble family that had fallen on hard times. In the face of this crisis, some members of their household believed the time had come to auction off their valuables while they still had some worth. To marry off the daughters and enter the services of new masters. This way the bloodline could at least continue and they would not be reduced to peasants. However, there were still others who wished to turn their situation around.

‘We can do it! There’s still hope. Our sect originally rose to prominence from nothing. If we did it once we could do it again!’ That’s probably what they were thinking.

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They would rather starve than sell off their inheritance. No one wanted to sell off the medals their father earned in war. Reading between the lines, Dunstan could see that there were in fact three sides to their current dispute. Besides the people who wanted to sell the assets and abandon the sinking ship and the hopefuls who believed things could change. There were also the older generations who remembered when the house was filled with glory and splendour and simply refused to accept the current situation. They did not really believe that things could change for the better but would rather die with their heads held high than live on their knees as the servants of their enemies.

The Preceptor was probably the head of that faction. Dunstan could tell. The old man was going through the motions but he wasn't actually trying. If he was, it would be more evident. He was from the same generation as the head of the Nine Daemon Phantom Preceptor. He was also the last great master of the Vast Heaven Palace. In the days of his youth, The Vast Heaven Palace was the greatest sect in the region. There was not even a Nine Daemon Phantom Sect back then. For him, surrendering to the Phantoms was probably the same as having the surviving members of a preceding dynasty being made to serve their usurpers as servants in the same palace they once occupied.

Dunstan knew that if push came to shove, the Preceptor would choose death instead. To him, the other option would mean forsaking his pride, surrendering his dignity as well as dishonouring everything the sect stood for and everything his predecessors built. The man already believed he had disappointed them by letting the sect devolve into this state. There was no way that he would make the black mark on his name longer.

He was not the only one. Great Uncle Boreas came to mind as well. There were probably some other old fogeys with the same mindset. The problem here was that they held the most power and authority in the sect. A bunch of bitter old folk with their heads in the past and no hope for the future. They could see what was happening in the sect but they would likely put off the confrontation until they could do so no longer. Then, they would die in a blaze of glory just like they wanted with nothing but the satisfaction of holding fast to the ideals they had lived by all their lives.

The idea horrified Dunstan especially when he realised that they had passed that mentality to him. He had not even noticed the deep-seated problems in the sect until they were shoved in his face… and his chest. All he had known from childhood were the many achievements of his sect. All he had been taught was how to live up to his sect and family name.

He laughed depreciatingly, catching the attention of some of the inner sect disciples along his path. Had you told him three weeks ago that he was a clueless idiot, he would never have believed you but now, he could see it for himself. Dunstan shook his head hard enough that his dreads whipped him in the face. That always helped clear his thoughts. He did not even have to think about what his choice would be in all of this. The ‘traitors’ now ‘the faithless profiteers’ to him wanted to leave and take everything of value with them. The hopefuls wanted to turn their fate around. The old fogeys were waiting to go out with pride. Dunstan already knew he was a hopeful. He was going to turn this thing around even if it killed him.

Before, he was ignorant. He could not do anything about the sect’s problems because he did not know them. Now, he did. It was time for solutions!

Someone needed to kick the old folks in the butt and get them into action. Dunstan stood a better chance of doing so than anyone bar the Preceptor and it was obvious the old man was not buzzing. The faithless could be won over if he gave them a reason to hope and the profiteering bastards among them just had to be shown that they would gain more by staying than leaving. The hopefuls, his fellows, just needed someone to lead them and prove that they were not wrong. All he had to do was stand up for them before they became faithless.

Unfortunately, he could not do this alone. His only chance of success required that he not only move the hearts and minds of everyone involved but also show them tangible results. This was not a one-man operation. However, who could he trust? Dunstan could not forget that there were people out there who wanted him dead. There were actual traitors and spies who were working not for the good of the sect but rather for their new masters, the Phantoms. Normally, he would turn to the Preceptor but he doubted he would get much out of the man besides a ‘Don’t worry! Everything will be fine!’ For now, at least, it looked like the only person he could rely on was himself until he gained certifiable allies.

Suddenly, coming to a stop in the middle of a path, Dunstan ran his hand over his face and grimaced. After hesitating for a few moments, he backtracked and took another turn. There was another alternative. Only time would tell if he was making the best choice now. He sighed.

Time to see Giga Chad and the Fists of Thunder.