Ed paced back and forth in his house, his wife looked at him with a worried expression as she sat at the table. Her brown curls bounced in front of her, obscuring her youthful and lively expression. Hazel eyes and soft black skin made her the unlikely spouse for the wrinkled Ed. But the wind of love blows where it wills. It was late and the children were asleep, the only sounds in the house were the creaking and groaning of Ed’s feet of the floor. She pursed her lips thoughtfully at her husband.
“Eddie…”
“What is it baby?”
Her face blushed, she responded, “Why are you so worried?”
“The Chancellor sent out a whisper a few minutes ago… Da Shan’s a wanted man now.”
She gasped in shock, she looked at Ed, curls moving out of the way as she raised her face, “Why what did he do?”
“That’s the weird thing… there’s no charge. Just, capture on sight…” Ed paused and locked eyes with his wife, he gulped, “The reward is 1000 Spirit Stones.”
Her face went blank, that was an unimaginable sum… a truly ridiculous amount. She shouted, “That’s insane!”
“I know… That’s a king’s ransom and Da Shan’s no king… but, there’s more.”
She leaned forward to not miss a word, her eyes glittering in the firelight.
Ed cleared his throat and continued, softly and with trepidation, “The Chancellor is offering compensation to the families of anyone who is maimed or killed.”
She put her hand over her mouth, “Da Shan… he’s that dangerous…”
“Apparently there are some secrets about him that no one knows… no one but the Chancellor. Light Untold, he warned me earlier that the Chancellor was his enemy. Crap… baby…” Ed finally stopped his pacing at sat down on a chair at the table. His eyes were hollow and his wrinkles had deepened. A thousand Spirit Stones, he could give all 12 of his kids some of best cultivation resources money could buy. But there was the risk of death and despite his low opinion of Da Shan as a cultivator, he was truly Ed’s only friend apart from his wife. In his profession it was hard to find friends, of all the people he least suspected of treachery, Da Shan ranked the highest. He was too stupid, too weak to plot. With a heavy and weary gaze, he looked down at the table, pushed his hands to his face and massaged his temples, “What do I do?”
Da Shan peeked out from the tree he was hiding behind. There were a number of problems… three of them to be precise. Three people were heading his way, they were far at this point — a few hundred meters. It was fight or flight. Da Shan was tired of running. He felt powerful undulations from the three men, Deacons and of the Major Grade, they looked as if they were searching — theirs eyes scanning the ground and attentive. He sincerely doubted they were looking for a lost wallet on the forest floor. Better look my best… I suppose nothing would be worse than attacking these people with my bird dangling. Though indeed my sword is mighty. Da Shan looked down at his little eagle and petted the ruffled feathers. Your time will come again little brother. But tonight is a night with the boys.
Da Shan sliced the blanket into the necessary shapes. He looked at his arm and noticed it had scabbed over, the grey line had receded into his flesh. With a slash blood dripped and he winced.
“Ferrum.” He whispered and the iron whirled out of his body, the moonlight catching the specks of metal. “Devora.” The steel shot into the strips of cloth, Da Shan wove his hands like a master weaver, the metal danced to the movements of his finger tips. The strips of cloth danced as if alive, knitting themselves to one another. First the arms, then the belt, the body and it was done. A deep blue kimono fell into his lap as sweat streaked down his back. A lot less of the iron remained in the air, about half. Da Shan waved and most of the metal shot back into his body and then he covered his exposed flesh with the newly minted clothes. He peered at the three approaching figures, seeing them still a little way’s off he ducked back behind cover and readied his blade. Without making any sound he sliced a piece of wood from the tree and softly beckoned the remaining metal in the air, closing his eyes he let the steel cloud dance around the wood, carving an ornate sheath for his blade.
He directed the metal to enter the sheath and in a quiet voice said, “Liquesce.” The metal turned into a shimmering liquid in the wooden sheath. He sheathed his sword. Feeling less of a drain on his vigour for keeping his modified sword out, he felt confident again. He peeked out again. They were close now, almost in the danger zone. He clasped the sheath and hilt of his blade and strained to hear their soft footfalls on the forest floor. Their footsteps lightly crunched on the grassy floor as they approached. His ears picked up their faint chatter and the sound of their breathing. He counted down in his head.
1…
2…
3…
4…
The dull murmuring of their voices turned into barely audible whispers, he strained his mind to hear their conversation, but his pounding heart and mental countdown stifled their words.
5…
6…
“Lovely night isn’t it?” The first called to the second.
7…
“It would be much better indoors!”
8…
“It’s your fault that we’re out here!’ The third man hissed at the second, annoyance plain in his tone.
9…
“I didn’t mean to lose my purse out here boys… Normally I’d look for it by myself but there’s a lot of money in it and it’s dark… I need help.” The second man’s reply broke Da Shan’s count, he nearly stumbled out of the shadows.
Purse? Money?! They’re out here looking for a purse!!! Eh… what are the chances? They really did lose money out here... Did they? Da Shan leaned his back against the tree and sat down. I won’t leave this to chance. He shut his eyes as if he had fallen asleep and waited for them to walk by. It didn’t take long.
“Oh hey! Greg! I found someone!”
“Eh? Who is it?”
“Hmmm, looks familiar.”
“Is that Da Shan?”
“You know who this is Greg?”
“Yeah, it’s Da Shan, he’s on the third floor.”
“Oh, another Deacon?”
“Why’s he sleeping out here?”
Greg scratched his head and then answered to his companions slowly, “I think since he just finished a mission… he must be tired. Looks like he really is asleep.” Greg leaned in and stared intently. “Normally his kimono is a little dustier though… must’ve changed…”
“Looks like he really did come back from a mission. How’d you know Greg?”
“Paul told me, also said he shot his finger off by accident.”
Da Shan’s eyebrows twitched, but none of the three noticed.
"Oh! You got to see Paul's gun?"
Greg smiled proudly, "Yeah, he even let me borrow it." He and his companions gazed again at Da Shan.
“Maybe we should wake him and ask if he’s seen your purse.”
“Why would he know where Greg’s purse is?” A noble sounding voice questioned the other companion.
“I dunno, maybe he found it and pocketed it.”
“Suppose we could ask then... I still don't like it. He is sleeping after all.”
Both the men turned to look at Greg who just shrugged. The first one gave Da Shan’s shoulder a rough shake, “Hey Da Shan wake up!”
Da Shan’s eyes fluttered open as if coming out of a deep sleep, his eyes went wide with fright when he saw the three figures looming over him. He scurried back with panicked shouting, “Get away! Get away!” And rammed his back hard against the tree.
All three of the men backed up and Greg raised his hands to calm Da Shan while saying, “Yo Da Shan, it’s okay, it’s me Greg… remember?”
“…Greg?” Da Shan’s eyes looked groggy and unfocused and then slowly cleared as if the fog had lifted, “Ah Greg from Accounting?”
“No that’s Bloomenthal.”
“Oh, Greg from Secular Studies?”
“No that’s VanChance, it’s Greg from —”
“Oh from Alchemy!”
“…”
“What?”
“Da Shan, it’s Greg from the fourth floor.”
“Oh, the guy who keeps telling me to keep the noise down?”
“The very same!” Greg looked delighted at being recognized.
Da Shan wore a frown. “Charmed.”
Greg smiled, wiping away the awkwardness with a toothy grin. He folded his hands across his chest, “I’ll get straight to the point so you can get back to your… very important work.” Greg’s overly friendly wink that followed his remark did little to warm Da Shan’s heart, but Greg ploughed on, “Have you seen my wallet? It’s purple with grey stripes and a family crest on it.”
“Ah, no, I have been sleeping the whole time.”
"You sure?"
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
"Yes."
“Well... in that case that’s all buddy, if you see it please drop it off in my room, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I will Greg. Is that all?”
“Yep, that’s everything.”
“Ah well, sorry I couldn’t be of any help. Take care Greg.”
“I will.” Greg waved nonchalantly — as if saying “Don’t worry about it” — and Da Shan turned to walk away, but Greg’s voice called out after him again.
“Hey buddy, you should sleep in your bed.”
“I will probably go do that.”
“Da Shan, wait! There’s something on your back.”
Da Shan craned his neck to try and see the back of his kimono and then reflexively ducked as Greg’s foot hurtled by taking a chunk out of the tree beside Da Shan. Splinters exploding everywhere as Greg laughed, “You’ve got 1000 stones on your back!”
Da Shan rolled to the side, as an explosion of stone burst from the place where he was before, the first companion had attacked and was grinning wickedly.
Greg’s a Martial Cultivator, the big one’s an Elemental Cultivator — at least of the Earth Element — and the last one is… doing nothing?
And so it was, the third man watched idly as if the fight didn’t interest him — or as if Da Shan was too weak to pose a threat. Da Shan regained focus as he leaned back and pivoted on his feet dodging a series of kicks from Greg. Each kick sent out ripples of air that scored the earth and rattled Da Shan’s brain.
Upper Major class, the Elemental Cultivator is average.
An incoming high kick was swatted away by the flat of Da Shan’s blade, Da Shan turned and ran up the dilapidated tree, leaping off after three steps — carefully avoiding a series of rock bullets that demolished what remained of the tree. Da Shan turned his body in midair using the momentum to empower a mighty downward chop, Greg’s eyes narrowed and he stepped to the side to avoid the fierce swing — moving out from in front of the Elemental Cultivator.
Got you. Da Shan rejoiced in his mind as his soft voice lolled out into the night, “Ferrum.”
Mid-swing the blade disintegrated into a cloudy grey line that whipped out and extended nearly twenty meters and before the Earth Cultivator could react, the line had lashed through him, bisecting him cleanly. No blood leaked out — the cut was extraordinarily clean — and the cultivator slunk to the ground in a heap, his face still in the same menacing smile he wore when he had hurled rock bullets at Da Shan.
He stumbled at the death of his friend, the blood and gore making his mind go blank. “Rudeus!” Greg shouted. At the sound of Greg's shout the third man’s disinterested face snapped to attention and reached into his pocket for his weapon. Greg blinked away tears then cursed in his mind. The guy's still here! But it was too late, he heard a soft voice call out.
“Ferrum, veni.”
Greg whirled around to see Da Shan’s reconstituted blade hurtling at him at breakneck speed. Greg roared forming a cross-arm block, underneath his shirtsleeves, two bracers glowed brightly with a golden light. Greg’s roar was cut short and his eyes were opened in shock as Da Shan’s blade sliced through his guard and ended his life. He fell to the ground unmoving, unable to even feel regret in his last moments, Da Shan’s blade was too swift.
The third man was sweating profusely as he shakily drew a heavy zweihander from his pocket and held it up over his head. The sword was ornate, yet simple. Shinning gold patterns decorated the one side of the blade, while the other was of plain glimmering steel. Unsteadily the man clenched his heavy blade and waited. Da Shan waited. The man calmed his breathing and held the guard firmly, determination in his eyes and a touch of confusion. He spoke first.
“Thank you for waiting Da Shan… I admit I have underestimated you greatly.”
“Ah, no problem, you were not in combat. To kill you in such a way would violate the etiquette of my sword.”
The man nodded with approval, and then relaxed his guard, letting the tip of the sword smoothly fall to the ground and touch the dirt, “As it would mine, that is why I refused to participate in a three-on-one. Though it seems that strategically it would have been the right decision.”
“To be of the sword often leads us in that path.”
“Aye, ‘To live by the sword is to die by the sword.’”
“’To die by the sword is to be made alive by the sword.’”
Both men smiled at the completion of their formulaic greeting, the blonde moustached man raised his heavy sword slightly, “To raise my blade against a man of chivalry pains me, but to not avenge my friends would be a dishonor.”
“I understand and I am delighted to meet a man of the Code, what is your name?”
“Olaf VanWolfwood, the only son of my Father, the only one of my name.”
“… Is your mother perhaps?”
“She is awaiting me in the Rolling Green Hills.”
“And your Father?”
“A tired old man who waits to meet her as well.”
Da Shan felt tears welling in his eyes and his heart clenched, was he about to make a father experience his pain? Damn… you bet I am… Damnit… I really am. I will do it. Yes, he had done this so many times before, but only to the damned sons of Witches, Warlocks and the Vile… never to a knight and never to a knight who followed the Code. Da Shan's heart was heavy.
“I must… apologize to your parents, the Hills alone know the weight of my regret.”
“Accepted, if ever you get the chance, tell my father how I died.”
“…I will make the tale larger than life.”
Olaf smiled and closed his eyes, then opened them. His green eyes catching the moonlight and his wispy blonde hair dancing in the evening breeze. He widened his stance, his tight grey trousers blending into the night. His muscles clenched, bulging in his patterned green gambeson. He whispered.
“Erste Haltung, Ochs.”
Olaf kept his blade pointed at Da Shan, gripping it with both hands, he raised it above his shoulders. The blade extended straight.
“Seigan no kamae.” Da Shan held his blade out at a 45-degree angle and relaxed his body. The wind rippled along his back, pulling up dull brown and grey forest leaves that floated in the evening light. The night held its breath. The crickets stopped. The hooting of owls ceased.
They shuffled.
One step each.
They inched closer.
They widened the gap.
The gap narrowed.
Olaf leaned forward with a feint.
Da Shan stepped right to counter.
Olaf stepped left.
Da Shan’s toes pinched the ground.
Olaf steadied his blade, keeping it straight and high.
Crunch.
Da Shan’s toes crunched the earth and like a bolt of lightning he exploded forward, crossing the gap in an instant. His stance shifted mid-sprint and he lifted the sword above his head, preparing for a powerful chop. Olaf twisted his blade to intercept and thrust it out to parry. But the expected collision of steel did not occur and Olaf’s blade poked air. Instead of chopping Da Shan had lifted his arms so far back that the spine of his blade was almost scratching his back. Olaf stumbled forward, caught off balance from the lack of impact. Da Shan brought the hilt of his sword down on Olaf’s head with a resounding crack! Olaf doubled over in pain, one hand flailing the other holding on but letting his sword hang off to the side. Da Shan swung his arms like a major league batter, sending his sword’s hilt into Olaf’s face, forcibly knocking his head and body back. Pivoting his blade Da Shan quickly thrust the blade through Olaf’s heart, and yanked it out before Olaf realized what happened. He swung his blade with one hand — flinging all the blood off into the ground — and sheathed his sword, and stood in a resting stance, his one hand casually on the butt of the weapon.
It was a good fight. Blood trickled down Olaf’s mouth as he mouthed the words silently to Da Shan.
Respect and a mixture of pain filled Olaf’s eyes, but his expression was of relaxed resignation, he knew this was the most likely outcome and he had already to face his death. Closing his eyes, Olaf toppled backwards — about to fall on the grass, but felt shaky hands catch him and lower him gently to the ground. As Olaf succumbed to the black, he allowed a small smile to flit across his face.
Da Shan bent down and asked, “Any last words?”
Olaf’s smile grew a little wider, “I see my mother sitting on the Green Hills.”
Da Shan’s eyes itched and stung. Olaf’s smile stopped and the soft glow of life left his body. Da Shan wished time would freeze, he wished he could take it back. But he wouldn’t take it back… it would disgrace Olaf, himself and his own plans for revenge. Da Shan felt hot tears slowly trickle down his face, he had never felt so dirty in his life. He had killed a truly good man and he was doing to another father what the most evil of men had done to him.
What does this make me?
He knew that, probably, he had done this sort of thing before, many people had died at his hands in the 600 odd years he’d been a cultivator. He generally tried to kill the wicked, but even good cultivators — like Joseph McCarthy — were only good in a very relative sense of the term. He himself was no saint, but he had never broken the Code — in a very legalistic sense of the word. For him life was the most important thing, the Code was not more important than his life. But this boy, his life for the Code. He had never seen this. Never. But neither did he truly try to find people who lived by it or live by it himself.
He ambushed men, ganged up on his enemies and did all sorts of less chivalrous things. He was also about to violate the most fundamental precept of the Code by reworking his body. But all that did not bother him. This was different, it wasn’t just that his life philosophy was shaken, but it was the human tragedy of it all. Olaf was just a twenty something-year old boy and the only boy of a father, of a father who had lost a wife. His blood was warm and still innocent. And the painful similarity to his own situation grieved him. But he was an old dog and though he was a bit off balance, this wouldn’t shake him. Philosophy is best left to the sages. I need to find Ed and get this over with… damn… I almost hope this kills me.
Da Shan removed the cloud of iron from his clothes and felt a heavy burden lift from his energy reserves as the clothes fell apart, leaving him naked. It was draining to keep the steel swarm out and even more draining to keep it active on items. Making the sheath had alleviated the burden keeping the blade out put on his energy, and dismantling the clothes had made the burden almost non-existent. He took a gander at his new wardrobe with the callousness of one who had done this many a time before. He mixed and matched from the outfits of the three men, and cursed softly to himself as he realized that bisecting the Elemental Cultivator — who had the nicest clothes — was the dumbest thing ever. He cut out their storage pockets and stitched them to the makeshift kimono that he had sewed together with needles made from the iron swarm. His eyes fell on the peacefully sleeping Olaf. After hesitating for a few moments Da Shan took out Olaf’s storage pocket and stitched it to his kimono, looking at the slumbering knight he felt his forgotten paternal instincts seize his heart.
“If only you weren’t in the company of these fools young man. You would have lived past tonight. Rest well… my son. I will care for your father if I can,” Da Shan spoke as he shook his head and committed young Olaf’s face to memory.
He left Olaf’s clothes on his body and used the leftover fabric to make a blanket and covered the corpse and — after letting the iron rejoin his blood stream — darted off into the night.
He meandered through the sect grounds, avoiding security patrols and the people who were on the hunt. Eventually, under the cover of darkness, Da Shan made his way to the town near the sect. Time was limited and Da Shan zig zagged his way through the streets of the town, it was getting dangerously close to midnight, too close for Da Shan’s comfort. It wouldn’t take long to get to the forest, he had a Teleportation Scroll for moments like these — Ah, a Teleportation Scroll that was in my kimono. Panic began to set in. It had taken a very long time to escape the sect, it would take a ridiculously long time to break back into it and go to the forest. Damn you McCarthy! I didn’t think you were so unhinged that you would just attack me right there, I thought you would at least wait a couple days. Frig! Prick you Joseph! Prick you! If I die tonight I will haunt you so badly! Just you wait, freaking hell… Wait! Ed’s probably got a couple scrolls lying around. Da Shan’s hands flitted to his three newly acquired storage pouches and was thoroughly disappointed at their contents. A measly 1500 ducats isn’t going satiate that old codger. Hmmm, I think that’s a Kicking Technique Manual… I suppose it’s worth a few hundred ducats, but it is definitely not as good as a Cultivation Manual. Frig… this Greg guy was useless, the manual’s only White Grade. As Da Shan pondered on his newly acquired financial woes and potential imminent death, he found himself in front of Ed’s door. He said he owes me a five stone favor… a Teleportation Scroll is probably around 10 000 ducats? Something like that. Well, it’s not even one stone so Ed better just cough it up.
Da Shan knocked on the door and waited, peering into the peephole. He caught sight of an approaching black bald head and smiled. Ed’s truly the best friend I’ve ever made… he wouldn’t try and lock me in a cell and freeze me for a thousand years. They don’t make them like that anymore. Eh… well I suppose he’s younger than Joseph… Wait does that mean the generations are getting better with time?
Ed opened the door, a look of surprise crossed his face when he saw Da Shan’s arms wide for a bear hug, a look that Da Shan smirked at. This old fool, thought I’d be dead. He embraced his elderly friend with a shout of joy.
“Haha! Ed my man, have I got a —” Da Shan felt as if a massive weight had crushed his consciousness. He nearly blacked out and staggered, his arms that were slung around Ed for a hug, weakened and fell. The generational gap is freaking massive, talk to me ED! Da Shan mentally paused and marveled at his ridiculous thoughts, but found he was having a hard time concentrating. Why can’t I think seriously?
He stumbled and croaked out, “Ed what the —” Another mind blast pounded into his consciousness, dealing a massive blow that made the world spin. Da Shan errantly tried to swing his blade, but felt as if his brain was about to burst as another blast impacted his mind. Frig, I need to make new friends. Da Shan’s shattered mind struggled to think coherent thoughts and maintain the basic bodily functions necessary to stay alive, but it was useless.
“Damn Psyker! I trusted… I trust… I…” Da Shan fell to his knees and then collapsed onto his back, twitching violently as blast after blast pounded into him — his words growing increasingly sparse and incoherent. The pain stopped and a cold numbness creeped up on him and he lost all strength as he felt his body going still. As that last strand of his consciousness tried to resist falling into a deep slumber, one thought and one thought only, kept him awake.
Why?