“Should you ever find yourself attempting to read the expressions and body language of a wild beast, it is always good to consider two things. 1. Do you know what you’re doing? In the sense that you should have experience with the animal you read, as we only read each other so well, even after being of the same species. And, 2. Are you following the rule of n + 4? If you are following that ancient rule, which famously states that there are no lies in the eyes of those four realms above you, then you are doing something wrong. Beasts are far too different for it to be applicable, so rather, a +5 might be better, or even a greater number, should that be necessary. In conclusion, unless you are significantly more powerful than anyone I have ever met, it is a bad idea to try and read even animals of the second tier.” - excerpt from the book “Beasts of the Copper Lake; Domestic and Combat” by Eltry

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August was honestly rather impressed at his own ability to simultaneously pretend to stare at a fascinating scroll of text, walk as though he could see the ground, and inspect the estate they strolled through. Of course, walking was not supremely difficult, considering the well-maintained path his guide had chosen for them, but tearing his gaze away from the highly artistic diagrams inside the scroll was an entirely different magnitude of difficult.

But, given that he was rather certain that he would be found out sooner rather than later - for example if a powerful cultivator were to pass him in the street and see his lack of immortal grace, and then decide to spend a fun afternoon playing scientist - And when that time would come, he would be prepared to… persuade whomever found his secret from their course of honesty; into a far more convenient path of deceit.

And seeing as he was staying within their estate, it seemed rather likely that someone from the Malir clan would be the one to find out about his circumstances. And, so, his gaze lingered on every innocuous, but very much present, anomaly of their estate.

A circle of floor on a glass roofed gazebo less weathered by wind and sun than the floor around it, indicating that there had once been a table there where there now was naught but air between the curved benches built into the structure. A weed growing at the edge of where one could see from the path every so often, as though the main path and what could be seen from it was the only part of their expansive garden to be cared for. All in all, their large estate within the city itself - at least a square kilometre of land with a manor at the centre - made it clear that they were once a very wealthy clan. Of course, their former glory was slightly shadowed by the fact that they were only barely capable of keeping up a thin veneer of their extraordinary wealth.

That, however, did nothing to retract from the alien beauty of their roserock manor. It was and wasn’t a mix of many architectural styles he had seen back on Earth. The hard lines of columns holding and supporting the structure were roman to his gaze, but the buttresses and pointed arches were gothic in every sense of the word, and even then, there were baroque-esque patterns of silverstreak stone snaking and climbing along the hard lines of the angular pillars and buttress added a dash of much needed asymmetry to the place.

The manor rose taller than most he had seen, rising four stories in all, and at least two hundred metres in breadth. As they entered the main gate, he spotted a well maintained roman-esque atrium within the manor, which indeed had three separate layers of balconies. Each layer was supported by stacked buttresses, each one beginning where the other ended at the lip of a balcony, creating almost the illusion of a reversed pyramid as each balcony rose and receded like the seats of an auditorium.

As they moved through the house there were only clearer signs of their crumbling fortune. Patches of less faded wallpaper where paintings or furniture once were. Windows with rails for curtains yet none were there. And even, if he was correct, a suit of armour without gauntlets, posed with it’s hands behind it’s back to hide the missing pieces. Of course, he only spotted the cleverly hidden abnormality due to his infatuation with the sygaldric script seemingly carved into wherever there was empty surface area on the armour. He assumed it had a purpose, seeing as the right and left shoulder did not, in fact, have the same sygaldric pattern, but he was utterly unknowing of what it might truly do or how it might function.

They eventually found their way to a central room of sorts. It seemed to be located opposite the entrance to their manor, in a large circular room of glass, at least three stories in height, with half a circle inside of the garden itself, and the other allowing a view of the grounds and the city beyond. Rather, that was his logical assumption, but it seemed that they deemed it too difficult to maintain such a large portion of the grounds as those visible from the greeting hall, and had drawn the curtains over an entire half of the room. Well, a third was really more accurate, given that the curved stone of the house took up at least a third of their view.

And, exactly at the furthest point from the garden, almost flush against the glass of the grounds - with only enough room for the curtains between it and the glass - was what could only be described as a throne. The throne was a throne of two parts, halves intwined with one another, each one only the framework for a throne by itself, yet perfectly appealing when woven together. One wrought of purest silver, elegant and intricate, engraved with designs of beauty, yet so diverse that they at first seemed randomly chosen. That was when he saw the ripples within the dark bark of the tree grown around the throne.

Or rather… it seemed that the tree had been grown first, after which an artisan had come to wring silver into shape around and inside the tree, enhancing the shadows of pictures within the bark into true paintings of wood and silver, each half completing and enhancing the other. The last touch of the artist who made the gorgeous throne was the choice of wood. For it was clearly not only chosen for the patterns in it’s mahogany bark, but also for it’s leaves of cobalt blue, which tied the two halves of the throne together like nothing else with the blue leaves sprouting where there might have otherwise been a missing piece, and especially beautiful was the tree sprouting from atop the throne, casting shade over whomever sat upon it.

Of course, no one sat upon the throne at the moment. The tiny woman August assumed to be Yavaril’s mother was instead flashing about in an assortment of tables in a circular formation in the centre of the room, each one piled with papers in heaps and bundles. She seemed very intent on her work, as seen through both her utter lack of acknowledgement for them, and the sheer speed she moved at. Really, August only saw her face for the few moments she spent still as she wrote on paper after paper with unimaginable swiftness. He also assumed she had grace, but due to his inability to see the woman, he was unsure. Some papers were sent floating into a grand system of thin pipes with many mouths beneath the tables, sucked or... something, through them at great speeds, and some were forgotten for the moment as she flashed to another scroll, set aside for later review.

Yavaril had interrupted the harried woman, and while she had respectfully greeted August, it had also been a quick affair due to August’s repeated mentions of long travels through arduous lands, and Malir’s own busy schedule.

And so, before long, he was shown to a room deemed either suitable for his status or the best they could assemble for a personage of his ‘status’ and perhaps more importantly, stature. Other than the bed he could not fit in, it was a rather nice room. Large windows with curtains he made sure to draw. A lounge area, with a horn he could presumably speak into to contact the serving staff. A triangle shaped corner bookcase with a decent assortment of books he assumed to be worth a glance through, given the probability that there was an introduction to the city in the room where emissaries from the wider world would stay, or better yet, an atlas. And lastly, there was a reading desk with a metal plate and an assortment of magnates to hold open one’s scrolls without effort.

In other words, perfect accommodations, especially when one considers that the bed was assumed to be a formality as far as August was concerned, rather than a necessity.

August sighed for a moment, before walking to the horn in the lounge and speaking into it pleasantly, requesting that no person enter his rooms without his express permission. Then, he poured over the books on the shelves until he found a couple of value - one on customs in the metal waters area, one on the history and architecture of Copperpoint, his current city, and lastly a tome concerning the rearing of local beasts, both docile and combat ones. The last, one, in particular, he chose due to its perfect subject combination. It would cover animals within his new world, the power levels of said animals, how those translated to human powers, and would give a clear impression as to how cultivation was integrated into society, even if only cultivation as it concerned beasts.

He opened the first book as he settled down in the lounge. He once again furrowed his brow slightly at the completely legible yet utterly foreign characters on the page. Characters which were, quite honestly, rather strange. What little he knew of written language outside of latin alphabet, was that only ideographic - ‘alphabets’ which used characters for ideas rather than for sounds - were typically this complicated. Whether you looked at the runes of the old norse, the latin alphabet, Arabic characters, or even Sanskrit, complicated as it looked, was designed so that you could largely write without ever lifting pen from paper. Yet this? This looked as though that for any given character to be written, you would need to move your pen at least five times, and even seven, more commonly. And it was clearly phoenetic, given how often words were repeated.

It was, in a single word, an idiotic alphabet. And since people weren’t idiots - or at least lazy enough to beat their idiocy should it lead them to a path of less resistance - there also had to be a reason for the existence of such a system.

August shook his head. It was time to study clearly written information, not for scouring what few books he had and his own hazy memory of his time in the city for a tiny revelation. No matter how tempting it sounded to investigate in such a manner. Even if it would make him feel like a code breaker, or an archaeologist.

August slapped himself lightly. It really wasn’t the time for such activities. So, with a sigh, he unfurled his newly acquired backup cultivation manual - backup due to his operating under the assumption that there were better and worse manuals, and that he could probably acquire a better one - and took a picture of it with his phone, before hurriedly putting it away to conserve battery, and stuffing the scroll into his satchel.

First on the agenda was assimilating as best he could into the fundamentals of his new world, after which, he could further study the city he now lived in, temporary as it would be. After all, if you don’t travel in a magic world, what was even the point of such a life?

He opened the tome on beasts and settled down to read. It would be a long, but interesting, night.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

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Yavaril wasn’t sure what was bugging her. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She knew it was August, because what else could it be when he had taken up all her time from before something was bugging her, till now that something was bugging her. She just couldn't tell what it was about the man that tickled at her brain to the point that she couldn’t even cultivate. Especially when she had been trying for hours. It could just be him in general, she reasoned. After all, he was incredibly weird. His name was asymmetrical in the order of consonants and vowels, he was way too tall, his features were sharp and angular in an uncanny way - especially his nose - and he was coloured like some corpse that had been underwater for days, with his bleached skin, hair and eyes. Especially his eyes.

But that wasn’t enough to keep her from cultivating. She was only this distracted when there was something wrong, whether it be when she was tagging along on a guard investigation and an answer was just out of her reach, or when one of her siblings had stolen her sword. Well, maybe not the last one. When that happened, it was always Enny.

Yavaril sighed, before she rose from her seated position. She couldn’t cultivate, and she needed to cultivate, or she would fall behind in her guard training. Well, she wouldn’t fall behind exactly. She was already ahead of them in cultivation, and she cultivated faster anyways, but she had focused more on her techniques for a while, so she would stop being significantly ahead if she didn’t focus on cultivation this week. So, the only solution was to figure out what she was missing about August… and she thought best while she practiced her sword techniques… so she was going to practice her techniques instead of cultivating… which was how she ended up in danger of falling behind in the first place. But, well, did that really matter anyways? She had years to cultivate yet before she would become an adventurer, so falling ever so slightly behind her class for a week or two wouldn’t matter to mother, would it?

She glanced around as she hefted her sword from her lap, doing so even though she knew no one was around to see her. The slender sword fit comfortably in her hand, with its clothbound hilt, small - but functional - disc guard and the long, slender blade, meant for stabbing more than for hacking, but still quite able to cut anyone of her own level in half. It was her favourite gift from her only living older brother, and she couldn’t wait to wield it against the beasts of the wild with friends by her side. She already practically had a team to venture out with, really. They just needed to be convinced that it would be great.

Her plans were, however, derailed as she saw one of the servants, Lunil, rounding the corner with a dresser she vaguely remembered to be in a guest room in hand. Lunil was still rather low in his tier, and found a lot of the more simple, foundational techniques difficult whenever he was under pressure, which was probably why they could afford to keep him on as a servant even when they were selling off their guest room dressers.

Yavaril winced as she saw his feet repeatedly lifting from the ground, Lunil’s root technique slipping again and again, as she realized that for the good of both Lunil and the dresser her mother was trying to sell for a couple of extra days worth of running time for their ‘merchant empire’ she would have to help, and promptly be shooed back into her room to cultivate.

Zentar flowed from where she was building the lattice of her core, in her stomach, down through her skeleton and her bones, until it reached the ground and bled into it, like water bleeding into cloth. Her Zentar found the thick beams of steel built into their home when it was created hundreds of years ago, for exactly the purpose of supporting the root technique.

Then, she wound her Zentar around it, through it, permeating it as she commanded her Zentar to not bend, stretch, or break under the pressure, allowing the mystical force to anchor her to the ground, all in less than a second. Her muscles tensed in preparation, for she would need to be so unbending that even the weight of the dresser would not be able to bend her body. She sent more Zentar to her hands, and when the dresser touched her palm, she repeated what she did with the steel beams, solving the problem of leverage that others who had yet to learn the roots technique had. It was of course still far more effective to simply lift without the technique, and with the help of others, but for the purpose of lifting things alone, it was one of the most effective techniques for newbies like her.

“Ah, thank you mistress, it appears I fumbled my technique once again, and you arrived just in the nick of time as you always have,” Lunil said, his nervous, reedy voice coming to stand on her side of the dresser, as she held it in one hand. The strain was there, but it was most definitely within her power to carry it for quite some time. A couple of hours at least.

“No problem, we all fumble sometimes. I even saw August fumble as he tried to catch a scroll just hours ago. So, where should I put this?”

“I was just taking it to the eastern carriage gate,” Lunil said, as he started to wander off towards the aforementioned gate. “And thank you, mistress, for attempting to comfort me. I must however insist that you not lie, and even slander, a guest of the Malir clan for my feelings alone. Now then, I do feel ready to take back my burden, if you would?” He held out his hands to take back the dresser.

Yavaril had also halted, but for different reasons. Because what did he mean when he claimed her to have lied? She didn’t lie, everyone knew that! But, then it hit her. He was right. She must have lied, even unknowingly, because people of August’s tier did not fumble things thrown at them, at least not when the thrower was Jador from the district centre. Which meant that either she remembered wrong, which she didn’t, or that August purposefully pretended to fumble, or that… August actually wasn’t even a powerful cultivator, but just some guy who happened to have all the cultivation of a literal infant. A Mortal.

Who she had helped to rob the state. Oh. Oh.

“Uh, sure, here’s the dresser, best of luck, I- I have to take care of something. Immediately.”

Yavaril could feel the colour drain from her face as she rushed away from Lunil, even as he called after her. She was not going to prison because August was an idiot who couldn’t just ask for a cultivation manual. She didn’t even notice Lunil’s startled yelp as he hurried to catch the dresser.

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When August’s door sprung open and banged against the wall, August managed to give a heroic spasm as he was torn from his book, and looked to see the stormy face of his former guide. He was rather sure he knew what she was here for. She had figured him out. It wasn’t really a surprise, given how spontaneous his plan had largely been, but he still would have preferred to remain hidden for some time. Not that his preferences were terribly important at the moment. No, now was the time for vitory, verbal victory, to be precise.

He first needed to both take control of the conversation, and to take away her greatest advantage, namely the momentum she would gain should she successfully charge in and accuse him. Of course, he could not admit anything outright while doing so, as that would be terribly stupid should she not have actually found his secret.

“Ah, I assume your mother has informed you of our marriage? No need to worry about how I shall be treating her, and I assure you that I will strive to be the greatest father I can be to you and your siblings.” August smiled warmly at her, watching keenly as she faltered and stuttered in confusion. Good, that would give him time to think.

All that he needed, truly, was to stay here for long enough that he might be able to figure out the path ahead. However, if he could, then seizing her contacts throughout the city or her help in general would be very useful. That would, however, take creative persuasions, if her reaction to his deceit in the district centre was any indication on her willingness.

“I- What? You’re-? NO! T-That doesn’t matter anyways, because you’re not actually strong, which makes the engagement pointless!” Horror had overtaken her face for a moment, but it was swiftly driven off as assuredness with a hint of desperation took over, and she levelled an accusatory glare at him. He felt it safe to conclude that she knew of his lies.

He only really had one functional weapon against her, so he would need to ‘stop pretending’ and show his ‘true colours’ as a vindictive bastard more than willing to drag others who slighted him down with him, simply for the sake of it. Oh well. That could also be fun.

He set aside his book, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time as he held his eyebrows raised in disbelief, with his sneering lips making it quite clear that he was in disdainful disbelief of her sheer stupidity.

“Quite impressive. Even after concluding that I am in fact a lying liar who lies, you still manage to assume that I, of course, would never lie about something as important as a fake marriage.”

She withered under his scorn, and he winced inside the slightest bit even as he rose to his feet and languidly stalked towards her. “In fact, here is a round of applause, just for you. Trust me when I say that if this is any indication of your intelligence, you should do your best to enjoy this, as it will be the only one you’ll get for your… sharp, mind” His applause was slow and mocking, coming to an end as he stood far too near her for comfort, looming over her small form with his towering height.

“Now…” He waited for her to gaze up at him, to see him looking down at her from so far above. To know she was helpless, or at least imagine she was. “… What exactly do you imagine you’ll accomplish with your little discovery?” He sneered at her, before dismissing her thoroughly as he turned and walked back to the couch, draping down on it once again as he returned to his book.

Seconds passed as Yavaril was stuck in her stunned stupor. He was quite sure she wasn’t afraid or intimidated, exactly, but rather wary and surprised by his sudden shift.

“I-… I could tell the shepherds, or at the very least my mother.” She said, cutting off at the very beginning in what he thought was nerves, before continuing to speak with far greater conviction. But it did not matter. He could hear the seed of concern in her voice. He knew he could convince her at the very least that any action against him was at the futile. Hopefully, he could even get her to aid him in some way. Even if he did feel a bit sick doing so.

“Oh absolutely you could. I would certainly be expelled from your home should you do so. Of course, your entire clan would follow my fate soon enough, so that might be fun to see, even if it would cost me the slightest opportunity.” Disinterest was clear in his tone. He could not care less about her threat, an impression punctuated by the careless turn of a page at that very moment, even if he wasn’t actually finished. He needed her off balance, and the sudden turn from threats would do just that. Intimidation had served its purpose, now was the time for instilling despair.

“… what do you mean?” Her question came reluctantly, just as he hoped. Not asking at all would have put them on far more equal footing, as she showed her own competence to both herself and him. Asking immediately would have simply kept the status quo, as she was neither more or less competent, just in a hurry to further the conversation. But reluctance? That meant that she had tried. That she had failed. That she admitted that she was less competent than he was out loud, for them both to hear. He had expected as much. Because that was exactly what she was. Less practiced at scheming. And, while she was normally pragmatic enough to admit that and simply ask, with the constant shifts in personality he had displayed, she was desperate enough to take a gamble and try and regain control. A gamble she would inevitably lose on.

He once again turned to her with an expression of distain, as though in disbelief of her stupidity.

“Well then, I suppose some people truly are this stupid.” He punctuated the statement with a smack as he snapped his book closed, further breaking her confidence. “Then allow me to explain. Should you tell the shepherds what I did, I will accuse you of knowingly cooperating with me, acting as a-“ August hurried to recall the name of the empire that the clerk had mentioned as having invaded Copperpoint “- Miratotan spy, hoping to sell weaknesses in the most commonly used cultivation technique to the enemy, in exchange for support towards the decrepit, dying, wretch you call a clan economy. This will easily be disproven, yes, but there is no chance that your family could survive even a minor revenue loss at this point. And trust me, I do not expect this to be minor. Same scenario should you throw me out, except I will be giving an anonymous tip to the shepherds.” Horror dawned on her face as she realized the mistake she had made, not knowing that should she actually sell him out, August would do nothing of the sort.

August opened his book, and waved her off dismissively “So, leave me be, and answer when I call. I do hope even you understand that should you disobey me, far more people - your workers, staff, and all your family - will suffer. After all, I will only be making a copy of one or two cultivation techniques, should I succeed.”

Yavaril almost ran from the room. August sighed. He rummaged through his satchel for a piece of paper. Writing down both a confession, and an apology to Yavaril should he be caught, accompanied by an exacting explanation of his actions in this very room. Both to help her in the future, and diminish any emotional damage caused by his scheme. There was, after all, no need to be cruel.