> In recent times it has become quite significant to be able to articulate one's ideological platform insofar as its use within the grand stage of history. We are at the End of Time, where the greatest minds clash with not just swords but also words. Only the one that can exercise the most unsurpassable of violence can establish and claim the great Lotus Throne for themself. This is the requirement of Reason.
>
> It has been long said that the Lotus Throne will be ever empty. This is true. Only in the beginning and ending of each kalpa can a Lotus Throne be sat upon. Only in the beginning of time, to determine its trajectory. And only in the end of time, to mold the shape of the next world.
>
> The Nirvana Dialectic written by Mystic Kafeng Masagwa, Father of the Shennin Revolution
Later that night, Akazha knocked on Raxri's door as they removed their monks robes. Raxri let her in. She carried with him a large bronze pot, decorated with intricate dragon designs, and filled with dried herbs and leaves. "Oh, good, you've removed your top."
Raxri paused for a moment, wondering if they had committed some sort of social faux pas--they were liable to forget those things from time to time after all--then shrugged: "Right. I'd forgotten you were going to tend to my wounds."
"The wound is near your belly, so you're going to have to lie down. Your liver is stronger now," she said. Raxri acquiesced and laid down back onto their bed. All they had on were their undergarments, a bahag, as it was called in Pemi Island, a sort of kilt-like garment, heavy and bulky, perfect for indoors and the humid hot weather of the Pemi region. It is a garment often reserved for men: women would wear saya, or simply, skirts. More importantly, they were tube skirts that could be pulled up to their waist, their chest, or even over their shoulders.
Raxri's muscles rippled in the moonlight. A good amount of fat had been layered over it, no doubt from all the eating. This was good, Raxri knew: they needed to have a healthy layer of fat over their body to be able to withstand even more blows.
Raxri watched Akazha mix the wet and damp leaves around with a porcelain spoon in her bronze pot. "What a fancy pot," said Raxri.
Akazha smiled. "It's an ancient Tongson bronze pot, from the Southern Regions of North Ra-om," said Akazha. "A very old culture, some say the culture from which North Ra-om and South Ra-om cultures inevitably descended from. You can find fragments, potsherds, and other artifacts on both the northern section of South Ra-Om and the southern section of North Ra-Om, betraying that it was once a contiguous piece of land, cut in twain by the Invincible Blade Princess."
"Ah, I see," said Raxri, nodding.
Akazha chuckled. They scooped out a good portion of the poultice and placed it on a piece of white gauze. Then they set to work removing the white cloth around Raxri's midriff. "You always say that, that affirmation. 'Ah, I see.' Making another person know you're listening to what they're saying."
Raxri blinked. "Are you not supposed to do that?"
Akazha shrugged. "Sometimes you don't need to. Other people tend to ignore you."
"Or perhaps you've been telling tales to people that don't listen?"
Akazha was silent as they removed the white cloth. The kampilan wound was deep, but it had healed up pretty quickly and cleanly. The pink flesh betraying skin that would inevitably scar. Akazha muttered: "Damn that Myu Fan, her elixir is near magick."
"Healing magicks must be common in the Utter Islands," thought Raxri, pondering on the nature of violence.
"Yes, well, they have to be. When the technology that drives progress is the Blade, then there would be a surplus of wounds that must be healed. The original magick has always been that of healing and medicine." She thought for a moment. "But supranatural healing is rarer, much rarer. While there have been major advances in the field of medicine, to the point of the mastery of surgery, therapy, anasthetic, and more, true healing magick is hard to find. True Healing--that is, that which ignorers the natural regenerative capacity of the human body--is the purview of Mystics and Wizards and a few rare Holy Doctors. It requires years of meditation and practice. They are few and far between: the rising need for medicine has created a need for easy healing to be available, and that is simply not possible with the training it requires to be a Mystic Healer."
"But the Doctor Myu Fan...?"
"She's no Mystic," said Akazha, stern-faced. "But her elixirs and her healing gourds are of the highest quality, from ingredients found from ancient wellsprings around the world. She's an adventurer as well, you know. Traveling across the world not for treasure, but for reagents and ingredients for her elixirs. She's like a serpent, in the sense that she hordes great treasures of healing ingredients in some secret place that none of us know."
Raxri watched as Akazha coated their wound with antibiotic oil. She placed the poultice upon it, and wrapped it tight with the gauze, making sure no blood goes out. Raxri could see the importance of such a practice: even if a wound was fully healed, that would not mean it would not be able to resist infection from entering it during its accelerated healing process.
Akazha looked at the tattoos now upon Raxri's hand and biceps, near their shoulders. "Your tattoos are strong. They reinforce your body constitution with supranatural symbolic yoking. Ampun Sagara truly is a great tattooist. These kinds of yantra tattoos are not common, you know. Only a few truly practice them, and even fewer are masters of them."
"It is serendipitous then that I awoke near a place that housed a disciple of yantra tattooing," said Raxri.
Akazha smirked. "Truly you are favored of karma."
Akazha looked up and her eyes locked with Raxri. Raxri kept their eyes on Akazha, and Akazha tried to keep ahold of the gaze as well. Maybe out of some weird sense of competitiveness, or perhaps Akazha was trying to find out what Raxri was thinking. Raxri, on the other hand, was watching simply because they were thinking that Akazha was going to ask them something.
She broke off the gaze first.
"Your wounds are fine now." She coughed. Cleared her throat.
Raxri blinked. "Are you okay?" they asked.
She nodded. "Fine. Just a bit tired, is all. It is pretty late at this phase of the night."
"Right," said Raxri, nodding. They looked down on the dressed wound. It was bloodless, now. The room smelled of the antibiotic oil that had been placed upon it. Fragrant, pungent but not a bad odor. Strong, hot to the nose as Raxri inhaled. Felt like camphor, a mix of sandalwood, like a really strong incense stick paste. "My erstwhile master should rest, soon."
"I am not your anything, Raxri Uttara of the Present," she turned and flicked Raxri's forehead. "I am just Akazha Han Narakdag of the Mystic Fires. Do well to remember this, got it?"
Raxri smiled and nodded. "Right. Of course. Akazha."
"Why do you smile?" asked Akazha as they cleaned the bronze pot and covered it again. Strange geometric shapes that formed caricatures of dragons and lions fit together to seal the pot.
"It feels as though I am meeting you again, for the second time," said Raxri.
Akazha sighed. "Well, if we are to survive together, especially as we travel to Blacklight Town, then it is important we have a good foundation for our relationship."
"What is our relationship now, great witch?"
Akazha paused. She smirked, turned to Raxri. She caressed their cheek for a soft moment, and then said: "Rivals."
Akazha left Raxri alone to their thoughts for a few moments after. They felt their cheeks, their neck, their entire body burn up, hazing, fuming. They couldn't control their emotion, skewering through them as if they were a pig roasting on a fire. Raxri squirmed uncomfortably, thinking of what Akazha had said.
Rivals? That thought excited Raxri more than they thought it would.
The next few days flew by. Raxri was barred from any fierce physical training until after four days, finishing an entire week of healing. Sighing, Raxri acquiesced. They spent this time mostly sleeping--they realized that they had needed much more sleep than they thought they would. They slept at a minimum of 12 hours a day, only waking up to eat.
By the third day, they contracted a slight fever. They had to stay down for most of the day, and had to eat chicken porridge (lugaw as Akazha and Jikajika called it) to recuperate. The chicken porridge was delicious too, and immediately lifted Raxri's mood. The taste of the ginger mixed with the somewhat saltiness of safflower (kasubha, noted Jikajika), were enhanced exponentially with a mixture of ground peppercorns and lightly spiced fish sauce. This was all mixed with a healthy dash of soy sauce.
The day after that, Raxri had been healed. They were allowed to do some physical activities, and so Raxri performed some light aerobics and calisthenics, which helped the flow of their Winds about. "Making sure your Winds are unhindered and properly delivering Will and strength to the Meridians in your body is crucial for cultivation," said Akazha, watching Raxri workout as they read on a long palm leaf manuscript.
"What do you read, witch Akazha?"
"Hm? Oh, this? Can you read it?" Akazha lifted up the cover of the book. It showcased a wrathful deity looking like a cross between a bulging eyed lion and a dragon, opening its maw. Within its maw a mandala. Written on top of it, in a script Raxri could surprisingly read, was: TREATISE ON ENTERING THE WRATHFUL MANDALA in Bazaar Kyarpan.
"I can," said Raxri, surprised with themself. They read the title back to Akazha.
Akazha nodded. "I see. So you can read. Fascinating. Go ahead, continue your training," she said, puffing out a pipe and then sipping on tea. "You need to, if you want any chance of reaching my level."
Raxri smiled defiantly. They went back to stretching, balancing on a bamboo shaft that they had stuck into the ground. Raxri used a mix of their Light Body Technique with their own Body Dynamics so that they could perform a stretched handstand atop the bamboo pole.
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After a few counts, they dropped back down and asked: "Akazha, what Cultivation Stage are you in?"
Akazha did not look up from her book. "That is for me to know and for you to find out, Raxri Uttara."
Raxri let out an exasperated breath, and went back to training.
By the sixth day, Akazha called Raxri to their old training place, by the stream. At this point, Raxri physically felt stronger and more stable, even as their wound continued to heal. "That wound will take at least two more weeks to heal," Akazha had said. "But you should be functional by next week."
At that point, Raxri was in their training garb: a simple pastel blue chestwrap, keeping her shoulder, armpits, collarbones, and midriff bear. Then, a billowing white sarong decorated and embroidered with floral pattern. Cloth wrapped around her hands, wrist, and feet, providing adequate protection for each. She wore her hair in a tight chignon atop her head, so that it never moved no matter how fierce her and quick her own movement was. Raxri had forgotten how small Akazha's face looked, especially in conjunction with her long knife-sharp ears.
More strikingly were Akazha's lines and lines of mystic script and esoteric geometries running up and down her body, forming into veritable flower mandalas. The writing felt similar to the esoteris sections of the mantra booklet that the Abbot had given Raxri. Akazha walked around covered in magick spells and prayers. A walking yokess of esotery, hands reaching inward toward enlightenment.
Raxri wore clothes that Akazha had bought for them when they traveled out to Tannum Village. "I knew it would be pretty on you!" said Akazha as she did her stretching. Raxri managed a smile. They saw themselves on the bronze mirror in their room after putting on their clothes. A light long-sleeved silk jacket of indigo (Raxri thought: Had she known about the color of my Will?), baggy silk trousers decorated with the color of flame, dyed to be as black as pitch, reed sandals that were tied around up the ankle, and then fitted with a hardwood sole. The silk-jacket only reached Raxri's upper midriff, creating an interesting silhouette, accentuating Raxri's now toned abs.
"I do look pretty great in these!" said Raxri.
"That should be your signature look," said Akazha, grinning, as she finished her stretching. She performed three mudras, and then pulled her kalis from a sheathe of light in the air.
"I still have yet to learn that," said Raxri, pulling out Puksa from its sheathe. They threw the sheathe down so that it embedded itself standing into the earth.
"It's because it's a magick spell," replied Akazha. "Not something I learned from Adamantine Sword. Now! You've been trained in the ways of the sword now, eh? Time to see what you can do!"
"So this be a sparring session, eh, master?"
Akazha nodded. As she stretched, Raxri realized the lithe and toned muscles that now also rippled under her skin. She hasn't been slacking off, that's for sure, thought Raxri. I wonder what kind of training she's been up to while I was away... "And don't call me master," said Akazha. "We're student-to-student, now. Let's respect real and actual masters, all right?"
Raxri nodded. Though, no matter what you do, I won't be able to remove the stain of respect I have for you, witch Akazha, for saving me and teaching me what I needed to survive.
Akazha exhaled. As she did, she burst forwad, her kalis glinting in the sunlight. An omen, a sign. Raxri stepped diagonally to the side to avoid the thrust, deflecting it away from their center, and then immediately unleashing a flurry of blows--
--that were met with a flurry of deflections from Akazha. They exchanged a number of blows for a few rounds. Raxri struck with undeniable speed, striking and speeding through the techniques of the Adamantine Sword. Akazha struck back just as quickly, parrying away, and even using a telekinesis spell to manipulate her blade so that it floated about here, spun in front of her to parry hits. Raxri was fighting to express their newly trained skills, Akazha was fighting to show off. She hadn't been able to, when Raxri was less-trained. No doubt for fear of harming Raxri. But now that Raxri was able to deflect even dangerously close strikes, both of their strikings and grapplings became surer, more confident.
Raxri managed a solid pommel strike into Akazha's bare gut, empowered by Devastating Red Hand. The force sent Akazha flying backwards, but her control of her Light Body Technique was immaculate, and she landed on the ground like a feather.
Both of them lowered their battle stance. Leaning forward, like fighting tigers. "Not bad," said Akazha, smiling. She twirled her kalis, and then let go mid-twirl so that it spun around her. "Don't hold back."
Raxri let go of an exhale. They had been holding their breath all this time. They had to keep meditating. Our cloud-headed warrior began panting for air. "I'm not."
"You can move faster than that, I'm sure! Show me the skill that could slay the Silver Wind Witch Dog."
Raxri shook their head. "I had help from two other Cultivators that were of a much higher stage than me!"
"Excuses!" Akazha performed a mudra with two of her hands, clasping them together into hand signs. Then, with an utterance of a magick spell, two more kalises materialized out of purelight from the space between her hands when she pulled them apart. With a thwip of her hand the three kalises spun around her, moving as if on their own. As if she had two extra sets of invisible hands that wielded the weapons for her. å
"That's not fair," yelled Raxri, in between breaths.
"If you are not pushed," replied Akazha, her grin widening into an almost devil slasher smile. "Then you will never know if you are going up or down! Stand your ground! Set your heart ablaze!"
Akazha rushed forward, and Raxri did not want to be caught in the backfoot. The Heaven Dancer rushed forward as well, sword chambered to their side. They clashed in the middle of the stream, sending clean pure water into the air as their blades clanged, and they found themselves past each other.
They turned and clashed again, this time locking into melee. They clashed so strongly that sparks flew from their blades. Raxri was scared Puksa would shatter on them, but they saw Puksa holding their ground, as strong as a pillar of heaven.
Raxri concentrated and exhaled: they allowed their Will to flare about in every direction, carried by their Inner Winds. A small ember of indigo fire blazed from their eyes. Their movements quickened--as they needed to be able to move in every direction, blocking and parrying three different swords dancing in and out, like bladed dragonflies.
Raxri was actually doing more than just moving fast enough to parry them: they were harnessing their strengthened meditational prowess to be able to expand their awareness to a small 1 tail bubble about them, making it so that they could predict the swings and arcs of the incoming three blades. Using this information, in conjunction with their greater concentration, Raxri wove movements that parried two blades at once, or both striking and defending at the same time, or avoiding a biting thrust while deflecting two slashes from the other two blades.
Akazha found an opening yet, her own eyes blazing a bright azure, the color of the zenith sky on a cloudless day. She caught one of her swords, sparking with embers as Raxri deflected it, and then spun and cut into the opening she saw, three movements early.
Raxri twisted desperately, changing the trajectory of their Adamant Lightning Strikes into an upward Heavenly Lightning Deflection. Akazha, still grinning with adrenaline, allowed that sword to be flung to the sky.
She commanded the two other blades to turn and skewer Raxri.
The sword that spun in the sky also found its invisible hand steadying it, turning its bladepoint to Raxri, and the sending it flying straight down like a devil god comet.
Thinking fast, Raxri's next movement was a wide slash positioned diagonally towards the ground. They turned that into a Heavenly Lightning Deflection: they jumped, wielding all their Will to do so. Puksa struck the ground...
...and with Raxri not tethered to the earth, the force of the powerful swing sent Raxri flying backwards and up, tumbling in mid-air. The three swords only skewered each other, creating a twisted star of steel, and then falling to the ground, useless.
Raxri somersaulted in the air and landed on a bent over bamboo branch, maintaining their balance with Light Body Technique.
"Hm! You parried the earth! Your creativity abounds!"
Raxri could not reply. Their breaths were ragged as fatigue enveloped them.
"But I suppose this is the end," said Akazha, her grin now a satisfied smirk. Raxri would have been offended if they were a lesser person, but Akazha's eyes glinted bright azure. She was enjoying this. "You must forgive me. I have not been able to show you any new Adamantine Sword techniques!"
Raxri shook their head, as if to say: "No, that's all right."
"Let me exhibit one!" Akazha summoned another kalis out of a sheathe of light, taken from one of the sun's rays that beamed to their side. Then, they spun, and threw the sword. It flew forward, bladepoint first to Raxri, cutting through wind and gravity to pierce at Raxri.
Raxri, scowling in effort, pushed themselves off of the branch and flipped over it. As they landed on the branch, however, Akazha was there, flickering like Abbot Wairojashra, materializing out of a shimmering vertical cut of reality. They caught the kalis' handle. Her grin was back, and her eyes were piercingly white against the darkness of the instant.
"Adamantine Sword: Flying Self-Carving God!" And Akazha swung with the force of a 1,000 Ogres. Raxri managed to block it but that did not stop the heavenly thundering hammer force that sent Raxri flying back and crashing into the earth. Pain blossomed from behind them.
Wincing, Raxri tried to get up, but found their larynx nipped by a too-sharp sword tip. When the smoke cleared, Akazha had self-carved again in front of them, kalis pointed at Raxri, and three other floating swords all honed in on them as well.
Raxri swallowed. Akazha's foot slammed into Raxri's chest and sent them slamming back into the ground, knocking their Inner Winds out of them for a moment. "Oof!"
"You truly are naturally skillful," said Akazha. "In just a few moons, you've almost caught up to my level, after I've trained for a year."
Raxri took that as a compliment. They managed to smile as Akazha bent over them, one arm resting on her knee, posing as if they were some kind of gang leader. "Thank you," said Raxri. They managed a laugh.
Akazha smiled and laughed as well. "See? In terms of proficiency, we are two students only a few moons apart." She took her foot off of Raxri. She helped them up to their feet. Raxri licked their dry lips and refocused themselves, taking time to recuperate their Inner Winds. After a moment, they were catching their breath. They could feel the fatigue of it all now.
Akazha took a step back and winced. Bruises formed on her body, there were some cuts on her biceps, and some bruising on her collarbone. "You banged me up pretty well, though," Akazha noted, somehow beaming. "Though I am of a higher Cultivation Stage than you."
"I am constantly ascending," said Raxri, matter-of-factly. "I have to become higher than I once was, in the past."
"Of course," said Akazha, nodding. "Such a conviction will take you far, Raxri Uttara. Take pride. You've internalized your training well."
Raxri smiled now. "Thank you..."--they caught themself-- "Akazha."
"Now, I'm sure Jikajika has already prepared lunch. Shall we?"
Raxri nodded.
They made their way back to the house, walking through the now shorter path as the stream has inexplicably risen (the typhoon season has brought stronger winds and thus greater water into every region of Pemi. Inexplicably, with Pemi being in the eastern section of the world means that it is struck both by the Warring Eastern Winds and the World Typhoons). Raxri asked: "Where did you learn such a technique?
Akazha turned to look at them, tilting their head to the side. "What technique? The one where I commanded three swords at once? Or the one where I carved my very being out of the world?"
"Both...?"
"Well," Akazha shrugged. She smoked on her pipe. "The three swords one is simple telekinesis. A practice that can attained either through Magickal Praxis or a Violent System... that is to say, a magical tradition or a martial art. I've learned telekinesis in both ways, so I have been able to attain much skill in such a thing.
"Now the Flying Self-Carving God technique is a very rare technique, and it requires at least the attainment of Sword Soul in the cultivation of the Adamantine Sword. I was taught it by a traveling swordsman in the past, handsome and brooding, who was killed when attempting to slay a Thunder God in the End of the World."
"A past boyfriend?" asked Raxri, smirking.
Akazha shrugged. "A fling, as all the others were. As Yiwaritala was. I am not one for commitment, and there are none that have been worthy of such a privilege, yet."
"Ha!" Raxri beamed. What a cool master I have. "How long have you been alive?"
"Around 25 harvests," said Akazha. "But don't be fooled. The strongest of cultivators live for much longer, and have cultivated much longer. Hundreds of thousands of years. The weakest of cultivators will always have the largest amount of breakthroughs, while the later stages of cultivation always take longer and slower, due to the vast amounts of Will you must cultivate."
"Right. I have been told ascending through the Desire Realm is the easiest Realm to ascend through."
"It is," said Akazha. "Especially if you truly focus yourself in cultivation, retreating to hermitages and wilds. Drinking Will Elixirs, consuming proper foods, feasting on accumulated Livers... you will ascend through the Mortal State pretty quickly. But it gets harder and harder as one goes along."
"Is attaining this kind of power worth it?"
Akazha stopped walking and Raxri stopped alongside her. She turned and placed a hand on Raxri's shoulder. "That will be up for you to decide, I'm afraid."
And then she turned and continued to walk.
Back in the house, Raxri could immediately smell the scent of spices and soy sauce that intermingled with the smell of roasted meat. Marinated to perfection. Dripping fat. When they entered Raxri saw that a porcelain plate with chopped up pieces of roasted pig had been placed in tthe middle, seasoned generously with multiple servings of lemongrass and other spices. It smelled immaculate. Beside it was a clay pot of rice. Around the table three porcelain plates had been laid out, and beside each porcelain plate were more clay sauce plates, filled with soy sauce with bits and pieces of calamansi and red chilis in the mix.
Jikajika was already eating, humorously. When he saw the two warriors come in, they raised a hand and said: "Oh! Come, let's eat!"