Reconvening with Bo, if only for a few hours, had been extremely helpful. Not only for comparing him with Jiendao, but being around Bo, specifically, had allowed Lu to recall something he had almost entirely forgotten.
Way back when I first got to Salt, when it was just me and Bo… Things seemed to be going fine, but then I became violently ill, so much so that I puked blood. The feeling was so similar to my original reality-hopping incident I thought it was the same thing – but it turned out to be something more mundane, if still alien. Nothing came of it, and I put the exact sensation out of my head after I recovered.
Well, nothing was perhaps the wrong word; it had made him reveal his alien status to Bo, and helped them forge a stronger friendship. But that was tangential to why he had remembered the incident today. It was the waste energy in my body building up. The first big push that made me really start understanding ki.
Those first few fumblings had all but disappeared from his mind; with his ki channels venting waste energy took only a moment, a far cry from needing to reset his consumption every few days. Or hours, heh. But anyway – that sensation, the nausea and the hot-and-cold vacillation.
Jiendao and the rest never needed to discover their own methods of dealing with waste energy, since they already had my experience as relayed through Lan. But what if it wasn’t just a response to waste ki? I felt the exact same thing before I fell into Salt, so…
Perhaps it was something of greater magnitude. Was I one step away from my three aspects melding together, that day where I sparred with Bo?
It was something that he would need to think about further. But not right now. I’ve procrastinated enough. With the mid-day sun filtering though his windows, Lu packed his scrolls away and left his room. He headed up the mountain, mentally preparing himself for a potentially difficult conversation.
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Meeting a sect Elder was both easy and difficult.
Physically, it was easy. All one had to do was make a request at any administrative building, and simply wait for a reply. One didn’t even have to journey to the core sect, though it was considered polite; going down to the entrance hall and speaking with the secretaries was enough. Visitors to the sect did it every day.
But psychologically, Lu was finding it a lot harder. Come on. You’ve literally done this exact thing before. But reaching out to Winding Wind to alert him of a trio of priests was a different beast from what he intended to do now. I’d been working with him for a while at that point, and it was an emergency, and… I wasn’t asking him for anything.
He took a breath and squared his shoulders, before opening the door to the red-roofed building. Behind the counter was the same elderly woman, her appearance unchanged from the last time Lu had seen- no, there is a difference. She’s wearing a wheel symbol necklace, now. I suppose the older disciples have even more to mourn, compared to people like me who barely knew the deceased…
He approached the desk, forcing his reluctance away with deliberate motions. The administrator seemed to be sorting through letters, taking sheets from a large pile and portioning them out to five smaller ones. Busier than the last time I was here. “Greetings. I am disciple Lu; might I request a meeting with Elder Braveheart? At his convenience, of course.”
The woman acknowledged him with a nod, though her eyes and hands stayed focused on her work. “Urgency?”
“Low.” As much as I’d like to get this over with, it really isn’t very time-sensitive at all.
Another nod. “Please wait here for the moment.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
The primitive building was not the most interesting place, and Lu was bored of staring at the furniture within a minute. It really is a stark contrast to the exterior. There aren’t even any paintings for people to admire while they wait. Rather than simply sit and allow his thoughts to chase each other in anxious circles, he pulled out a scroll and continued his earlier reading. Ego Shredding Blade… Based on the description, this is almost certainly the spell those Black Cloak criminals used on me and Bull. Terrifying… and no doubt effective. Most of the mental arts he had been learning had been addling illusions, but as he went further up the archive more directly damaging effects became common.
Certainly, its much more direct than Mass Hysteria or Befuddling Drunken Dance. No way to resist except a pre-cast mental shield or sheer willpower… Cheap, and the spellform isn’t excessively long… If it were lower realm, I’m sure I could make good use of it. The thought felt like it should send a chill down his spine, but after a dozen scrolls detailing equally malevolent arts, he was becoming inured to it. Hmm, would it work the same on a Salt native? If my musings are correct, they might be more resistant to mental damage – or is that speculating too far? No, the Grandmaster was all about mental effects; I doubt he would have become the leader of his brotherhood if he had no capacity to attack others.
A polite-yet-rough cough drew his eyes up, to where the elderly administrator was standing. “A guide will be along shortly to take you to your meeting, disciple Lu.”
“Ah, thank you.” That was quicker than I thought it would be. Does Braveheart not have his hands full as the new inheriting disciple?
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White Knuckle certainly left me a mess to deal with. The thought was accompanied with a mix of emotions; sadness and wistfulness battling against annoyance and frustration, their lines deeply entrenched and immovable.
Yet another missive from Golden Sun – I can feel the veiled accusations through the wax seal. Reports about damage from the underground sects, a coded message from Black World that will take at least a day to work through…
The southeastern sects were a stiff wind from collapsing. Jade Fire was running around like a headless chicken. The war-priests from Blackiron had hit an unseasonable storm and would be delayed. Bad news. Nothing but setback after setback. Braveheart had known that Greengrass was somewhat more fractured than the other continents, Two Bells excepted, but seeing centuries-old peace shatter in real time was a daunting wake-up call.
Not that things were much better here at the sect; Special Operations had closed up like a frightened clam, while half the scouting force were more akin to dogs chasing their own tails.
Ah, here’s something from Persimmon… Hm, the sealed areas are going smoothly, at least. ‘Experimental Measures Four-Zero-Three,’ what was that again? He shuffled through a stack of crisp-edged papers. His mentor’s filing system had been impenetrably idiosyncratic, but at least he had left good documentation of what had been going on.
Three-Three-Eight, Three-Eight-Nine, Three- ah, here we are. He read the logs written by a familiar hand, and a grimace of distaste grew stronger on his face at every passing word. Using a..? No, if White Knuckle approved this then there must be context I’m missing. His sense pulsed out, and within a second a young man in white robes appeared from the adjacent room.
“Master?” Despite his thick frame, the youth’s face and voice were both soft.
“Get me a meeting with Goldenseed. I want her to show me all her ongoing projects relating to Salt- no, all of them period.” Should probably trim things down, make sure we’re using our resources appropriately. We’re at war, now.
“Of course. Also, that disciple has arrived; shall I show him in?”
“No, let the assistant do that. Go find Goldenseed.”
A bow, and the man disappeared. Braveheart looked back down to the piles of writing eclipsing his desk. I need more clerks. There aren’t enough hours in the day to reply to all of these by hand. With a large proportion of the continent’s leadership gone, Steadfast Heart had achieved its dream of becoming the undisputed ruler of Greengrass, only in the worst way possible.
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Lu was led through the core sect by a plain-faced woman. Her middle-aged figure swelled with intimidating muscles while a streak of white shot through her otherwise black hair, but there was a softness to her eyes that made her seem approachable. She hadn’t introduced herself, but it was obvious she was a core disciple – seventh realm, Lu would guess, though he wasn’t anywhere near certain.
She wasn’t quite as bulging as Bull – he doubted a woman could achieve that level of muscularity without serious alchemical assistance – but she handily outdid ninety-nine of every hundred martial artists he had ever seen.
And like the old administrator, she wore a wheel symbol, this one in the form of a pin sitting just below her collarbone.
Ah, that’s two for two. Do all the core disciples have one? I suppose I’ll see when we get to the proper building… Truthfully, Lu didn’t need an escort; he had been to the core sect’s administrative centre more than enough times doing odd jobs for Winding Wind. But barging in on an Elder without being called would not only be rude, it may predispose the man to reject Lu’s request.
So he followed behind his guide at a measured pace, and within minutes they had reached their destination.
The streets of the core sect hadn’t been overcrowded like those lower down – in fact, they had been positively deserted. As they entered, Lu could see why: it seemed that a good proportion of the sect was crammed into this one building. But unlike the rowdy scouting wing, the mood was appropriately sombre. Ah, golden wheels on every person. It seems it’s turned into a collective statement.
Lu followed the woman through the crowd, up one flight of stairs and then another. They passed the floors he was familiar with, and when she finally led him to a set of large doors in a well-appointed hallway, it was in properly unfamiliar territory.
The martial woman pulsed her sense a single time, and the reply felt like it would pop Lu’s eyes from their sockets. Yes, that’s definitely an Elder’s sense. The doors swung open, and revealed a room that completely defied Lu’s expectations.
My memories of Braveheart are fuzzy, I only took a few lessons from him way back when after all, but I recall him being quite severe. I expected his personal abode to be like Bull’s, a testament to martial arts – maybe with a more homey bit to the side, out of sight. What’s with this mountain of paperwork?! Is the position of inheriting disciple actually a desk job?
The woman bowed. “Presenting disciple Lu, Master.”
Elder Braveheart looked up from his paperwork, his expression aggrieved. “Very good. As you were, Ming.”
The woman – Ming, apparently – turned to leave, and Lu put her out of his mind in favour of bowing deeply.
“This outer disciple greets you, Elder.”
A grunt. “A pleasure. You wanted to speak with me?” Lu straightened, and saw that the man’s expression hadn’t changed.
Elder Braveheart was much like his predecessor in appearance. A classical Elder, he was white of hair and long of beard. He also had the same wiry strength in his frame, though he was a hand-span wider and taller than White Knuckle had been.
But their demeanours were entirely different. Braveheart’s sharp and heavy features would have made even a friendly smile threatening, but he didn’t put so much as a token effort to appear approachable, or even neutral. Large eyes below a thick brow seemed to communicate displeasure at whatever he looked at, not helped at all by the scowl twisting his lips. His clothing only compounded his image; hard leathers, no doubt enchanted, unabashedly martial with no ground ceded to tradition or aesthetics.
He looks five years older than what I remember. Is my mind playing a trick on me, or is the stress on him really so great? Aging at less than a thousandth the rate of a mortal, any change an Elder underwent was either deliberate, or the result of their mental state.
“Yes, Elder.” Speak around the issue, or go right for the kill? Lu’s eyes slid to the massive amount of paper blanketing ever surface. Not useful. He might relish a chance to step away from work, or he might resent me for taking up his time unnecessarily. I’ll have to go with my gut, so-! “I’m concerned that the investigation into the Jiendao situation is placing undue pressure on Little Swamp Village. It might cause us to lose our only allies from Salt. I know the situation is ambiguous, but I’d like to request you allow me to handle the investigation of Stinger-Tail personally from now on – I’m more familiar with Salt culture, and I think I’ll be able to settle things more amiably for everyone.”
The man's expression was solid granite, completely unmoving. “Is that so?” In his head, Lu began praying. Come on, you have so much work to do – let me take a bit off your hands! The scowl deepened a fraction, then the Elder blew out a breath. “I’m not convinced you’ll be able to remain impartial, since it’s your student who was attacked… If I see any evidence you’re trying to punish the woman without evidence, I’ll punish you myself.
“But I’m juggling too many eggs to reject you outright. You’ll find what little information we’ve gathered downstairs; ask at the front desk. Will that be all?”
Lu’s bones felt like jelly as he bowed. “That’s all I wished to discuss, Elder. Thank you for your time.”
Braveheart hummed, the sound skeptical. “You may go, then.”
Taking care to step gracefully, Lu exited the same way he had entered. As the doors closed he felt a drop of sweat roll down the inside of his right brow and descend the edge of his nose. Ah, I know I’ve done this before, but meeting a new Elder is frightening! How am I supposed to know how they’ll react to my reasonable self? He turned, and in moments he was back in the stairwell. But that was a good result, a good result! I got exactly what I came for!
It took a weight off his mind, and as he descended his steps were light.
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Not five minutes after the outer disciple had left, a woman in gold-coloured robes appeared. She walked into his office without a hint of propriety, and he let out a hiss as she stood with her arms folded.
“You summoned me, Martial Grandmaster?” Her tone seemed placid on the surface, but he could feel the distinct undertones of displeasure beneath.
What, are you offended by me doing my job? Braveheart mirrored her irritation at the necessity of this meeting, but there was no need to be childish about it. “Given that the sect’s situation has changed so drastically, I believe it prudent we go over all the ongoing research. Let’s start with the numbered ones, then we can move on to your personal projects.”
Goldenseed’s shoulders flexed, and he could almost hear her thoughts as they formed. ‘Why me? Ask Persimmon- no, he’s away from the sect. Aiya Yu- no, the same. Seventh Wheel is dead. Am I really the only senior researcher available?’
With microexpressions and the subtle rippling of his sense, he replied: Obviously. Do you think I’d drag you away from your precious pills merely for the pleasure of your company?
With an angrily defeated exhale, the woman gave up her end of the silent argument. “Very well.”
What followed was an exhaustive account of everything Goldenseed had been even tangentially involved with over the past decade. It was mercifully short; speaking Elder-to-Elder, they could communicate with a swiftness no mortal could comprehend.
But though it was speedy, the conversation was made more than strenuous by the subject matter. Braveheart’s emotion flipped between impressed, ambivalent, and disgusted several times. Most of it was mundane, ranging from new pill recipes to the more relevant but equally technical work that had gone into the Breacher Armour project. What was left were the black letters; those things commissioned by Special Operations and the scouting forces. Nothing was strictly monstrous… but some was borderline, especially what they were doing with that contaminated prisoner from the Black Cloak Group.
But with it all laid out, Braveheart had to admit he saw the logic in every decision. Agreed with it even.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have given his blessing to these projects if they crossed his desk today, but neither could he stomach stopping those few that were still ongoing. Not once did Goldenseed attempt to defend her or others’ actions, and in fact she didn’t seem to have any moral qualms at all. She stated the facts wholly and without any change in tone, whether they were about the material properties of a prototype metal alloy, or the sickening things they had done to a handful of alien infants to provide a cure for the rest.
“…And I believe that is all. The newer Sixth Reality Purifying Pills work much quicker than the previous ones, though the materials are harder to source.” With her arms still crossed, the woman hadn’t let her annoyed demeanour slip for even a moment since entering the room.
Braveheart gathered a sheath of papers in his hands. “…Yes, that is all of them.”
“So? Will you be making any changes, Martial Grandmaster?” She said the title as if it offended her, as if the centuries of blood and sweat he had spilled to earn it were completely worthless.
He inhaled, exhaled, and allowed his offence to slip away. “I will. With a war unfolding, some of these are superfluous. I’m cutting your funding for pill efficiency, longevity treasures, and special constitution research. Put it all into the Salt studies and-”
For a moment he paused, the sheer icy feel of Goldenseed’s spirit startling him. “…And weapons research. I know you have your pet issues, Goldenseed, but this isn’t the time. You can’t discover anything if we’re all dead.”
Struggling like a caught eel, the Elder’s sense was restrained below her skin. Speaking with the distinctive cadence of grit teeth, she replied, “As you say. Will that be all?”
Heavens above, I always forget what dealing with you is like. If a horde of demons started howling at the gates, I have no doubt you’d treat them as potential ingredients. “That is all. Go.” She went, but as the door began to swing closed in her wake he added, “And stay away from the outer disciple. Don’t think I’ll overlook you shadowing him.”
The door clicked shut softly, and though her footsteps were even softer they still somehow seemed like a stomping tantrum.
Braveheart rubbed his temples. Children. When did the sect pick up so many children? I’ll need to force some competent personnel through, or I’ll go mad before Year’s End.