As Lu hurried to catch White Knuckle’s attention before some other disaster came crashing down, he instead caught the beginnings of the closed space being set down from out the corner of his spiritual sense.
The six formation masters, Persimmon included, had at some point planted an array of white, playing-card-sized flags into the ground, a wide circle of them encompassing the whole camp and then some. Their senses flared out, and with a spiritual snap the ambient qi began to align – nothing changed physically, but Lu could tell instinctively that there was now a line in the sand, a barrier in space where reality had begun to split in two.
There was a part of him that felt compelled to keep watching the separation take place, but he wrenched his eyes away. Not now. There are matters of far greater urgency occurring; observing spacial barriers can wait till another day.
As Lu approached his patriarch’s inheriting disciple, Seventh Wheel stepped to the side and promptly disappeared. For a moment Lu’s brain was muddled, trying to see where he had gone, but he shook it off and admonished himself. Stop trying to make sense of the illusion. Dear me, I really am flustered if I’m missing obvious things like that – I need to get my head on straight. He took a few steadying breaths, but the coming invasion continued to meld together with worries about Jiendao and Stingy behind his eyes, scraping softly at the inside of his skull like a nail file. As he stepped up to White Knuckle, all he had managed to do was calm his outward appearance, leaving his thoughts still muddled and disorderly.
“Elder, Persimmon bade me to speak with you?”
“Yes. Come, walk with me.”
Nodding, Lu fell in behind White Knuckle’s wiry figure. He’s replaced his robes with a leather tunic. It doesn’t seem enchanted, but… There was no way an Elder would wear something so flimsy without good reason, especially a martial expert like White Knuckle. I can feel the qi in all his other clothing, but not that one garment…
Ah, there’s no reason to focus on it; whatever’s going on there, if anything, it isn’t any concern of mine. Probably just a stealth treasure, anyway. Or Junk looted from Salt.
White Knuckle moved with a loping stride, sharply eyeing the terrain and gathered disciples. Soon they had reached the centre of the dead section of forest, where the demon had been entombed.
“You faced the divinity alone?”
The Elder’s words brought Lu up short. “Ah… Yes, I suppose that is the case.” It isn’t as impressive as it sounds – I’m sure if he was even slightly more active, Oldest Bones could have flattened me to a paste. I would have had to flee immediately if it came to an actual conflict. “I was able to close the breach without any interference, but it seems the remaining four will be harder nuts to crack.”
White Knuckle was silent a moment, gaze locked on the indentation the body had made. A soft breeze gently blew across his thin white hair, the only part of him not fixed in place. “Maybe. We’ve managed to get some eyes on them; the breach at the western tip of the bay is lightly defended, while there doesn’t seem to be one at Lake Heron at all, despite the priests’ information.”
No breach at all? That seems unlikely; these past two are exactly where Fong’s map showed them to be, and I can’t imagine the Heavens would pass along incorrect information. “Perhaps it is simply hidden?”
Finally, the Elder’s eyes turned away. “A contingent of special operatives will remain in the area of the lake, keeping watch. But for now, it seems they’ve pooled their resources in one area.” Though his skin had not regained its vitality, White Knuckle still stood like a stone pillar, movable only to his own will. Lu could feel his restrained spiritual sense, and though it was a guppy next to the whale-like well of power he had felt from Oldest Bones, that distant power had felt less real.
“Is that true, Elder? I was speaking to those two from the southern sects, and they seemed convinced that the invaders were quite homogeneous, all focused on the consumption of flame.”
A quick shake of the head. “They are misinformed. The Leaping Trout Sect was indeed besieged as they relayed, but their intelligence is incomplete; somehow, multiple armies have made their way through the breach, something we previously thought impossible. While the fire-oriented forces do make up the bulk, scouts report smaller bands attempting to spread across the countryside.
“Fortunately, this obvious show of aggression has spurred the other sects on Greengrass forward. Ours is not the only force being assembled; Jade Fire, Golden Sun, and Unending Abundance are already lending aid, and others have been roused to war as well. Even the underground sects are rumbling with discontent.”
Some of the tumult in Lu’s head quieted down as he heard the names of the two other strongest sects on the continent, their main rival the Golden Sun Sect, and perpetual third-place Jade Fire. While Steadfast Heart was undoubtedly the greatest, it was also true that they did not have complete dominance – in this moment, platitudes like ‘striking together as one fist’ suddenly seemed much less trite.
I wonder if more quasi-unorthodox sects, like Darkglass, will also begin moving. “Even the underground sects, Elder? That’s heartening to hear – even if each sect only sends a handful of Elders, I have no doubt whatever armies that Salt has sent will be smashed.” Although most sects aren’t as martially-oriented as ours, they should still have some heavy hitters. Even a timid scholar, when raised to the tenth realm, can strike at the level of a natural disaster.
White Knuckle once again began walking, and Lu followed him towards where Goldenseed continued to concoct, her large, crude cauldron emitting thick black smoke. “We should not assume it will be easy… But yes, I too feel confident. You will be able to handle moving the entire group, my disciples included?”
“If I have access to a sufficient reservoir of qi, it should be possible.” Moving from one splinter to another scales up much less efficiently than simply breaching into the liminal space, but a group of seventeen should be doable, if barely. My limit is only half that, but those tests were conducted months ago, without any external assistance.
“That might not be wise; we will need to conserve qi for the coming battle. Multiple trips would ease things on your end?”
“…Yes, Elder.” Multiple trips! Obviously, that was the solution the whole time. We aren’t being dropped directly into the battlefield, but rather a friendly sect; I can make as many trips as I need. “That would ease the burden greatly. Groups of three or four would be best.” Why didn't I think of that? Or for that matter, why didn't Elder Persimmon think of that? They continued to walk, but as they closed in on the source of the black smoke a niggling instinct prompted Lu to speak again. ”But Elder, if I might ask, you didn’t wish to speak to me only to arrange travel details, did you?”
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“I did not.” As they reached their destination the Elder’s cadence changed, becoming harsher. “Goldenseed. I see you haven’t wasted even a second on proper courtesy.”
The woman in heavy robes, fabric coloured gold but of a more artificial shade that the true priestly garb, did not raise her head to look at them. “Hello, White Knuckle. Were you expecting otherwise?”
Their senses pressed against each other, and Lu took an involuntary step back. Ah… I get the feeling these two don’t get along. Perhaps I should go and wait with the rest of the strike force..?
“No, I suppose I wasn’t. At least tell me you’ve be prepared the pills.”
Her finger tapped the side of her cauldron, and with a dull sound a half-dozen glossy pills shot from the wide brim which continued to spew opaque smoke. “Again, were you expecting otherwise?” She caught them in her hand where they sizzled, still red-hot, before tipping them into a square bottle of clouded glass, drawn from under her robes. From the way they clinked Lu would guess that the large bottle was half-full, containing somewhere between twenty and thirty pills. “There. If you need more than that, something has gone wrong. Be sure to mind the side-effects.”
The venerable Elder did not deign to answer, merely snorting and turning away. Lu followed, hesitating only slightly as he felt White Knuckle’s sense roiling just beneath his skin.
This time they seemed aimed towards the largest knot of martial artists.
“…To answer your question, disciple Lu, I’m afraid that your original mission will need to be cut short. With things being as they are, there is no need for further stealth.” The pill bottle disappeared into the Elder’s pocket, and despite there being not nearly enough room for it Lu completely failed to detect any unnatural movement in space. Definitely Junk. A stealth treasure wouldn’t have an expanding pouch built into it, and a defensive one wouldn’t bother to obscure the enchantments. Only the most overbuilt treasure, like the coffin armours, would try to do so many things at once, and those aren’t the sort of thing you take into battle if you can help it.
“Will I be going back to the sect, then?”
“No.” The crowd of martial cultivators turned nearly as a single unit at their approach, bowing their heads. “One moment.”
Ah, the Elder is certainly interrupting our conversation often – I suppose I shouldn’t think anything of it, he has many tasks to coordinate and good reason to do so as quickly as possible. He’s probably feeling twice as harried as I am. The others as well, we all have responsibilities stacked on our shoulders. I shouldn't be surprised little things are falling through the cracks.
“Disciples, please gather into groups of three. Immediate combat is not expected, but remain on your guard. Winding Wind?”
The man suddenly appeared with Giro at his side, and Lu jolted slightly. “Senior. Goldenseed is staying behind with Persimmon?”
White Knuckle nodded. “Gather the spooks and that Mai Rong. How much longer?”
The younger Elder bowed. “Not long. Preparations will be done momentarily; Persimmon’s students are in top form today, so everything is ahead of schedule.”
“Good, good.” He turned back to Lu. “As I was saying, you will not be going back to the sect. The time for stealth has passed; this is the last moment to avert total war before Heaven gets involved.”
Lu’s brows arced in confusion as he failed to understand how those two sentences connected. “Elder?”
“This whole mess was born from our desire to not treat these people as animals. As such, there will be one final attempt at peace.” His lined face was grim. “I must ask you to involve yourself in that attempt. If you fail, I’m afraid that things will devolve into total war.”
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The crack between their reality and the other had started small, nearly unnoticeable even as it sat plainly out in the open. But like many unassuming cracks, it could be split open with a single firm hit.
Dog Eats Dog had seen the beginning of it with his own eyes, but still it was difficult to recall. The Clanboss of the Eight Swords Clan, Urick-With-Two-Crossed-Swords, had not seemed like a warrior of any great import – stronger than any Junk Dog save the Immense, yes, but that was not special as far as Clanbosses went.
But then, on a day long months after the Sun had been chased away by Joe, as things finally seemed to be cooling down, suddenly the temperature became boiling again. Every man and woman in the great warcamp raised their head as an awe-inducing thing seemed to unfold from nowhere, the bloody fires of war snuffing out every other hint of energy from the air.
It was terrible, and beautiful, and Dog Eats Dog could not recall it in any detail beyond the sheer presence the Great Ancestor had exuded. He had not been any less impressive than Big Joe, though his power took an entirely different form. That power, fire and order and progress and everything that came from those things, spiralled down to a man with sword-shaped scars on the back of his hands.
A moment passed, and then… ignition.
That had been three weeks ago, to the day. Urick – or One-Man wearing Urick’s freely-given flesh, the distinction was immaterial at this point – stood before the small crack. Smoke issued forth from the empty sockets of his eyes, and his words were like tongues of flame where they hit Dog’s ears.
“My people will go first, the Clan of Eight Swords and our knightly orders forming the tip of the spear. The Clan of Burning Fat and the other Joeists will follow, with the weapons in tow, and then the unaffiliated will protect the rear. Do you understand, warriors of the Salt?”
A roar went up, and it was impossible not to join in; Dog Eats Dog’s voice was only a small part of the massive gathering, but he felt like the Ancestor was speaking directly to him – and he had no doubt that every warrior to his right and left felt the same. His blood quickened, the fire in his veins amplified beyond Comprehension, and yet he did not burn. Under him his bike roared with him, streams of bright red and yellow and blue being expelled from its exhaust, from its headlamp, from under its fuel cap.
It was like he was riding a living beast, like he and his bike and the glassy earth under his boots had all joined together into a single unit, each section of his spirit melded together in a way they had never done before.
“I hear you.” The Ancestor raised his hand, and in his palm appeared a small hammer, one side flat and the other pointed, an unadorned blacksmith’s tool. “Tell me, my warriors. What is the first virtue?”
“Hunger!” the warcamp bellowed.
“Who are our masters?”
“No one!”
The Ancestor raised the hammer, waves of move faster, burn brighter, forever forwards and upwards filling the air even denser than the crowd had made it. “What will we become?”
“One thing! One thing! One thing!”
The hammer fell. The moment it struck, Dog’s mind opened in epiphany; this is what Junk Dog wanted. For nearly his entire life, Ded had toiled down beneath the ground. He had loved that life, in a way, but it had not satisfied him. And so he had gone to the surface – and so he had found himself here. He thought he had understood, but he hadn't gone nearly far enough.
Not just the surface, but even further. Under the frenzy, under One-Man-Eaten-By-Fire propping him up like steel struts supporting a crumbling wall, Ded was old. Ancient by some standards, though it seemed absurd to use the word when something far older stood right in front of him. Men like me are not meant to live this long. I knew that, deep down, knew that I wasn’t living as I should.
Never again. Higher and higher, until I strike a ceiling too strong to break. Then the next man behind me, and the next man behind him, until that ceiling breaks under the force of our bodies.
As reality shattered Ded melded into the horde, sacred purpose filling him with might and overflowing power. I am immortal; if I fall, my brothers shall consume me and carry my spirit with them. And on and on, until everything is one again.