Going from the northwestern forests to the southeastern coastline would have been only slightly more strenuous than going from the Black Cloak base to the sect, if Lu hadn’t been burdened with passengers.
One moment he was crouching just outside a dome of shifting liquid mercury, three hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Then the stars came together, and with a pulse of qi and mental effort the splinter brushing the tip of his finger sent them away. Things shifted in a disconcerting eyes-wide blink; the dead forest was gone, in its place a much greener landscape. He inhaled, the scent of decay replaced by the distant tang of the sea.
White Knuckle and the two messengers released their grips, and Lu took his first look at the Unrelenting Vigour Sect.
His first impression was… Hm. Kind of barebones. Is this really where they receive visitors?
Unlike his own sect, which placed lavish attention on its entrance and the administrative wing that connected to that entrance, the view that Lu got from the foot of the mountain wasn’t anything worth speaking about. It wasn’t exactly sloppy, but it failed to rise above the level of a wealthy mortal’s estates. The trees and grass were well-maintained, as was the straight stone path leading directly into the sect, but it lacked any of the artistry Lu had been expecting.
I suppose my standards are unrealistic; the Steadfast Heart is the wealthiest and most powerful sect on the continent, after all. This one is so provincial, I hadn’t even heard of it before today.
The sound of one of his seniors clearing their throat snapped him from his thoughts, and with a slight blush Lu put his attention back on the matter at hand.
He adjusted his crouched stance, touched the sliver of yellow metal – embedded into a hefty metal disk, the sect must have been worried someone would try to move it – and repeated the necessary mental exercise. Another blink, and he was back in the forest.
Three more hands reached out to grip his shoulders – ah, I see Bull has bulled his way to the front of the line. As expected – and again he moved. Two groups of three martial artists, one group of two, then the last newcomer and Lady Rong. Then Winding Wind and Giro.
Then, Seventh Wheel and Tai Sho. Lu could swear he felt the men’s slimy souls as they gripped his shoulders, and the strain it took to hide his distasteful grimace greatly exceeded the strain of teleporting with the pair across the continent. One more trip- ah? "Senior?"
Tai Sho had released him as normal, but Elder Seventh Wheel’s hand was still firmly wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him slightly away from the splinter. “No,” the man stated, “Leave the priests. Their presence will only aggravate things.”
Lu whipped his head around, his expression a half-and-half mix of confusion and wariness. His eyes met Seventh Wheel’s own before settling instead on the senior Elder, White Knuckle. “…Is that wise? To choose aggravating the Heavens over Salt?”
White Knuckle nodded. “It is the path most likely to lead to success. Come; let us introduce ourselves to our allies.”
He gestured, and with a slight inclination of his head Hoss’in Ra began to lead them up the mountain.
As they went, Lu was struck be how small everything was. Not only was the mountain itself unimpressive, perhaps only a quarter the size and height of Mount Steadfast Heart, but the amount of it covered by its inhabitants was even smaller in proportion.
Rather than wide roads dividing groups of large, multi-story buildings, the Unending Vigour Sect seemed to prefer open-air courtyards. The disciples appeared to work and live in a more free-form manner; rather than dedicated areas for alchemy and formation work and private spaces, everything seemed jumbled together. Lu saw sleeping mats set out next to cauldrons, scroll cases set in nooks and crannies – and yet, despite the population being spread out they covered less area than Lu’s sect’s more compact living quarters. Continuing up the mountain, from outer to inner, all the way to the core sect, Lu could not shake that feeling of smallness. There are so few disciples. Four, maybe five hundred in total? If the proportions are the same as in the Steadfast Heart, then I’d be surprised if they have even a full ten Elders…
And indeed, as their guide shepherded them towards one of very few enclosed buildings on the mountain, the Steadfast Heart disciples found themselves outnumbering the people they had come to meet.
Ah, at least they have actual Elders. The four men and two women seated on reed mats did not look overly dissimilar to disciple Hoss’in Ra; the same robes of pale red, shapeless and unadorned. The same shaved heads. It seemed to be a universal uniform, and Lu had not seen so much as an earing or moustache since he had arrived.
But although nothing about the six’s appearance drew attention to their rank, or even distinguished them visually in any way, the weight of their spirits was enough. I was afraid for a moment that their cultivation would follow their apparent wealth, but it seems I was worried over nothing.
Hoss’in Ra bowed low, his voice reverent. “Elders, Patriarch. This humble disciple has sought aid from the great Steadfast Heart, and I am proud to present the venerable White Knuckle and his strongest disciples.” He stepped to the side, and Lu struggled not to preen from the obvious flattery as his group smoothly advanced.
White Knuckle inclined his head, the Elders returning the gesture, but before anyone could begin speaking Lu’s ears caught on a part of the short man’s introduction. The Patriarch is here? Where? Surely, it isn’t one of these six…
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
His eyes scanned the room, and he very nearly failed to catch it – but there, directly in front of them, there was actually a seventh person.
Lu blinked; it was almost like his eyes instinctively passed over the wizened figure seated at the back of the room, though he felt no illusions. A stealth specialist? That doesn’t seem right… I don’t get the feeling they’re trying to hide. Rather, it feels like they’re such a part of the room, they just blend in naturally. It was not only the Patriarch’s appearance that was difficult to see; Lu couldn’t feel any sort of spiritual presence from them at all. They may as well have been a sculpture of a person for how much he could discern.
“Patriarch Unrelenting Vigour, I am glad to see you well.” White Knuckle gave another, slightly lower bow, while Lu and the other disciples went so low their heads threatened to touch the ground. “How long has it been, over six centuries?”
The figure, so old as to be completely androgynous, moved minutely. Lu’s eyes still struggled to see them properly, but their voice – a gurgling rasp, completely different from Steadfast Heart’s self-assured tones – gave no trouble to his ears.
“Somewhere around there, it must be. Would that there were kinder reasons for these meetings.”
White Knuckle nodded, his face solemn. “I assume any doubts as to the Sixth Reality has been erased?”
A gesture, fingers like leather-wrapped sticks waving the Elder’s words away. “I never doubted, not really. Steadfast Heart schemes as much as any man, but I’ve never known him to lie.” A flash of tooth, miraculously whole and only slightly yellowed. “But what were we meant to do? In this room you see nine-tenths of our sect’s strength; can they compare to even the bare handful of martial artists standing behind you?”
Lu expected the assembled Elders to bristle, but they did not. Their spiritual senses did not ripple even slightly with discontentment, and Lu was forced to assume that not only did they not take issue with their Patriarch’s unflattering words, they agreed with them without restraint.
A strange emotion bubbled up in his stomach, one he couldn’t place. This is surreal. The way they spoke, the Patriarch obviously isn’t counting Winding Wind or Seventh Wheel…
The men around me range from sixth to ninth realm; even with a difference in martial training, six Elders should be able to easily look down on our forces… Shouldn’t they? While Lu had always known that his sect was the strongest intellectually, seeing men and women sit quietly as they were compared unfavourable to juniors in an entirely different major realm was a shock to his system.
“Do not sell your disciples too cheaply,” White Knuckle replied. “We are not attempting to repel Hell; even inner and outer disciples will be able to contribute.”
In an instant, the room became heavy. Lu could not even move enough to stagger; it was like a giant had grasped him in its meaty fist, crushing him from all directions equally. Patriarch Unrelenting Vigour’s previously invisible spiritual sense filled everything, a sea pressed down to fit in a teacup, so dense as to be nearly physical.
“No. I will not send unbloodied children against monsters. You ask the impossible.”
Even White Knuckle seemed to feel the terrible pressure, beads of sweat appearing on his face. But he stood tall, and replied without wavering. “It is necessary.” With one hand he reached down to his knees, grasping the hem of his tunic and pulling it up – and as the leather slid up his torso, Lu’s eyes weren’t the only ones to widen.
A strangely-shaped wound was cut into his side, a gouge with smooth edges, like a sharpened clam shell had been scooped through him. I recognise markings like that; I’ve seen them on earth and stone walls, first in Horrible Swamp and then the Junk Pit. To Lu’s eyes, the wound was obviously a sharpie’s toothmarks.
They can even cut the incredibly hard flesh of an Elder? That’s- that’s… His first instinct was to say impossible, but the evidence was in front of him, clearly there as it dripped an incongruously small amount of blood. But still! My third realm skin is vulnerable to normal weaponry, but once you hit the inner realms it’s like being made of solid steel. My combat trainers could be bruised by my primitive firearms, but they weren’t in any danger of dying, and White Knuckle is many times stronger than a newly-ascended Elder. His body is literally thousands of times more durable than a mortal’s…
…Could it be because of mechanical differences between their realities? I can’t think of anything else to explain it. A sharpie can be contained by a metal cage, but bite right through a cultivator at the peak? It must be some sort of esoteric interaction! The Elder’s lack of ki, or the sharpie’s teeth nullifying his cultivation, or something.
The Unrelenting Vigour Elders eyed the grisly wound, still somehow fresh and not even slightly healed, with ill grace. Where their Patriarch’s words had passed through them without a ripple, the sight of White Knuckle’s injury made their senses recoil and flare up.
The Elder allowed his tunic to drop after only a second, obscuring the large bite wound from sight, but Lu’s stomach continued to turn – and evidently, the Patriarch felt something similar.
The figure, their robes the same as all their underlings’ moved only subtly, but Lu felt their sense flexing like a great muscle. “What was that meant to prove, White Knuckle? That our enemy is even more terrible than I feared? If you wish me to send my disciples into battle, you are making a poor case.”
White Knuckle’s own spiritual sense unfurled, and some of the pressure Lu felt diminished. “I wished to make a point. That wound was not made by a great divinity, or even a soldier, but only a small crawling thing. And yet, I have seen disciples at the bottom of the inner realms dispatch dozens of such creatures in an instant – our offences and defences are not comparable to each other; the strength of our cultivation might mean little to them, in some ways, but it is equally true that their cultivation can be bypassed by us.
“Lu, the mere third realm behind me, was able to strike a blow at one of their divinities. This is not war as we know it; numbers, more than realm, will be the decisive factor.”
Sir, please, don’t bring me up so suddenly! That isn’t even strictly true- Well, it isn’t necessarily impressive- Well, isn’t this meant to be a last attempt at peace, anyway? You can convince them to help later, or skip it entirely if we’re successful!
Slowly, like the tide receding back into the ocean, the Patriarch’s spiritual sense receded back into their body. The sea-in-a-teacup was pressed down even further, an act that must take an immense amount of mental effort, and all the room’s inhabitants seemed to breath a sign of relief, Elders included.
There was silence for a moment, and then the Patriarch made a sharp motion. “All of you, leave us. I will speak with White Knuckle alone.”
The six Elders of the Unrelenting Vigour Sect stood immediately, making way for the exit without a second’s hesitation, and Hoss’in Ra followed meekly behind while Bianyan looked increasingly awkward, unknowing if he should follow or stay with the larger group. White Knuckle looked back, and gave the gathered disciples a nod. “You as well. Seventh Wheel, please direct them in my stead while I handle things.”