“The Path is paved with blood and bones.”

— Common saying among Divine Artists.

The ground slanted precariously upward the way Sezha went, but the stream of qi flowing through the sky didn’t lie. He was so close. Just a few hundred more paces, according to Nara, who was walking by his side.

But the land grew steeper and steeper, to the point Sezha had to pull himself up by the ledges and cracks in the rock. But while such a task would’ve daunted the Sezha of months earlier, he was barely even winded now. He took a moment to glance down at the distance that was scaled. A sheer drop of around a hundred paces. To think that’s all it would take for Sezha’s journey to come to an end. Would a true divine artist be able to survive such a fall? They could fly, at least according to legends.

When Sezha turned, Nara was making her way up the slope. She walked without difficulty as if she was treading on level ground. But considering she was only a projection, the rules of the natural world likely didn’t apply to her.

“What will you do now?” Nara asked, her violet, slitted eyes unblinking.

“A hot meal,” Sezha said, resuming his climb. “Then, we’ll see.”

Although his master nodded to the answer, he could tell she was still unsatisfied.

Eventually, Sezha rounded the slope, pulling himself over the edge of the rock. The stream of qi stopped here. But there was nothing at the top that appeared like an exit from the pocket realm.

“Use the blade, boy.”

Sezha glanced back at Nara, who only gave him an encouraging nod.

Use the blade for what? What exactly did swords do? They killed. They chopped. They sliced.

Sezha froze. A thought flashed across his mind. He freed his sword from the sash and assumed a solid stance. Nurture the flame. Nothing but fire.

Every hair on his body rose as he pointed the point of his sword up at the sky. And with two hands on the hilt, he swung down with all his might. The very fabric of reality tore open as if he were slicing through bedsheets.

The reason for all the training wasn’t just for defeating the Hunter. To leave the pocket realm, he had to slash his way out.

Sezha turned from the portal to gaze out at the barren landscape one last time. Good riddance. Yet, there was still a part of him that was uncertain about the future to come. It was so simple in the pocket realm. A simple daily routine of foraging and training. But he knew there was no running from the path he had to take. There were debts to repay.

Drawing in a deep breath, Sezha stepped through the portal.

. . .

Understandably, Kan was slack-jawed when Sezha walked out of the temple alone, looking as if he had spent a lifetime in hell. Which wasn’t far off from the truth. But it only took a moment for Kan to readjust herself. She possessed surprising mental fortitude for her age.

Sezha hadn’t realized how much he missed it. Life.

The sun was just beginning to peek out from the jagged horizon of trees, shining its golden rays down on Sezha’s unshaven face. It was enough to bring a man to tears. Birds sang off in the distance, leaves shuffled on thick branches, life was taking place all around him.

“You look different,” Kan said, rubbing her eyes blearily. She yawned into her hand. Judging from the bags under her eye, she hadn’t slept a wink. “Your soldiers? I don’t see them.”

“They weren’t my soldiers,” Sezha replied softly. “They were good men. Too good to have died serving under me.”

Kan gave a curt nod. She didn’t seem fazed in the least. Did the girl even understand the concept of death? If her apathetic reaction annoyed Sezha, he didn’t let it show. He thought back to her deal. What was he to do with her? Her archery skills were fearsome indeed, but it didn’t look like there was much else she could do besides menial chores.

“We move,” Kan muttered, stretching her arms out to the sky. She stalked off in the opposite direction of the temple. Sezha scratched the side of his cheek. How much did she understand about being employed? She most certainly was not acting like a subservient hireling. He sighed and followed after her.

The hike back to the village was nothing compared to his usual training regime in the dead realm. It could even be considered pleasant. The hawks overhead didn’t wander aimlessly. They followed paths as a patrolman would. The ants underfoot warred with other ants for territory, as humans would. The creatures of the wild weren’t as simple as he once thought them to be.

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Sezha rubbed the back of his neck and smiled wryly. Since when had he become a philosopher of the natural world? Regardless, it was clear that the further he walked on the Path, the more he would find out about the world and himself.

“I like this girl,” Nara whispered into his ear, a half-hour into their hike. “My pet mortal looked exactly like her. It appears the tribesmen of the Waking Desert really do all look alike. Isn’t she just adorable?”

Sezha frowned. “Pet mortal?”

Nara made a strange clicking noise with her tongue at him. “Lighten up, boy. If you’re ever to become a proper disciple of mine, a sense of humor is a must.” Her soft laughter filled Sezha’s ear. “I’m sure you’ll pick it up with time.”

Kan turned back to face Sezha, oblivious to the words of Sezha’s unseen master. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” Sezha replied to Kan, pointedly ignoring Nara. “It’s just a fly buzzing around my ear.”

Nara's laughter stopped. “Well,” she said approvingly, “that’s a start.”

. . .

“Welcome back, young lord,” the village chief forced out nervously, dabbing at the rolls of fat on his neck with a hand cloth. “Will your men be joining us? I can have—”

“No,” Sezha said, his voice frigid. “No accommodations need to be made. We’ll be leaving shortly.” He glanced around the interior of the chief’s house. Now that it was daylight, it was clear the fat man enjoyed certain privileges. The floor had carpets, and while his furniture was simple in design, they looked sturdy enough. He wondered just how much of the amenities in the chief’s house were bought with pilfered gold.

“I- I see.” The chief rubbed his hands together and grinned, the very image of a crafty merchant. “Was your visit to Void-Light Temple satisfactory? I’m sure the girl was of much help.”

Sezha could practically feel Kan bristle at the mention of her name. Even a brain-addled fool could tell the two were on less than hospitable terms.

“You’re to return every copper ring that you stole from Kan,” Sezha demanded, stretching his hand out to examine his nails. Some were chipped to the point where he could see the pink flesh underneath. “I’ll give you until I leave to do it. If you refuse, I’ll have to make good on my earlier threats, understand?”

“Young lord!” the chief sputtered, exploding to his feet. “That is. . .” Sezha placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, causing the fat man to freeze. Sweat dripped from his neck rolls and onto the surface of the table.

“Is there a problem?” Sezha asked nonchalantly. Gone was the time where Sezha needed to rely on the influence of his family. There were more direct ways to get what he wanted now.

A whimper escaped the chief as he fell backward into his chair.

Nara’s soft, bell-like laughter filled the room. “Oh, isn’t that just quaint!” she exclaimed. “Like a little puppy baring his fangs for the first time. Do you even hear yourself right now? But please, don’t stop on my account.”

Sezha’s cheeks flushed red, but he didn’t let up on the village chief. “Kan is now under my employ. Any slight against her is a slight against me. You wouldn’t dare disrespect me, would you?”

Kan gave him a pointed look, complete with raised brows and a thin frown. It wasn’t quite the reaction Sezha was expecting. He ignored her.

“Of course not,” the chief said, regaining some of his composure. “But you see. . . the issue is. . .”

“Do you expect me to repeat myself?” Sezha said, his voice dangerously low. “I’m not here to exchange in pointless back and forths. Make this easy on yourself and do the right thing.”

. . .

“It ain’t right what they did to that girl,” the old craftsman said as he held up a wooden sheath for Sezha to examine. “Not a single soul in this village has the guts to stand up to Tyrant Lo, me included. But it’s a mighty good thing you wandered in when you did. Those buzzards were about ready to bleed her dry.”

“Ha!” Nara exclaimed. “The only thing that fool’s a tyrant over is the kitchen pantry.”

Sezha stifled a laugh. He banished any hint of mirth on his face and assumed a cold, business-like exterior. “This is fine handiwork. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” the craftsman said with a sad smile. “I ignored a poor girl getting bullied by a man thrice her age. Give me a breath.” He scurried off to the back of his shop and returned with a dark, fur-trimmed coat over his arm. “Here, this is for you, young lord.”

Sezha shook his head. “I can’t. It’s a fine coat. Let me pay for it.”

“You’ll be doing me a favor by getting it off my hands,” the craftsman explained, sliding the coat over the counter to Sezha. “I considered myself something of an adventurer back in the day, and this was my first big purchase.” He lovingly caressed the fur trim. “Frost wolf hide. Even to this day, it’s still cool to the touch.”

“All the more reason I can’t accept something so valuable,” Sezha said, rubbing the back of his neck. He could be shameless when necessary, but his skin wasn’t that thick. However, he had pretty much nothing but tattered rags on his back. It’d be a lie if the coat wasn’t starting to look attractive to Sezha.

“I’ve come to understand a few things in these advanced years,” the craftsman said. “It may sound silly, but I think some masterworks have a soul of their own. This old coat of mine is hardly on that level, but the principle still stands. It’d be a shame to just have it collect dust in my chest. Please, take it.”

As Sezha objected, the craftsman began piling more items in his arms. At first, it was just a coat, then a new scarf for Kan, and before Sezha knew it, they were walking out of the shop with a new set of clothes and thick, woolen riding cloaks.

Sezha couldn’t help but wonder if the craftsman was just unloading his junk onto them. What drove the man to such generosity? Guilt for not helping Kan? Compassion? Selfless altruism? Or perhaps he was angling for a favor from the heir of the Kyu Family. Regardless, his gestures were appreciated.

To his side, Kan wrapped the scarf around her neck. The Kyu Family had pretty much traded their way into prominence. And even Sezha, who wasn’t involved with the family business, could tell the sky-blue fabric of the scarf was worth more than a few copper rings.

“If he felt bad, why didn’t he help me?” Kan whispered. She cast her gaze down on the ground.

“Because,” Sezha replied, “compassion is a virtue reserved for the strong.”