Chapter 3: Lofty Aspirations

25 Kalpas ago, everything changed when the ‘System’ descended. It began on the Atlantis continent of Star’s Cradle, ancestral homeworld of the void-dwelling Ashina. Cultivation made easy, the untalented rabble would claim.

It was utter lies— those fools knew nothing!

Back in the day, cultivation was all about self-improvement. A journey forged through blood and hardships, the apogee of martial endeavors. Enlightenment of one’s spirit, gaining of power that far surpassed the secular world, and rising above the mundane to attain perpetuity of existence. In those times, one required complete mastery over the nomological truths to reach the top. Sadly, this golden age didn’t last.

The secret manuals that our forefathers safeguarded so painstakingly became useless overnight. Our mystic arts and great Daoist magics were reduced to relics, replaced by ‘Tier Magic’. Yuan qi, spiritual energy and elemental essence were all superseded by the introduction of mana.

Worst of all, cultivation became something almost anyone could practice! With enough time and resources, even a complete wastrel could attain Immortal Ascension. Alas, it is only in the Bitternorth Wastelands where the spirituality of orthodox, true cultivation continues to persist.

Even then, they are constantly at war with the Cambrian Wilderness, and my own two hands are tied. Planetary surfaces are forbidden grounds to Godkings and beyond, offenses punishable by extinguishment. Lord Sol shattered the meaning of the Dao, forsaking the ‘eternal’ realm and forcing everyone to choose between two paths. Of the Exalted Celestials, I am the last.

~ [---redacted--] Tianzun

Ω

Grandmist Region

A single chessboard floated beside the two people, who were seated on beach chairs, seemingly engaged in a deep discussion. 64 black and white squares. The roaring of the mist-shrouded river drowned out any words they spoke.

An even smaller chessboard occupied each of the 64 squares, of which the squares held even smaller chessboards where games were taking place. 4,096 chess matches proceeded at speeds unseen to the naked eye, a battle between two wits.

One of the two, the gold-haired young man gestured at the river with his right index finger. His other hand drummed lightly in a staccato fashion on the armrest of his chair.

Almost instantly, as if pulled by some invisible force, two doll-sized figures were dragged out kicking and screaming from the river. They shrunk and flew into the man’s hand, wailing nonstop.

His hand was like the hand of Buddha, his fingers a giant cage that entrapped the whole world. No matter how much they struggled, the two beings in his hand couldn’t break free.

“Mere godlings, how could you dare think of running from yours truly?”

His voice deep and rich, the man chuckled as he watched their futile attempts. A beautiful couple, a man and a woman. Who knew from which Cosmos they’d come from? They ran to the north, then south; east, then west. But no matter how far they ran, the pair could not escape the endless expanse of his palm.

Crunch! The shrieks of shattering glass sounded from within the man’s hand as he squeezed down.

When he opened his hand, all that remained were two, glistening orbs, like glittering jewels that shone brightly in spite of the grey mist that permeated everywhere. They clinked softly against one another, as if they were alive.

“Care to join me, little sister?” He held one of the orbs out to the other person.

The woman sitting on his right remained as impassive as ever, her features barely flickering at the sudden temptation.

Long, flowing hair like burnished silk spun from the purest gold. A scattering of very faint freckles across her cheeks. Large eyes of molten gold that tilted upwards at the corners, set slightly wide apart above a high, pert nose. Creamy skin with a tinge of gold and a mouth-watering figure, full of ample curves, ending in long, supple legs.

She was his twin, second of their kind, as well as his other half. They were truly inseparable, after all.

This girl-heh, she tries so hard to deny it, he thought. Though her expression never wavered while she gazed at the contents of his hand, her eyes gave her away. They dilated; pearly teeth bit down on tender lips as she reached out a hand, only to stop herself midway. Her breasts quivered from the effort.

“Tell me. Why do you torture yourself so?”

He smiled benevolently at her.

“It doesn’t concern you, Hong.”

She gritted her teeth, but the hungry longing in her eyes couldn’t lie. Nothing about her could. He knew her far better than she knew herself. Perhaps that insolent rascal Meng’er calls husband put this foolishness into her head?

“Fine, another question then. Whose path do you think little Snow will choose? Yours, or mine?”

Her back arched proudly as she stared him right in the eyes and replied, “I believe in my child. I believe that she will choose to do what is right.”

He laughed softly, a laugh thick with the ancientness of countless aeons lived.

“Right and wrong depend on from whose perspective you see things. Everything is grey, just like this world of ours. You can’t run away from what you are.”

After hearing this, she huffed angrily with a heaving bosom and departed from his side. Most likely to sulk somewhere. What did she ever see in that silly puffed-up dragon?

The games had ended. The gold-haired man began devouring the two radiant orbs. With every bite, streams of memories would flow into him, and he would know a bit more about living. Ah, this is why we live. To sample the fruits of our labors, as is our RIGHT.

Atop the empty chessboard, two pieces now stood. A black king and a white king, opposite to one another.

Ω

Giant’s Abode Inn, Belmar border city, Estea

Each word rolled off her lips in dulcet tones, as charming as the notes of a lute. Her eyes were just as mesmerizing, a kaleidoscope of sapphire and gold.

She could be a minstrel or a bard, charming men and women alike with her tales. She had a lot of tales. After all these years, how could she not? Every one belonging to her was… a remnant, of what had once been others’.

But the elven woman sitting opposite her wanted nothing of her silver tongue. Her head was turned to the side, emerald eyes downcast and avoiding her gaze.

Understandable, given the circumstances that had brought them together. Resurrection from true death was something so few had ever experienced. Silky brown eyelashes trembled ever so slightly, as if in remembrance of past horrors.

It feels almost as though I’m being treated as a wrathful demon. She mused to herself.

Mana lanterns hanging from the ceiling like cathedral bells cast a warm yellow-orange glow evenly across the room. The actions of the elf, so fragile and ambiguous, only served to draw out an instinctual desire to tease her.

“Isolde, darling? That scowl isn’t doing your face any favors. Smile.”

Knowing full well that the elf hated to be addressed in this manner by she, her captor, Ashina Snow nonetheless continued to display a dazzling smile in the face of such grim adversity.

The elf’s name was Isolde de LaRoche. A wanderlust-stricken deity and sovereign of the Fae races during her time. Of course, now that her soul was bound for all eternity to Snow, returning to her old position would be an impossibility.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

It seemed that they’d met only yesterday. To immortals, yes, decades could pass in the blink of an eye.

Within the confines of her consciousness drifted the discarnate souls of those she’d taken, bereft of their sense of self. Isolde had been…somewhat better, she admitted. The elf had managed to cling onto a name and identity after losing everything else, unconsciously binding herself in service to the Grandmist entity known as Ashina Snow— becoming a part of her. Their memories were now shared.

Thinking back to the nuances of their association, Snow entertained the possibility that perhaps the elf had gained the upper hand.

Rather than being in an expressly master-slave bond, it would be more apt to call their current relationship one between a patron and client. Isolde was certainly obliged to follow her commands to some extent, but she couldn’t order the elf to undertake tasks she judged as demeaning to personal dignity. Things like telling Isolde to prostitute herself or to lap freshly-discharged urine from the ground could be disobeyed.

I suppose certain degrees of freedom can be allowed as long as she keeps my best interests at heart.

Snow reached over the table and pinched the blonde-haired elf on both cheeks for attention after downing another mouthful of malt whisky straight from the spirit-ore flask.

Saltpeter’s Distillery. These two words graced the front side of the handspan-tall container in crisp amber text, a sharp contrast to its opaque silvery surface.

While playing with her golden curls, she never forgot to keep drinking. Drinking was, after all, good for the body and soul. The whisky burned a liquid trail along her throat, managing to be soothing and fiery at the same time.

Its bespoke flask could supposedly hold up to a hundred barrels’ worth of alcohol, having been imbued with spatial enchantments by an artificer. It cost a pretty penny to match. The pub owner seemed almost unwilling to part with it.

If there was one area where mortal minds shone the brightest, it was in superfluous inventions such as this that made life easier for the common people.

It was only the effortlessness of transmuting her Grandmist energy into condensed forms of this world’s power that kept Snow from taking it by more direct means. There was a trusty old adage: “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine”.

Fortunately, power —free energy, and not the thermodynamic sort— meant everything here. Power was enticing, power was money, and gold… though it wasn’t to the point that gold coins were worthless, they didn’t hold anywhere near the value of low-grade mana stones.

The elf glowered in silence, red-faced from embarrassment, but did nothing otherwise to stop her. If anything, her ministrations and Isolde’s pouty expression appeared to be an endearing scene between a pretty pair of friends.

Unfortunately, nothing in life is ever so simple as it seems.

---  

Apart from the two of them, the pub was empty of customers. At the back of the establishment, behind a row of burnished wood barstools and the smoky marble countertop, the lone bar owner polished aimlessly at the glass mug in his hands with a clean rag. On nights such as this, his pub would usually be spilling at its seams with Adventurers weary from the day’s travels, here to seek fine alcohol, food and women.

The owner of Saltpeter’s, one of the more distinguished rum and whisky producers in the Kingdom of Estea was an old friend, and this inn, ‘Giant’s Abode’, was a popular destination for those laden with coin. Out here on the northern frontier, it was one of the only places that offered both security—he was a retired Mithril-ranked Adventurer— and magic artifact repairs.

 The rowdy atmosphere was something he enjoyed and the influx of people brought news from other countries. Raucous cheers would ring out whenever someone bought drinks on the house, usually a high-ranking party returning from a successful Spirit Beast subjugation.

Not tonight. Tonight, even the usual band of musicians was missing, the lid of the piano closed. The air in the room seemed stale; dead, even. Oh, he would love to tell the two foreign visitors to leave and take their business elsewhere. But they had already paid, and finely, too.

A small pile of mana crystals the size of large glass marbles rested on the counter, giving off ethereal grey light. They were of the purest grade, worth more than the inn made in ten or so years. They were also more than he should take, but who was he to refuse the generosity of rich fools? He could either keep them for his own use or earn a small fortune for these crystals from the Wiseman Syndicate, free of tax.

Putting aside the thought, he looked askance at the two women. The contents of their conversation were hidden from his prying ears, no doubt courtesy of ambient sound wards. They were both peerless beauties, easily the type storytellers would claim ‘capable of destroying countries’.

Thoughts of the pair, flushed pink and whimpering lusciously in his bed, came to the forefront for a brief moment before being whisked away. An entertaining fantasy, nothing more.

When they had first come marching in, earlier in the evening, they had also frightened off his usual clientele, much to his righteous outrage. The elf, with her stormy, jewel-toned eyes, had manifested the mana pressure of a Heaven-stage ‘Ranker’— someone equivalent to the adamantite adventurers from Guild Headquarters or the royal family’s Grand Magister.

A single spell would have been all it took to bring everything down (including his own little life), yet surprisingly, no violence occurred. Most importantly, she at least had the good graces to reimburse him for the loss of business tonight.

Drawing her ire now was a choice that only a lust-filled simpleton would make. What is a star elf of all things doing in human lands? The bar owner shook his head. Such questions were better left to others.

The sooner both women were satisfied —and gone— the better.

---

“Don’t worry, about a thing, ‘cause every little thing, gonna be all right.”

Snow hummed a spry little tune she’d picked up somewhere. Right now, she was happy. As long as she was happy, everything was all right. Even if the world collapsed around her, it would still be okay. That was the kind of truth she lived by day by day.

Isolde began to protest, tears forming in her eyes. It looked as though she still hadn’t recovered from the traumatic experience of being turned into food.

“E-Easy for you to say! You EAT me like a piece of candy, then I wake up to feel you fondling my body. Tell me— how is any of this fair!?!?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Isolde. Every cloud has a silver lining. You survived where everyone else went—Poof! Isn’t this alone something to be thankful for?”

“But— “

“No buts. You’re fine, aren’t you?”

Isolde sunk back into silence. When she opened her eyes again to look at Snow, the tears were gone, like an impossible weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

It didn’t matter if she was formerly empress regnant of the Fae Court or the ‘Eidolon Fairy’ that once slew ten thousand Demon Immortals— such things meant little to a natural-born Supreme Being.

And said Supreme Being was now her master.

She should really be angry. But her life was also given to her by Snow. This made everything needlessly vexing— how was she supposed to treat the person who was both her murderer and savior? So she asked the question to which the answer she desperately needed to know:

“Who am I to you?”

“…Someone whose soul I can’t eat anymore. A little sister I guess, since we’re stuck with each other now?”

There was a splendid light to Ashina Snow’s eyes, as if they contained countless twinkling stars. Just staring into them, Isolde felt her heart start to race. She could tell from one glance that her master was overcome with joy.

But why? Isolde’s face darkened into something between shame and anger. She wasn’t a complete fool. The reason instantly became clear to her, but she’d rather not dwell on it as a fellow (former) casualty.

Comrades-! Her heart wept silently.

Snow was happy because, compared to fishing by the river at home, there were far more souls in this world ripe for the taking. It was a similar concept to Iberian ham, which tasted better after a careful aging process. As long as the souls were suitably matured —at least a century old— she could harvest them without guilt for choosing a lesser product.

As Snow dreamed about all the delectable souls she’d collect, her expression began to loosen into a lasciviously inviting smile. Eyes glazing over, she muttered under her breath, “all mine… “