Regressor Sect Master

Behind the old hut, and up a set of stairs made of ancient ice was a gazebo that overlooked the entirety of the Hailstorm Temple. Here, the winds were strangely gentle, as if they were not the harsh, cold winds of the highlands. 

There were enough bottles of rice wine on the small table to feed a party of 200, but in the end, the sect master only picked one. 

“Did you receive the Imperial Summons?” Lord Saljuk asked as he sat, and then asked something else. “Do you prefer the game of go, or xiangqi? Hmmm, actually, I thought you were a go person, but now, it feels as if you’d like to play games with dice.”

Tundra laughed, a little amused. He played both, but it was true in his later years he’d rather just pass his time with games of chance. Even if the ‘chance’ was more of an illusion. “Let’s start with xiangqi, and then we can play the game of go after that.”

“So, the imperial summons.” Lord Saljuk said. “I expect to see you there.”

Tundra didn’t remember seeing Lord Saljuk there. Did he not recognize him then? Tundra focused on his pieces momentarily, and then when he looked up, he saw a different person sitting opposite him. 

It was a far older man who looked frail, skinny. His skin was thin and spotted, and he had a fainter, weaker aura. 

This man, he actually did recognise. “You are also the alchemist of the Hailstorm Temple.”

“In this form, I am Alchemy Elder, Nuan Baljuk.” His cultivation was instantly suppressed, as if he was only in the peak fifth realm. Tundra realized he had significantly underestimated Lord Saljuk, and internally reassessed his power level to somewhere around the mid 8th realm. 

“This one has eyes but could not see the master.” Tundra said. 

“They are there, in the palace, and they are trying to make a move on the princess.” The frail old man said. 

Tundra’s heart skipped a beat as his mind connected the dots to his earlier memories of how the Imperial Palace fell to the Zuja. If the Zuja infiltrated the palace over the centuries and millennia, it was possible that the Grand Emperor himself, even if he was in the 10th realm, received false information and thus was caught unprepared. 

Almost all 10th realmers were incredibly powerful people, and it was true that they generally didn’t think of anything in the world as worthy threats. Up until the later stage of the Zuja infestations, most 10th realmers did not think there was much out there that could threaten them.

He looked at the alchemist, and realized something else. The man that stood in front of him felt different, no, it was only at this distance he could tell that something was wrong. The form of the man in front of him was linked to elsewhere- He briefly glanced in the direction of the faint strands of energy that he could only see up close, but then realized he may reveal himself. 

But he got caught anyway. The alchemist stared at him, and then laughed. “Impressive! I heard you were fairly talented, but it seems you have much more depth than you let on. You’ve discovered something no one in my sect knows. One has to take special measures, dealing with our kind of foes.”

Tundra’s eyes squinted. The attacks on the Hailstorm Temple made sense, now. The Zuja was fighting and moving in secret all these while because they had to counter sects that worked against it. He looked, and made a move on the xiangqi board anyway. “How long has this lasted?”

“For centuries.” The alchemist said. “Even now we do not know the depths of their strength.”

Tundra wanted to say, but decided against it. He merely nodded and feigned ignorance. “I should keep them in mind.”

“Be wary. They may have already found their way into your organization. So the real reason I called you here. When the time comes, can I call on you to fight for us?” 

The regressor sighed.

“The upcoming Crown Prince tussle will be fought along these lines. Up until the day the current emperor passes and a new crown prince ascends to hold the True Golden Dragon’s gift, the princes will be out to recruit the Sects, and the Sects will have to choose.”

The two Sect Masters didn’t look at each other, and continued to move their chess pieces on the board. Down below, there was an impromptu exchange between Yavin and one of the Hailstorm Temple’s core disciples. 

It was an event he remembered, there were some wars and battles, but ultimately the Prince he supported was amongst the first to die, and so they bowed out and he then switched allegiance to the Prince supported by Patriarch Whitedragon.

There were five princes in the running, and in the first life, it was Prince Yaorl, the fourth prince that ascended to be the new Emperor. He thought Prince Yao was a little too airheaded and weird for the role, but Tundra then was just a nobody. 

Prince Gomerl, the first elder and the supposed natural successor, but his cultivation and intellect has been questioned. Prince Gomerl was supported by the Flaming Phoenix Sect, but somehow the flaming phoenix decided to abandon him before the final battle. It was rumored that the Prince was killed by the Patriarch Whitedragon of the Snow Dragon Temple, though no one actually had evidence of the attack. 

Prince Kaorl, the third prince and the one Tundra supported in his first life. Prince Kaorl died quite quickly, and back then Tundra was still in the late 6th realm, and so he wasn’t important enough to be worth worrying about. All the supporters of Prince Kao then defected to the various factions. 

Prince Yaorl, the fourth prince, and the one supported by Patriarch Whitedragon. He didn’t remember meeting him early on, but Emperor Yaorl was a weird character, and he was fairly glad he died about a thousand years into his rule. 

Prince Zhengarl, the tenth prince, and another nobody that died early. 

The last significant competitor was Prince Mingarl, the eleventh prince and arguably the most talented of the five princes. Tundra recalled he had the support of another great sect, the Bright Depths Pit. 

Eventually, the lesser sects had to fall in and choose a side. Only the other Great Sects and their pretenders managed to abstain from the entire conflict, as they were not foes anyone could afford to antagonize.

For now, Tundra and the Verdant Snow Sect would have to play along. A Great Sect like the Snow Dragon Temple had 8th or 9th realm elders that could crush them fairly easily, and so if they came to visit along with their prince, they’d have to give them space.

“Be wary of Prince Yaorl. Those around him are in league with the bugs.” 

Tundra froze. “-wait. Who?”

“I do not know. They are well hidden in this group, and they do not manifest any signs that they are compromised.” The Sect Master placed a piece down on the wooden board, with a fairly loud clicking sound. 

“I see. I will try to look out-”

“Don’t.” The Sect Master warned. “Not now, and not alone. There are those among us still working our backchannels to secure alliances.”

Tundra was now a part of their schemes, and he looked at the frail old man. 

No. He cannot be sucked into their bet, even if it was the right one “No. I cannot be there to fight for you, but I am willing to help in other ways.”

For a moment, the two looked at each other as if sizing each other up.

But the Hailstorm’s master relented. “I suppose sending a talented alchemist to the front lines is a waste of talent. Fair enough. I will find ways to keep in touch.” 

The regressor nodded, but then stared. “Who are they? Why are you interested in them?”

The Hailstorm’s master laughed, and then his face contorted in anger. “They are my enemies.”

Tundra looked at his peer and wondered what caused it. “Is there a history I should know?”

“Take a guess.” 

The regressor looked at the man before him. This was his disguised form, and yet he felt raw emotion. “It feels personal.”

“All grudges and feuds are personal. Do you feel angry at a man who punched one of your servants? Would you interfere?”

“Maybe. But most likely no.” Tundra answered earnestly.

“Why not? But what if this man also insulted you, as he punched your servant.”

“I would.” Tundra thought, and realized the man’s angle. 

“Because you are involved. Not just involved, you were attacked personally. The man insulted you, perhaps he insulted your family, or your pride, or something you care about. All feuds arise from something personal. It may have been something inconsequential, like a woman you love getting 13th place in a tournament instead of the 12th place, but if the guy who kicked defeated the woman down to the 13th place assaulted her while doing it, you would be mad. Because there is a personal angle.”

Tundra closed his eyes, and wondered about all the feuds he had. It was true that it was all personal. A family insult. An attack on his integrity. His pride. His reputation. His talent. Things he cared about. It was when he realized that humoring the insult with a reaction only made things worse. 

There was no end to the cycle of insults and injury. 

Cultivators cycled through insults and feuds, and climbed up a mountain built on the bodies of those they destroyed. He was no better. 

He closed his eyes, and just sighed. 

“That is the sigh of a man who made many, many enemies.”

Tundra laughed at the man’s astute observation. “Well spotted, but I am just lamenting the nature of men to find fault in each other.”

“It is ironic, isn’t it? For all the refinement and cultivation we do, to make ourselves stronger, our body and soul grows, but our personality remains stagnant. Our flaws are papered over by our strength, but all it takes is an insult to peel it open.” 

“Layers of dust cannot repair a flaw in the pearl of one’s soul.” Tundra thought about the pearls of the far shores. There was an old folk story from the eastern seas that believed the seafarers who once harvested these pearls became the first cultivators, inspired by the clams to grow something so beautiful within them. 

It likely wasn’t true, of course. The actual history of cultivation was a convoluted mess with no known origin. 

“You should pay a visit to the Golden Bell Temple. The Grand Abbot may be a crazy old man, but his wisdom is deep.”

Tundra thought briefly of the Grand Abbot Ungkai, and recalled how he met him during one of the earlier great wars with the Zuja. Wise. Focused. A man he wished still lived in the final moments. 

The Grand Abbot was not in the tenth. He was a step lower, in the very peak of the 9th, and the Golden Bell was not one of the Great Sect, though they are often referred to as one of the great challenger sects. Tundra remembered Ungkai as a man of tremendous calm, and yet, at a flick of a finger, a man capable of great violence. A man who slaughtered many silly pretenders as the master of the Golden Bell Temple for centuries. 

Tundra wondered whether the abbot considered Tundra a friend. Maybe not. They were comrades in war, but a friend, he wasn’t so sure. 

He placed his last piece. His opponent won. 

“You went easy on me.”

Tundra shook his head, but he did. A little. “Certainly not. But you didn’t answer my question. What is your feud with these- bug people?”

“What else could it be?” The man that is both Lord Saljuk and the Alchemist Baljuk stated. “It’s personal. I am looking for a personal disciple, someone I thought had tremendous potential, and yet he was corrupted before my very eyes. The last traces of his steps ended at these cultists, and the more we dig, the more we find hidden.” 

The man looked distant, as if remembering a time from long ago. As someone in the 8th realm, he could live long, 50,000 years if they didn’t encounter misfortune, and it could’ve been centuries, if not millennia ago. 

Tundra felt a rare twinge of connection, as his own memories of Celestia, and his other descendant’s corruption by the Zuja surfaced. He didn’t know what to say to someone who lost their family. A complicated cocktail of emotions, and he responded by picking up the cup of rice wine and hoped the wine would drown it out, and banish the thoughts back into the deepest reaches of his soul. 

A moment where nothing was said, but yet the two understood each other. 

They both drank a few more cups each. Each cup down in a gulp, followed by a long distant stare, gazing in the direction of the Hailstorm Temple grounds, but not focused on anything in particular. 

Lord Saljuk transformed before his eyes, returning to the original, skinny, bookish appearance. Rather than play another game, he swept up the pieces of the xiangqi into its wooden box, and packed it up. “I have something for you. It may help you, and your family. Come with me.”

Tundra was led higher into a strange mountain hole, and inside, Lord Saljuk retrieved a box. A small box containing two pills.

“These are the True Frozen Steel Pill and the True Frozen Fire Pill. It should help you ascend faster. We will need strength in the decades to come, and I know you can be there.”

Was his own emotions so easily read? He accepted the pill, and nodded. “This is a gift of immense value.”

The Lord of the Hailstorm Temple sighed. “But useless to me, and there are none in my sect worthy of it. My spiritual element is Water, so if you wish to repay the favor, I could benefit from an equivalent tier pill of the Yang-Water element.”

An investment today. A debt to be repaid in the future. 

Tundra bowed, and accepted. He would rise faster, and it would help them both. “Then consider it a deal.”

“Good. We should see what our disciples are up to.”

***