Waterstrider

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS

“I’m curious, Riverfiend,” said Lao Feng.

I glanced over at him. The two of us had moved to another part of his headquarters, and were standing in what seemed to be his gang’s training room, as he had insisted on us ‘not fighting near the merchandise.’ I got the impression that he was primarily referring to the women, rather than the gangsters or booze.

“If you have a question, go ahead and ask,” I replied.

The storm was roaring, my entire body ready for combat. This delay was already taking far too long. The ganglord smiled at me, as if amused by something.

“To exist in Tseludia at our level, one needs to make concessions. I’m curious about yours. They seem to have offered you more lenient terms than me.”

I barked a laugh.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

The other man sneered in response, unbothered by my provocation.

“If I could predict what that bitch was thinking, I wouldn’t be in this position.”

I had to concede that point. I had access to far more expansive information than he did, and I still could only guess at her specific aims. Still, the agreements we had made and the hints that had been dropped to me gave me a rough idea for what the clan’s intentions were for my sect.

“Do you know how far away we are from Canvas?” I asked.

Lao frowned, bearing a puzzled expression as he inspected a thin sword, finishing his preparations for the upcoming fight.

“Time is a resource, Riverfiend. Skip the hints.”

I chuckled, my nerves icy and calm as I continued.

“It takes almost a year for a Staiven ship to travel from Canvas to Staive, and over five more to go from Staive to here. If you were to send a message back home, it would take twelve years for a response to return.”

“What are you getting at?” he asked, growing increasingly annoyed.

I met his eyes, all traces of mirth dissipated completely.

“The answer to my question is that we’re far enough away that the influence of Sunlit Hall is almost negligible in any tangible sense. I suspect the Matriarch sees little benefit in needlessly restricting her clan’s potential.”

Lao had a blank expression for a moment as he processed my words, and then his eyes lit up as he experienced a flash of understanding. He laughed loud and hard, leaning backwards in a joyful moment, as if many concepts had finally come together in his mind all at once.

“So that was it,” he said. “I suspect you’re right about that. It matches what I’ve heard. Did you know that the Hadal Clan has been secretly suppressing the worship of Ceirra due to a deal they made with the churches?”

I froze, taken aback by his words. I hadn’t heard of this before, though I had noticed that the religion was significantly less widespread than it was back home.

“...I did not,” I said.

The other man seemed smug about this. In my ear, I heard a whisper from Rachel, explaining why she hadn’t mentioned this to me.

“I’ve seen rumors about this, but hadn’t found much in the way of evidence. It’s been a conspiracy theory on the station’s internet for years.”

I subtly nodded, a way to respond to Rachel without having to reveal her presence to Lao Feng. With the soul sense of a spirit refiner, it was possible for him to sense something odd nearby me, but my soul was already so odd that this was no problem. If anything, he would likely assume it to be a problem caused by my spirit refinement method. As spirit refinement permanently altered the soul, strange changes to its form and structure were common for practitioners at our level, and could be considered both cost and boon.

“You must be happy,” said Lao, sneering, “to be a commodity so desired by the righteous representatives of orthodoxy. Soon you’ll probably marry one of the clan’s daughters and gain access to their foundation, your sect absorbed into them.” There was a glint in his eyes, his expression shifting slightly as he continued. “Unless, that is, you die here and someone is prepared to fill the void you leave behind.”

He was being oddly up front about his motives, I thought. Though, I supposed I was doing the same. Though he didn’t know that the Celans had asked me to do this now, Lao fully understood that my intention was to take his gang and absorb it into the sect.

“Looking to create the Feng Sect?” I asked. “Even if I died, I question your ability to convince Rachel and Jihan to serve you.”

“They’ll serve or die. I’ll offer them the same deal I’ll give you, Riverfiend. Serve under me. You could be my right hand man.”

I smirked, finding the suggestion humorous.

“Do you really expect me to simply hand over everything I’ve worked to build? I asked.

“No matter what,” he said, “Your force won’t be able to last under your command. You’ll submit to someone, whether it’s me, that bitch, or even the Celans.”

“Haven’t you already submitted to the clan, yourself?”

Lao grinned widely, showing his teeth as if he were a dog baring its fangs.

“With our combined power, I wouldn’t need to submit anymore. They would be the ones to submit to us.”

“I admire your blind self-confidence,” I sneered.

Lao shrugged.

“I’ll make the offer again after I beat you,” he said.

I shook my head.

“How bold. Shall we get on with it?” I asked.

Lao smiled again, performing a practice swing with his sword as if he were not accustomed to the weapon.

“I suppose we should,” he said, charging towards me with a flash of orange light.

In an instant, he was already right in front of me, his blade slashing down towards my neck. I ducked, my motions similarly enhanced. One of the benefits of the unique nature of formless cores was that they were always activated, unlike the other miasmas which needed to be cycled from the dantians throughout the body.

If the rivers coursing through my body were to cease their motion, I would die.

Lao’s thin blade slid over my head as I punched up with my left fist, cracking one of his ribs.

“You coward!” I hissed.

Lao Feng laughed madly, looking far more the stereotype of an unorthodox practitioner than I did.

“All that matters is who wins, don’t you think?”

His sword arced down, and I was forced to dive out of the way, rolling and coming back to my feet. As I impacted the ground, I shifted my body, reducing the impact and propelling myself upward to minimize the time taken. I finally slid my sword from its sheath, entering into the first stance of my sword art. I had been feeling that I needed to alter the art to fit with the changes in my body, but I had yet to take the time to do so.

He charged again, but this time I was prepared. I charged towards him as well, interrupting his motion before it was complete. He snarled, and suddenly his stance shifted, his sword in a defensive posture. I slashed three times at him, but Lao Feng was able to block each one, his sword ringing sonorously as it clashed with mine. It was a good sword, and did not seem to take any damage from the clash.

My heart of rainfall stormed thunderously, but the motions of Lao Feng’s arms simply could not be predicted. His arms continued to rapidly shift into highly impractical orientations that just barely managed to block my assault.

“Is that all you have, Riverfiend?” he laughed as he pressed forward, moving at extreme speed towards and pressuring past my guard.

Unfortunately for him, such a tactic was directly countered by my movement technique. I flowed out of his path, slashing at his chest as he passed me. This time, he was unable to block it, taking a graze to the side.

“I might need to ask you the same,” I said, taking advantage of the opportunity to apply more pressure. He turned to defend, but had difficulty maintaining it under my fierce pressure.

The flickering path excelled in taking advantages in group conflicts, and in the sudden motion of a surprise attack, but lacked the fluidity of formless, the dynamic potential of manifest, or the power of genesis. I had come here to fight him having planned methods of dealing with him, after all.

Suddenly, he met my eyes, and I was met with an intense, shocking pain. Rather than to a particular part of my body, I felt it everywhere and nowhere, and almost lost control of my miasma. Lao Feng had activated one of his techniques, and was somehow attacking my soul.

I winced, barely able to bear the pressure, but with great force of will, I maintained my torrent of attacks. Lao Feng had been a spirit refiner for far longer than I, and had already altered his soul’s nature. My soul was not only unrefined, but also small and fragile. His attempt to restrain me could have killed me outright.

Luckily, I was shameless enough to make up for my weaknesses by not fighting alone.

“Can it even be considered martial arts at this point?” asked Rachel as she blocked the attacks of Lao Feng’s soul.

I ignored her as I continued to go on the offensive. Such questions were not what mattered at a time like this. What truly mattered was just as Lao Feng had said: all that mattered was who won and who lost.

At the moment, nothing else existed for me, but I was interrupted as Lao took several steps backwards, smiling and raising his hands as if to dispel hostilities.

“Let’s call it there, shall we?” he said.

I took a step towards him, my sword ready for another volley of blows. I wasn’t ready to stop. Not when so little blood had been shed. It had not even been a minute since the battle had started, and he was already surrendering? It felt like a waste.

“Why should we? Are you sated so easily?” I asked.

Lao laughed.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t be, given what I’ve heard of you. But sometimes submission is the right choice, wouldn’t you agree? You’re working for the Celans right now, aren’t you?”

I frowned, unconsciously pausing in my approach due to surprise.

“What are you getting at? I have no intention of submitting to you. Are you offering to become my subordinate?”

Lao laughed again, as if this was the most ridiculous concept he had ever heard.

“Of course not. What I aim to say is that I lied to you. I’m a part of something greater, my goals not directed towards myself alone. Isn’t your own goal a matter of acquiring benefits? If you want to continue receiving them from the Celans, you’d be wiser to have another chat with me.”

“You’re…” I muttered, realizing what he was saying.

Lao Feng still retained that smug grin.

“I’m a member of the Heirs of Ottrien. Would you like to have some more booze and another chat, or would you prefer we keep fighting one another?”

Flickering Arts: [Characterized by stuttering, chaotic motion, the flickering path is one that acquires more and more complexity the further one walks upon it. It seems inherently impossible to control flickering miasma, and a skillful practitioner of this path is one who is able to constantly adapt to changing circumstances. To an unobservant eye, a powerful flickering practitioner seems to be teleporting around the battlefield, constantly shifting location and orientation, though the truth is that the chaotic effects of flickering miasma do not solely affect one’s motions.]