“Honestly, do they never get tired?” Synthia says incredulously as she looks down from her window. Tantra just sits, playing her cards with a bunch of other peasants, ignoring the woman as she prepares to go on another tirade. Tantra wouldn’t be capable of enduring the sound of her own voice if she complained as much as Synthia does.

  “They’re cultivators miss,” an elderly man says, “all they do is fight, it’s their personal obsession. Would be surprised if they could only manage a quickie.”

  “Still, this is ridiculous! It’s been at least two hours by measure of the sun, how in the hells do they have enough Qi to last so long?”

  Tantra’s about to make a mistake.

  “They don’t,” she says simply, “the fact you can even see what’s going on means they’ve run out and are fighting at baseline.”

  Synthia whirls on her with an expression that might be a mix between befuddlement, visceral rage, and genuine curiosity.

  Huh, odd combination.

  “That’s asinine, it undermines the greatest advantage cultivators have! Are they really so stupid as to leave themselves vulnerable here?”

  “Ey, cultivators are known for their muscle, not their smarts,” a woman next to Tantra says.

  Tantra simply nods to her infallible logic, then places down a card on one pile, then another on a different one, ending her turn with a nod to the group and waiting for the woman to take initiative. Ascension is a simple game, you just have to create piles with zero and slowly build them until your hand is empty, it’s also a peasantry favorite, likely more because it brings people together than any actual fun.

  The woman grumbles as evidently she took one of her openings, heh, that warms Tantra’s cold heart just a little.

  “We’ll never get to the slums at this rate,” Synthia sighs, “not unless the gods deign to grant us their mercy.”

  “Why in the seven hells would you want to go there?” the elderly man says, “with all this commotion the gangs’ve prolly started their own wars.”

  “Actually,” the woman says, “I heard from some survivors a few days back that they were organizing a defense, to encourage the sects to fight somewhere else, might be the safest place in Ralth right now.”

  The old man snorts, “you really trust them to do anything for free? They’re probably gonna expand once this mess is over, take advantage of all the free real estate.”

  “Does it matter?” Synthia says, “If there’s a safe place to hide then who cares if they expand?”

  “You must live in the south,” the old man sighs, “listen, the gangs’ll whisper sweet promises into your ear, even do some pretty nice things for the community, but it all comes at a cost. They feed off suffering, and the small moments of kindness are only there to make us tolerate them.”

  “Better than this,” Synthia grumbles, plopping herself next to Tantra and grabbing some cheese between them before delighting herself in some supper.

  “Hey!” Tantra says, “I won that cheese in fair play, you can’t just take it.”

  “Watch me,” the noblewoman says cheekily.

  Tantra’s features darken, and before Synthia can even realize what’s happening, the noblewoman is pounced on and tickled fiercely. Her howling overtaking the sound of clashing steel outside as Tantra tortures the thief.

  A leathery hand places itself on her shoulder.

  “That’s enough now, don’t want to seem interesting to the folks outside, besides, there’s plenty of food to share.”

  Tantra grumbles but relents in her assault, he’s not wrong fortunately, this house has proven well stocked, and the two residents don’t seem to mind sharing with stragglers, hence their desire to stay for an extended period, that and it gives Tantra the opportunity to build her Qi reserves.

  Her core’s long grown beyond the point where she can realistically expect to fill it without being anchored, and until she can strengthen her will to the point where she’ll be capable of absorbing Qi through her skin, it’ll likely stay that way.

  A month of avoiding fights, a month of gathering, and still she hasn’t filled her core.

  Truly the rate of growth for the metaphysical organ eclipses anything else related to cultivation, but it’s a good thing in the end, if Tantra needs she can maintain her boosting for extended periods of time now, and has perhaps five minutes worth of soul Qi to play with.

  Enough to cleans the same number of meridians, but she isn’t really focused on that right now, all things considered.

  “I wonder what they gain from all this?” Synthia muses, “It’s not like they’ll be able to outright destroy one another, especially since they aren’t really acting with much cohesion.”

  “It’s training,” Tantra says simply while tearing into a strip of meat, “they’re throwing their disciples into the crucible, hoping to make a few diamonds along the way.”

  All three heads turn to Tantra in befuddlement.

  “Training?” Synthia says flabbergasted, “all this destruction for training? What…I…that can’t be, that’s so asinine.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Tantra shrugs, “besides, I’ve got a few examples of the same mentality from multiple sects, not that it was this extreme, but it follows the same philosophy.”

  Synthia blinks a lot at Tantra, which is almost funny enough to make her giggle, the noblewoman isn’t an idealist but even the idea that the war may serve such a purpose seems to be frying her brain.

  That’s fine, that’s what the normal reaction should be, it is pretty absurd after all, what with the deaths of so many. Not that she actually knows the reason, she hasn’t and hopefully will never have the pleasure of talking to their elders, it’s just the most logical for how this war has been progressing.

  Sure there are organized fronts now, but most of the fighting is still in separate skirmishes across the city, at least from what she’s seen and heard. All hounding for their own pieces of glory, there’s even a few new titles, like the Jubokko and Shoriyō.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  She hopes whoever carries those are proud of themselves, because they’ve certainly killed a lot if the rumors are to be believed. Then again her title isn’t so flattering either, she’d much rather something like ‘the coin collector’, but she hasn’t really done much over the years to earn such a thing.

  Ah well, someday.

  “Well traveled are we?” The woman says with a curious brow.

  “I’m a merchant,” Tantra says simply.

  The woman snorts, “sure, and your friend there is a noble.”

  “If I were a noble,” Synthia starts, “I’d have taken all your cheese.”

  That earns a few chuckles from the group, before they return to jolly banter of the sound of violence outside, playing their cards until the sun sets and only Tantra and Synthia remain awake.

  “How much longer can this last?” Synthia sighs, “there’s going to be shortages eventually, surely they don’t plan to fight through that as well.”

  “Who knows,” Tantra shrugs, “I’ve learned to imagine the worst, then set my expectations a few magnitudes lower, the last time this happened it lasted a year.”

  “But there were periods of peace,” Synthia whispers, “this is just…constant fighting. Do you…do you think if someone claimed the bounty on my head…Doman would call off the violence?”

  “Does it matter?” Tantra says, “that’s not happening, whether it would or won’t, I won’t let it.”

  “But all this suffering-”

  “Is not your fault,” Tantra interrupts with a growl, “this is the game of a bunch of rich idiots who care too little for their actions to consider those below them. You’ll only be validating their bullshit if you give up.”

  “So what?” Synthia says, “it could be over.”

  “Maybe,” Tantra sighs, “or maybe not…let’s just keep going, okay?”

  “...okay.”

  -

  Long fingers of delicate fibers fold a paper in half.

  She pushes down and runs the digit along the fold until it is firm and stable, then she turns it slightly and folds again. Repetitive action, it’s the basis of so many things in life, it’s what makes the peasantry relevant and what drives a cultivator’s progression. There are few quick methods to power, and each has their cost, either through difficulty or…corruption.

  Uai Ta doesn’t understand what corruption is, only that it occurs on most of the paths if traveled carelessly, the current organized standard being made for both practicality but also to avoid the rot that taints the soul. Even an immortal isn’t free from its grasp, that’s not to say the deviant paths aren’t travelable, it just has to be done…carefully.

  She takes one of her bridges and…twists. Not the exact terminology, the metaphysical doesn’t interact in the same way as the physical, but it’s a close enough description. The bridge becomes narrower and narrower, until it is just the size of a thread, then she pulls from her soul Qi begins the process of creating another bridge with the first at its center, holding and reinforcing the connection until it sets permanently to her meridian.

  She lets go and sighs, it requires more control than she cares for, meaning even she struggles, but it is worth it. In the center, where the thread/bridge resides, a storm of Qi is sent back and forth between her core and meridian, amplifying her capabilities just a little.

  More importantly, it strengthens the connection, letting her do more with less.

  She calls this path Contortion, in respect to how she twists the bridge into a fine thread. It requires a delicate touch, like origami, but she is long familiar with the need for delicacy, being the leader of a healing sect does that.

  She finishes her swan and looks at it with admiration, she’s gotten quite good at this, all through repetition. She turns to face the man who has been waiting patiently for her frivolities, standing with arms gripped behind his back.

  He looks surprisingly human, the only real indication of his immortality being the vibrant green of his eyes, searing deep into the soul. She’s never managed to get his secret for how he managed it, and Uai Ta isn’t so crass as to be a pest about it, so it remains his fun little secret.

  The concern on his face is plain.

  “Come now Jorik,” Uai Ta says and it is the crinkling of old parchment as ink dripples off the page, “It’s been decades, why do you look like you’re witnessing a child pet a lion?”

  “You experiment with things that should remain unexplored,” Jorick sighs, “how could I not see the foolishness in such an endeavor.”

  “No way to speak to your old master is it?”

  “You don’t care,” he grunts a slow tug on peeling skin, “still get a kick out of making disciples scramble with overzealous formalities?”

  “Always,” the flipping page laughs softly, “few things can entertain these days, but that will never get old.”

  Jorik offers a silent prayer for Uai Ta’s poor students, causing the old monster to let out another slight titter.

  “Come, sit,” she says, tapping the cushion beside her “I don’t get pleasant company often.”

  “Not a fan of the elders?”

  Uai Ta scoffs, “these new ones are fools, they wish to teach through dramatic displays rather than constant practice, too focused on looking like wise monks rather than actually being wise.”

  “Yet you don’t interfere with their rulings.”

  “I am old,” she shrugs, “and am currently on a break.”

  “You’ve been on break for a millenia,” Jorik says dryly.

  “And I’ll remain that way for a millenia more gods willing.”

  Jorik chuckles, taking a seat next to her and manifests two cups of tea, Uai Ta takes the offered cup gingerly and takes a delicate sip, letting out a sigh of contentment.

  “Herbs from the DarkWoods?” She asks.

  Jorick nods, “I have a friend who…donates every now and then”

  “Surely not out of the goodness of his heart.”

  “He simply requires a few choice materials, nothing too difficult for one such as I.”

  “And in return we get to enjoy splendid tea, how fortuitous, you’ll have to introduce me sometime.”

  “Perhaps,” he says absently.

  Uai Ta takes another sip, she can feel the properties inherent in the serving, this was sourced from deep in the Woods. It doesn’t mean much for her, but for one who isn't immortal to obtain them regularly? And give them up? They must truly have an interesting combination of daos, ones that are surely worth documenting.

  But that’s for later contemplation.

  “So?” the closing of a book says, “why are you here my precious student? Surely it isn’t to share a cup of exorbitantly expensive tea. Do you need more healers for your little war with the Triumvirate?”

  He takes another sip of his cup and stares deep into her eyes with his orbs of green magma.

  “Erin isn’t doing her job, again,” he says gravely.

  “Ah,” she says understanding, “and so Ralth falls to chaos, this concerns me why?”

  “I won’t make the mistake of letting it escalate to the extremes it did before, I’m going to the sects of Goroka, gathering immortals and they’re disciples to bring back the peace.”

  “And so you came to me,” she says with a raised brow, “you do know I am not a fighter?”

  “But you are a healer,” he says determinedly, “they’ll need you there, to help the dying.”

  “So are you,” she points out with a sly smile.

  “You know I can’t leave the city, there are too many caustic elements here to be left unchecked.”

  “Elements that could have been eliminated with a firm hand,” Uai Ta says casually.

  Jorik’s features darken, “that is not how I rule Uai Ta, and I will not be opening this discussion again, what matters now is Ralth.”

  “Oh please,” she waves him off, “anyone of importance will be fine, why go out of your way to help? Also, the last time Erin did this was followed by quite the age of prosperity for the city of coin, surely she deserves some trust?”

  “Too many will die,” Jorick says simply.

  “Soft,” Uai Ta scoffs.

  “So you won’t help?”

  “Now now, I said no such thing.”