Tantra isn’t exactly a fan of war, considering all that she’s seen on her little journey to the slums, so acting as bait for a gang of all things doesn’t really sit right with her. She knows little about the RendingClaws, but does she really need to know all that much? They’re a gang, the crimes they commit in their slices of the slums aren’t exactly a secret, so needless to say she isn’t all that enthused. But they were going to have to deal with them anyway, they have a network Tantra can’t match, she was just hoping they’d be making a deal over coin rather than whatever the fuck this is supposed to be.

  “Now, I’m not much of a war strategist,” Tantra says, “but why does this feel like a convoluted attempt at committing suicide?”

  “I have to agree,” Synthia says, “I don’t see the logic in this course of action.”

  “It’s her debut!” Raizen says enthusiastically, “have to make it flashy, or else they might not remember her.”

  “I thought my robes were supposed to make me distinct enough?”

  “That’s just set dressing, you cultivators are all about grand displays aren’t you? What could be grander than this!”

  “Father,” Sasei says, “I agree with the honourable cultivator, this isn’t a smart course of action, what if she dies?”

  “Then nothing of value was lost,” Raizen shrugs, and Tantra ripples with barely contained anger, “If we want to use her as proper bait we’ve gotta make her enticing, and what better way to do that than through glory?”

  “Glory is something for cultivators who can survive what you’re suggesting,” Tantra counters, “this is just creative stupidity.”

  “Now now, there’s no need to be rude, It’s just a suggestion.”

  “And if I don’t follow this ‘suggestion?’’

  “Well, I can’t invest my gang’s time in looking for your friends without some returns.”

  Tantra grits her teeth, damn she’s going to kill Etra if she survives.

  “Fine,”

  -

  Tantra can’t believe she’s actually going through with this shit.

  Ahead of her is a standoff between peasants and cultivators, waiting for the moment of violence to begin with barely contained bloodlust, and she’s going to be at the center of it. She’s wearing her robes, it…was surprising how much comfort she found in donning them again, like a warm coat in the winter snow.

  She’s never seen snow, but she imagines it’s quite cold from the stories, maybe someday.

  She just has to survive today first.

  She’s surrounded by members of the RendingClaw as they push through the mass of humanity gathered together for the violence. Not really a fair description, the gangs and peasants weren’t exactly presented with a choice, this war is the makings of a fool boy and his rich backers.

  She still hasn’t come up with a logical reason for the Jade Sol to be a part of this, surely it’s more than setting a puppet as the ruler of this city, there are significantly less costly methods of doing that.

  Granted, those methods would take years, maybe Dozen’s just impatient.

  She finds that hard to believe.

  A few peasants give her dirty looks when they see her robes, some recognize her and look more curious than affronted. It’s not as though there aren’t cultivators helping the struggling defense, they’re just very rare, and considering everyone on the opposing side is a cultivator Tantra doesn’t really blame them for their distaste.

  After today they might see her in a different light.

  Eventually they pass the front, and the goons part for her to present an open street with the stains of blood still fresh on the cobble. The cultivators of green on the other side seem immensely confused by her appearance. Tantra walks forward to the center between both armies, summons her kanabō, and thumps its head against the ground in front of her.

  She fills her lungs with Qi.

  “Hello,” her voice carries through armies like a dove delivering a letter, “some of you may know me, some of you may not. I am Tantra the kin-killer, never was much of a fan of the title, but none of us truly get the luxury of choice do we?”

  There’s a moment of hushed whispers amongst the cultivators and peasants alike.

  “I have walked the streets south of here for little over a month, I have seen horrors I never thought possible from things that call themselves human. People hung by their own entrails, left to bleed and die. Cultivators throwing rivals and innocents alike into boiling cauldrons of oil. Screaming bodies stretched slowly as their skin tears and joints rip.”

  Tantra gives a dramatic pause, letting the observers absorb the information.

  “I have learned, intimately, why cultivators cannot be trusted to maintain the peace. The very moment the Sentinel decided to forgo her duties was the death knell to the peace of this city. None of this was necessary, this war will change little to nothing except for the dead, and oh, there are so many dead.”

  Tantra takes a deep breath.

  “Rejoice, murderers and cravens!

  For here you can indulge in your twisted crafts, here you can shed the guise of humanity and do unto your neighbors as you please.

  Rejoice, deities of cruelty!

  For here there are so many supplicants eager for your ways, here there are an abundance of prayers to your names formed through bloodshed.

  Rejoice, denizens of the hells!

  For here there is so much suffering to feed from, here you can find a new home to rest.”

  Silence is met by Tantra’s declaration, and she can practically feel the hostility from the cultivators in front of her. Isn’t that funny? She’s only telling the truth, only reciting what she saw, why are they angry?

  Isn’t this madness what they wanted?

  “Now, enough of logical reasoning,” Tantra says, “I can see that your hearts remain firm in your resolve for bloodshed. Fine, I will grant your wish, come to me with your blades and see where your thirst for violence will lead you.”

  Like a warhorn, her declaration is followed by war cries and the rumbling of the ground as so many feet charge forward. Tantra stays perfectly still, almost fascinated by the collective desire for violence, and preparing for its arrival.

  She never wanted her life to be like this, perhaps she was naive in the belief that she could avoid bloodshed as a cultivator, perhaps it’s an inevitability for those that walk the path. Tantra laments who she will become if she survives today.

  The first blade coming for her is slow.

  It’s taken a while for Tantra to realize this, but she’s a lot stronger than the average cultivator, considering most are stuck in their foundations. It’s kind of embarrassing how little martial prowess is present in cultivator culture, most don’t really give a damn about skill, just focusing on Qi.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  To be fair that kinda describes her relationship with the kanabō, but she’s skilled at navigating combat, not necessarily at handling her weapon. Combine their weakness with serpent’s circulation?

  So she can track the jian so very clearly as it arcs for her neck, all Tantra does is backstep out of the way, then swings her kanabō to the right, intercepting another blade as a pair of gauntlets dig into her side.

  Tantra grunts, then dodges a guandao as it cuts into someone beside her, a broadsword drives itself through her back and out her stomach, twisting then tearing out her guts as she blocks another strike going for her neck.

  She pumps some soul Qi into her heart.

  The tide immediately shifts.

  In less than a second, three heads burst open, causing the more cautious of those surrounding her to back away slightly. The four who are emboldened and charge soon meet the same fate.

  It’s a bit inconvenient with the club, if she wants an instantaneous kill she needs to aim for their heads, otherwise she’s just breaking bones.

  She feels the vasculature of the broadsword wielder as his blade bears down on her. She steps to the side, manifests her bone jian, drives it through his heart and-

  She feels something, like a connection.

  Curious, she pulls.

  His heart explodes.

  Tantra blinks, she can do that?!?

  Later, focus on the now.

  She sends her bone jian back to her artifact, twists, then swings here kanabō in a full arc around her, killing a few and making others back away. Tantra huffs and cuts off her soul Qi, and the backlash…isn’t as harsh as she thought it would be for five seconds.

  She stands surrounded by green clad cultivators as they look at her with eyes wide as saucers. There are at least ten bodies laying on the floor, most with brain matter freely marking the streets. Tantra pointedly refuses to look at them, not willing to be distracted in the middle of a very stupid fight.

  She can hear fighting behind her, which means the peasants have reached them, and she likely won’t have to fight for much longer.

  “What?” Tantra smiles wide as she grabs at her torn abdomen, “this is the violence you so crave, why are you backing away?”

  -

  Synthia can recognize a schemer for what they are.

  It’s a talent she got from politicking for most of her life, there are very specific tells when someone is planning something, like offering their assistance for little to no benefits. No offence to Tantra, but she severely doubts her services are worth more than a hundred platinum, so, Raizen is plotting.

  But what might the frame of this painting be? And what kind of brush is he using? If she can figure out what it is he’s plotting she can determine if it’s beneficial to them or not, and move forward from there.

  The first clue is, funnily enough, is Tantra.

  Why does he want to build her as some kind of champion of the people? What does he gain from directing her reputation in that direction? Clearly he wants something, specifically from the populace, and from her.

  Or he’s trying to get Tantra killed to further isolate Synthia, which isn’t out of the question, without Tantra the noblewoman is practically helpless, as much as she hates to admit it. So getting rid of her would make Synthia vulnerable, and vulnerability provides so many opportunities.

  So Tantra’s survival determines which direction her conversation with Raizen, and whatever deals they end up making, and she holds none of the pieces. She’s barely holding herself back from cursing a tirade at Etra, clearly she’s told Raizen, whether intentional or not, how much Tantra values her friends, and he is taking full advantage.

  She’s honestly quietly mourning Tantra already, facing an army on her own? That’s a thing of the epics, not something a humble cultivator still in purification could accomplish. But…she’s familiar with how intense that woman is about her friends.

  Where does that come from?

  It isn’t really something Synthia’s had the luxury to stop and think about, but it doesn’t really make sense for her personality. She’s practical, and more than a little cynical, those two things does not a martyr make, yet she’s more than willing to burn through her life to help her friends.

  They don’t even know if Yorin or Kisrin are alive, she might be a convenient little soldier for the RendingClaws until the end of this war for all they know. Hell’s, how are they even sure Raizen is really looking for them.

  How is he looking for them?

  The entirety the city is split by the forces coming from each respective sect city, unless he’s managed to map out the entirety of the sewers-

  Huh, maybe they did map out the sewers, did she just accidentally find out one of the ways gangs smuggle drugs and people through the city?

  That would be quite the thought, feels kind of obvious though now that she thinks about it.

  Still, even if the gang can look, that doesn’t mean they will.

  All they can do is take their word.

  Synthia sighs, she doesn’t know how to wrangle her way out of this, all her political maneuvering has hardly prepared her for something like this, she just needs…she doesn’t know, some kind of leverage.

  Synthia looks over at Etra and Erick, who are happily reenacting one of the epics to a group of children Tantra has comically taken under her wing, she truly doesn’t understand these people, why intentionally drag yourself down?

  To help, such a simple reason, such a pure reason.

  No scheming, no politics, just pure…kindness.

  She can’t say she hates that kind of reasoning, can’t say she loves it either though, it’s so easy to take advantage of someone so willing to help. Hells, she’s pretty sure Tantra mainly accepted to be on Synthia’s leash because of the tutors she was providing to her friends, which…certainly made them capable, but what does Tantra gain from that?

  But…the scene in front of her is filled with so much…warmth.

  More than she’s allowed herself to feel in a long time.

  So of course the moment was interrupted quite abruptly.

  “Hello you beautiful, beautiful people!” Raizen exclaims as he pushes open the door to their shack and carries himself inside with his cane, “may I present to you our new champion of the slums!”

  He steps to the side, revealing an unconscious Tantra being carried by Sasei. She is…more than just bloody, she’s torn apart, guts hanging out of her side, multiple gouges into her flesh and points where muscle is just missing.

  Her shoulder has a large piece bitten out and is actively rotting, the smell overpowering the shack, causing multiple people (including Synthia) to gag.

  Then there’s her face, the upper right half of it is gone, replaced by spores and living roots digging into her skull.

  “Oh my fucking gods,” Etra whispers, “is she still alive?”

  “She is!” Reizan laughs, “this wonderful woman took on an army and survived, even provided an eloquent speech, you should see the reverence the peasants showed when Sasei here carried her over, absolutely delicious.”

  “Shouldn’t she see a healer?” Erick says.

  “Bah, cultivators are resilient, she’ll be fine boy.”

  “That does not mean we leave her to rot,” Synthia says firmly, “I don’t appreciate this theater, take her to a healer this instant or I swear I won’t cooperate with whatever it is you’re planning.”

  A flash of anger crosses Raizen’s eyes, but he just smiles and nods.

  “Sasei, take her to see Jill won’t you?”

  “I told you they wouldn’t like this,”

  “Just do as I say you oaf.”

  Sasei rolls his eyes and walks out of the shack, leaving them with the elderly man, he turns to Synthia and hobbles over to her table, slowly taking a seat, smiling all the while.

  “Well,” he says, “let’s get to the real discussion, shall we?”

  “Indeed,” Synthia nods.

  Raizen taps his cane on the wooden flooring a few times, his gaze level with Synthia’s, his eyes carrying a certain blaze behind his disarming smile.

  “How do you feel about being marchioness?”

  What?

  Synthia’s not proud to say that she was taken aback by that question, sitting in silence for a few moments as a bunch of children stare with rapt attention at the sudden high stakes negotiations.

  How does she feel about being marchioness?

  It’s something she’s craved since understanding the concept of power, it’s the purpose of all her politicking, the reason for this mask she’s so carefully crafted over the years.

  “How exactly would you accomplish that?” Synthia asks slowly.

  Raizen’s smile widens.