Korthal takes about a split second to recover from his surprise and catch the woman as she falls twitching violently into his arms. He’s frozen for about a split second, until it dawns on him that this is probably some sort of backlash from the monstrous amount of boosting she displayed. He didn’t know she could do that! Was she holding back on him in the arena this whole time? A small part of him is offended by the prospect, the rest is dancing with glee at the challenge.

  Now if she just learned how to infuse Qi into her weapon and she’d be unstoppable!

  It takes an embarrassingly long time (about two seconds,) for him to realize he’s surrounded by disciples allied to the lady with the very big sword.

  He displays his pearly whites for all those facing him to admire.

  “Hello fellow travellers of the path!” he says with a booming voice, “might I interest you in a few duels?”

  The cultivators in forest green just stare at him, clearly impressed by his bold deceleration, before one of them has the absolute gall to laugh.

  “No,” says a man as he wipes tears from his eyes, “I think we’ll just kill you and the kin-killer.”

  “Ah the youth,” Korthal shakes his head, “they know so little of honor! Can you believe it Tantra?”

  The woman continues with her seizure, which Korthal interprets as agreement, as well it should be, and he de-manifests his hammer.

  “If that’s the case, I hope you won’t mind if I make my exit, I very much prefer living over pointless last stands.”

  That gets another laugh out of the man, as well as a few others, and Korthal just smiles as he grabs Tantra and her weapon, can’t forget the weapon. Korthal brings his foot up and-

  Steps on a cloud that just appeared under his foot, somehow managing to hold his weight as he takes another step onto another spontaneously forming cloud.

  The surrounding cultivators blink, then try to rush at the man, a few even using techniques that let them create platforms of Qi, but they aren’t nearly as maneuverable as Korthals instantaneous clouds. Korthal bellows a laugh of merriment as he hits the ground outside the encirclement and dashes away.

  -

  Tantra wakes up to the excruciating sound of cheering.

  “Another!” a very familiar voice bellows, “my gut isn’t nearly so full with the gods mead to be satisfied!”

  “Honoured cultivator, you’ll run this establishment into the ground,” someone snorts.

  “Nonsense,” the voice assures, “I’ve known the owner for ages! I’ll properly pay my dues once all the chaos has waned and we can go back to daily living.”

  “If they’re still alive,” another adds.

  “She has an extensive family tree, I’m sure at least some will survive this disaster, I can pay one of them,” He reassures, though there’s an uncharacteristic somberness to his voice.

  “Korthal,” Tantra coughs out, blood hitting the floorboards, “do you mind being quieter? All this noise is giving me a headache.”

  “Tantra!” Korthal says joyfully and loudly as he slides out of his chair, “you’re finally awake! Took you long enough, want to join us for a drink?”

  “Thanks, but I can’t really move. Besides, I already used up any desire for alcohol like a month and a half ago…I think, how long has it been since the war started?”

  “Coming close to three months missy,” says a random mortal.

  Tantra blinks, “I’ve been fighting for over a month?”

  “Yep,” another nods, “you’re practically worshiped, you know that? When you turned up missing the mob turned to an absolute frenzy, absolutely slaughtered the sects.”

  Tantra blinks, “what does that mean?”

  “It means,” says the silky smooth voice of a joyful woman, “that we’ve broken past enemy lines, and are heading south to give Doman…a visit.”

  Tantra strained her eye’s down to behold Synthia in…a barmaids attire?

  “Okay, what in the hells is happening?”

  “It’s her thank you to the big blue lug,” the first mortal laughs.

  Tantra blinks, “you told Synthia to act as your barmaid?”

  “I’ve never been served by nobility before,” he defends, “always end up working for them, thought I’d find out what it’s like on the other side of things.”

  Tantra gives him a capital L look.

  “Don’t look at me like that! You would’ve done the same.”

  “I wouldn’t have,” Tantra says frankly, “I would’ve used that favor on something useful.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “You’re an idiot Korthal”

  “Hey!”

  -

  It’s been…how long since she’s awoken? A few hours at least, yeah that sounds about right. Korthal’s managed to get himself mighty plastered off a full barrel of mead, like the degenerate he is, where does all that drink go? Cultivator biology will never cease to amaze, both her lungs have long gashes in them and she can still breathe!

  Albeit with a lot of coughing, but still, breathing, breathings good.

  She’s pretty sure oxygen’s pretty important for the body, she knows this because she’s smart!

  Very smart, the smartest.

  Maybe she should research the wonders of cultivation on biology? It’ll mostly just be an excuse to savour Goruk’s cooking, but she’ll be productively savoring his cooking!

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  It’s different.

  Ah fuck, is Goruk even alive? She hopes so, he’s got Zon afterall, that geezer would surely defend Goruk with his life for the sake of the sacred ramen. Quite the enthusiast that cultivator is, it’s kinda funny when you consider how far he is along the path, but it makes him a wonderful ramen buddy!

  Ramen buddies are hard to come by in this city, cursed by inferior taste buds as they are.

  Zon’s probably okay, he’s in integration afterall! She wouldn’t be surprised if he was stronger than Resai even, so wherever he is he’s probably doing fine.

  She should be more worried about herself, despite being quite stronger than the average cultivator (which is fucking weird to contemplate) she still has a lot of growth before she can weather a war like this without fear.

  If she could just get her foundations to handle more than ten damn seconds of soul Qi boosting using serpent’s circulation then she’d be goddamn golden. She can already match the recently anchored with her world Qi alone, and isn’t that a wonder?

  The arena’s clearly given her a very skewed perspective on the strength of cultivators, considering she was struggling against the lower brackets, though she was one of the ones who could take on small groups alone, but still there are eight brackets in total, and she was only in the seventh.

  She knows most cultivators don’t participate in the bloodsport, not keen on feeling the touch of death, you know, because they’re pussies, but Tantra didn’t expect the disparity between arena goers and regular cultivators to be this stark.

  She’ll take it though, whatever makes survival easier is a welcome addition to her arsenal.

  Damn she should have bought some more technique manuels, even if she’d only get one or two useful ones per.

  She can be an idiot sometimes, a smart idiot but still.

  Though to be fair she couldn’t have predicted that the city would devolve into this mess, surely it can’t get any worse.

  Now now, no need to tempt the heavens.

  “How are you feeling?” A comically dressed Synthia asks as she takes a seat next to Tantra.

  “Peachy as a peach miss barmaid.”

  “You are not calling me that.”

  “I do what I want,” Tantra puffs out, “I’m a big bad cultivator!”

  “A cultivator who conspicuously can’t move.”

  “That’s temporary! Besides, I could move if I used Qi.”

  “You are not wasting Qi for something so basic,”

  “Finnneeee,” Tantra rolls her eyes, “what do you want anyway? Shouldn’t you be serving a few drinks?”

  Synthia just points at the group of unconscious drunkards.

  “Heh,” Tantra laughs, “he’ll have to pay the owner a fortune once this is over.”

  “I get the feeling this won’t be the first time he’s done that,” Synthia says dryly.

  “Probably not,” Tantra chuckles

  Synthia doesn’t reply to that, simply basking in the comfort of company, and Tantra’s amenable enough to provide. She literally can’t move after all, and she’s been through a lot, sometimes Tantra forgets that the woman lost most of her family just three months ago.

  “I’m going to be the marchioness,” Synthia finally says, “can you believe that, me? Leading this city?”

  “Why not?” Tantra says, “it’s not like the other option’s any good.”

  “It’s just…it’s been my goal for so long, to show my father that even though I’m a woman I’m more than worthy of the position.” She says, “but now it’s happening, a whole horde of peasants are rushing towards the manor for Doman’s head, and then it’ll just be me. I’ll have finally gotten what I wanted.”

  “You don’t sound very happy about that,” Tantra says.

  “I don’t need happiness,” she says simply, “I just need purpose, and this war…it’s gotten me to question a lot.”

  “And?”

  “What is the point of nobility?” Synthia says, “cultivators could easily rule in their place, they have more than enough power to cement their positions. Yet the empire plays this theater of having mortals in the positions of rulers. When all the rules are gone, what am I but an ant?”

  “Silly Synthia, you’re Synthia,” Tantra says, “and that’s all you need to be.”

  “If only it were so simple,”

  “It is,” Tantra nods, “you’re just making it complicated because you’re scared. It’s okay to be scared, so am I, this whole war is scary, but the powers of some cunts with Qi doesn’t make you insignificant.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Synthia smiles softly, “you’re one of those ‘cunts’ after all.”

  “Hey! You swore,”

  “I did,” the woman chuckles.

  Tantra barks a laugh alongside her as Synthia places Tantra’s head on her lap.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I thought it would be more comfortable than the ground,”

  “Well…you’re not wrong, it’s just a little weird”

  “How so?”

  “It’s a little too intimate for your personality.”

  “Perhaps war has simply softened my heart.”

  “Sure,” Tantra snorts.

  -

  A grand mass of humanity scours across the city of the damned, bringing low cultivators and even the occasional demon, making their pain known through an expression of violent rage. Their end goal is the Farlagh manor, to bring justice to the silly boy who started this charade, all for the delusional idea that he can make things better. Isn’t that just a hilarious thought? A fifteen year old boy cleansing the rot that so deeply took hold of this city?

  I’ve seen plenty, courtesy of my existence, but this is one of the dumbest killing grounds I’ve ever seen.

  But the little outrage that’s brewed in the slums has spilled over to the rest of this city, and soon they will storm his precious manor.

  Then it’ll all be over won’t it?

  Our little noblewoman will take up the mantle of marchioness and peace will return to the city, the dead can finally be given their rites, and the populace can start to rebuild their homes.

  This city that has suffered so much can begin the process of healing.

  Did you really think it would be that simple?

  No, there are a dozen immortals stepping onto the southern pier, all with their individual rivalries ready to be settled in the lawlessness that still pervades the killing grounds. There’s a general rule of thumb in this world, if you want to complicate a situation to the extreme, you go and grab an immortal, and you add them to the equation.

  All are here under a plea from the emperor to bring peace to this city, how ironic then that they will be the reason things get so much worse.

  But you’d be a fool to think that one who’s reigned for so long wouldn’t have seen this possibility.

  What might his real motivation be I wonder?

  Well, it’ll be a while before we see him again, so it doesn’t really matter does it?

  All you need to know is that each sect leader from Goroka, along with their disciples, have made their appearance on the stage. All the actors are finally present for our little play, and like a barrel full of that black powder Okham-Khal is so fond of, they just need a spark to explode.

  I’ve always found that interesting, how cultivators seem obsessed with violence, how everything in the end is a competition of strength, how they twist the dao into a weapon rather than what it is. If you only understood more then perhaps you’d find that interesting too, and we could both revel in the strangeness that is this world.

  But alas, your window has been so narrow, mainly focused on a simple girl from less than humble origins. Though I do get to show you the world every now and then, but not too much of course.

  Everything at its proper time.

  So, that rather neatly brings us to why we’re having this conversation in the first place. What’s so special about this moment? Well…nothing really, it was just the proper time for me to introduce myself. I won’t give you my name, but you have heard of me, it isn’t even all that much of a mystery, but I do so love my games.

  It’s one of the few escapes I have from all this drama.

  It can get to be quite a lot.

  Especially since what we’ll witness will be something quite…spectacular might be the word, through the lens of a psychopath perhaps. Most would just consider it horrifying, but you’ll see it as entertainment, and isn’t that just its own little tragedy?

  Well, I won’t hold you back any longer, go ahead, witness the madness.

  It’s all we have for comfort in the end.