Scheming isn’t something Tantra is well versed in, sure, to be a merchant is to be conniving, but not with the end goal of murder. So, when making this plan, she decided to go simple, as simple as she can really.
She set some bait, made Tikor think he was on a timeline, and got him to do something stupid.
All while playing pretend so he can think he’s being clever.
She needed him to send a proper cultivator, an expensive one she couldn’t realistically stand a chance against, and she needed witnesses.
So, so many witnesses.
This plan needed a little trust, but Goruk delivered just as she thought he would.
Tantra manifests a sigil in her hand and takes a deep breath.
“YOU DARE?!?,” she bellows “I am Tantra Sol of the Jade Sol, you dare to try and kill me, in the streets of my own home?!?”
The crowd goes silent, all turning to stare at the girl on a spike in the cobblestone streets, all paralyzed as they stare at the sigil made of ornate jade, inlaid with gold to make the silhouette of a flying swan.
Tantra never much cared for her family symbol, but she has to say, it does wonders in scaring the shit out of people as what were once bystanders pale and inadvertently become her little birds.
The giant in green stares at her in confusion, “this was a duel girl, death happens in duels.”
“Don’t bother,” says the sound of cutting air, “from what I’ve heard she’s a shrewd one, and besides, you’ve already shattered a few rules by targeting someone so far below your cultivation.”
Tantra smiles wide at the man as she begins to hear the lovely sound of gossip spreading. If Tikor knows what's good for him he’ll get the fuck out of Ralth or hide under his fianceé’s name, but Tantra won’t give him that kind of time, she lets her Kanabō hit the cobblestone as she grabs the spike and pushes.
“Cultivators are subject to no rules,” the giant rumbles.
The man in white lets out a soft laugh of delicate swordsmanship, “not in the big cities friend, here there is some order to the madness.”
Agony screams through her intestines as she is brought back down on the spike, turns out the angle was just a little too high for her to manage, simply pushing herself off. She grunts and reluctantly summons Rakans club, bringing it down on the neck of the spike.
After a few strikes it shatters and she’s free.
“Well come on then,” says the swordsman, “you were so eager in your quest to kill the little one that you must be up for some reciprocity.”
She can tell from the man's voice that he’s far into integration, which is strange because he looks normal, then again she’s only seeing his back. That and weapon dao’s don’t change the body much, but from the sounds he’s making there’s more than one dao beneath the surface.
The giant in green simply grunts before bringing his axe down on the man's head. It is only a moment, but Tantra gets to witness as both of the giants arms are turned to stumps. The swordsman's blade is out of its sheath, pointed to the side and free of blood.
He presses the blade to the giant's neck.
“I will let you live,” says the swordsman, “If you tell our audience who exactly hired you.”
-
The walk back to her home felt like the longest she’s ever taken.
It wasn’t long enough.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Tantra takes steady breaths as she walks up to the eastern gate to the estate, it isn’t anything ornate, simply steel, polished to a shine in the sun's glare. Most of the guards manning it are mortal, but there’s always at least a few cultivators at the ready. Jobs like these are easy money and provide time for more training before they…can pursue the more dramatic aspects of cultivator life.
She’s never really thought about it before but she’s been a witness to shit those from the greater sects don’t tend to deal with. All cozy with their privileged positions in Goroka, they get to have some time before the life threatening bullshit comes walking to their doorstep, they get to prepare.
She doesn’t know why she’s so pissed off at that, isn’t it a good thing for less people to die? Besides, most who enter the plunge don’t come back up, no matter how much time they were given, so it’s kind of a moot point either way.
It doesn’t take long for the guards to recognize her,running over in their fancy segmented cuirass’s, looking mighty worried about her obvious gut wound.
“Lady Tantra-”
“Get out of my way.”
“My lady-”
“I told you to move.” Tantra snarls.
The guard hesitates, but he does as he’s told, as he should.
Lucky for him to be a servant, he doesn’t have to worry about beasts or cultivators or anything. Can just stay in his cushy little job as a guard to one of the richest families in Rikidan, and go raise a lovely little family. He doesn’t even have to worry about killing his brother!
Well, if he has one.
The garden on the estate is just as pristine as its always been, hedges designed in the image of swans in different positions that positively give Tantra the shivers. Birds are just unsettling. Just…their faces with a beak or bill, and how they can simply fly.
Tantra’s sure they originated from some kind of fucked up divine beast, only thing that makes sense for something so…strange.
There are few servants who notice her march unto the mansion and try to help her in one way or another. She gives each of them a not so subtle fuck off as she continues walking to the doors. Funnily enough it's made from darkwood oak, all the way from the east. Unlike normal wood it’s quite sturdy, doesn’t scuff or dent easily.
Absolute bitch for the carpenters who have to work with it though.
If only they learned infusion.
Isn’t that a funny thought, a carpenter cultivator? Almost as funny as a merchant cultivator. As she passes by halls of blueflame and the occasional painting, she debates if this is going to seal that future away forever.
Is she going to have to leave the estate?
She’s never really thought about that, but who’d be comfortable with a kin-killer in the family? At least she’s gathered enough evidence to where the Sentinel won’t do anything. She can only hope that her family will see things her way.
She doesn’t have a choice after all.
She doesn’t have a choice.
She repeats that mantra like it was holy text, found in one of the temples from a time when humanity showed deference to the divine. What changed that, she wonders, why did all of humanity collectively decide that they’d rather defy the Gods than serve them?
There are stories of the Dead God, how it was felled in combat by Talium the immortal as the first true act of defiance. How anyone could have managed to kill a God is anyone's guess, but the Qi it radiates is too dense and laden with hunger for anyone to actually see the corpse without going insane.
Is she insane?
She’s going to kill her brother after all.
Tantra stands in front of her first stop, and the most likely place she’ll find Tokir. Seconds stretch to minutes as she listens to quill marking paper, probably doing plenty to manage the family business, especially his own portion. That’s going to suck, dealing with the void he’ll leave, she doesn’t know him very well but one of the few things she does know is that he’s diligent.
Shame he’s also a cunt.
Tantra takes a deep breath.
In.
Out.
Then she opens the door.
What greets her is the sight of a man with short brown curls and skin of a light caramel, brown eyes perusing through one of many ledgers and scrolls. They glance up at her for a moment, before Tikor does a double take and color drains from his skin.
“Tantra!” he says frenetically, “what happened? Oh gods you need to see the healer, let me just call a serv-”
“Don’t play this game with me, Tikor,” she interrupts, “I know it was you, I just want to know why.”
“Tantra, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tantra sighs.
Tikor goes to say something else, but it’s hard to do that when the top portion of your skull is crushed with the weight of a kanabō swung by a boosted pair of arms. His eyes pop out and roll on the floor as the fresh corpse falls, muscles contracting as confused neurons fire signals across his body.
Tantra stares at the corpse.
She had to.
