“No no, you have to do it like this.” Tosa lifts her chin, staring deep into Kisrin’s single eye. She gives a slight smirk to accompany a mask of intense stoicism.

  “I don’t know,” Yorin says, “That feels more creepy than romantic.”

  Tosa turns to Yorin with a raised brow, “oh, and where exactly are all the ladies swooning over you?”

  “I mean, that kinda works both ways.”

  “I am a lady! I don’t need a woman to validate my skills.”

  “Sounds like an excuse to me~”

  “Wha-I, no, why am I listening to you? You’re an idiot!”

  Yorin chuckles, much to Tosa’s chagrin.

  Kisrin doesn’t know how these two got so close over the course of days, but he has to admit, it’s quite entertaining. Most of the ‘training’ has been Yorin needling the girl about her rather…interesting advice.

  Kisrin’s pretty sure if he pushed Tantra up against a wall all he’d get is a few loose teeth.

  Other than delivering questionable flirting advice, Tosa’s actually been participating in the proper training, although her exercises are laughable compared to theirs.

  Still, it’s company, Kisrin isn’t against company

  Especially considering the estates recent reticence, turns out fratricide isn’t very endearing, go figure.

  He’s surprised Tantra actually did it, sure she was pretty intense when planning this, but the whole purpose of her pushing herself so hard for the past two years was to see her family again.

  The same one she possibly just lost.

  Well, at least then they’ll have something in common they can bond over other than cultivation.

  That’s a very fucked up thought.

  He hopes it doesn’t come to that, but his optimism has been dwindling the longer they mandate she stay in her room. They’ve had more than enough time to find and examine the evidence of Tikor’s dealings.

  Meaning either they don’t care, or don’t care enough to fully exonerate her

  At least the Sentinel didn’t seem to mind, giving a public statement that said in no uncertain terms that Tikor was a dumbass and got what was coming to him.

  Not those exact words but close enough.

  He doesn’t know how Sentinels work, but he’s glad they don’t have to worry about them too.

  “Argh!” Tosa exclaims, “Tantra needs to be set free so she can kick your derriere for me.”

  “What’s a derriere?” Yorin tilts his head.

  “Your butt, plebeian!”

  “Why didn’t you just say that?”

  “Refined words are for refined people, mundane words are for mundane people.”

  “But don’t you kind of miss the point if the person doesn’t understand what you're saying?”

  “Preposterous! Why would I degrade myself for your understanding?”

  “Because…that’s the point of conversing?”

  “Well-”

  “You don’t seem all that bothered by your brother's death,” Kisrin interrupts.

  Tosa gives him a raised brow, “ a little abrupt, do you not enjoy my company?”

  “I mean, I do, It’s just weird.”

  “What’s so weird about it?” Tosa shrugs, “Tikor played the game and lost quite spectacularly, and now he’s dead.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “That’s kinda cold.”

  “Is it?”

  “Well, the rest of your family seems to care.”

  She shrugs, “they know the realities of the high life, Tantra wasn’t likely to be the last on TIkor’s little list, though a few are…grieving. It’s more that they’re scared of Tantra, which is silly, she’s not a rabid dog.”

  “She did burst his head open,” Yorin says.

  “Yes well, consequences of a brute’s weapon, honestly her choice confounds me!”

  “It’s because of her mentor,” Kisrin says.

  “Hmm?”

  “Her mentor used the kanabō.”

  “And where is this mentor?”

  “Dead,” Kisrin says flatly, “because of your brother.”

  “Ah,” Tosa replies, “well, that explains quite a bit.”

  -

  The most prevalent mutation among beasts and mongrels is a marked increase in size. Qi might change them into something grotesque, but getting bigger is almost standard. The most predominant theory being that it’s just convenient for Qi flowing through muscle and sinew to make more rather than make it different.

  It’s a simple and eloquent explanation, and the one that’s preferred by academics according to the book she’s reading, and Tantra can see why.

  The other theories have too many holes to count

  The most ridiculous one being divine guidance.

  Why, exactly, would Vaza’kimi care rough to personally guide each and every beast’s growth? Especially since divine beasts tend to reverse their mutations once they gain a core, save for a few changes based on the dao (If they have one).

  Why would the final product be the exact same if the god of beauty was the one molding their features? That’s not even touching on the fact that the sheer amount of attention that would bring to Testhim would be enough to start a ninth cataclysm.

  Tantra shivers.

  She hopes to never incur a tribulation from the heavens, being marked by a god is a famously lethal process, and extremely gruesome from the rumors she’s heard.

  Perhaps more gruesome than having your head burst like confetti.

  No.

  That’s a bad thought.

  Back to the book then.

  It’s a thick tome, one of the ones she ordered for her studies. The portion she’s reading right now is a subcategory on beast mutations, which is actually quite interesting despite what Rakan might have said about it.

  Her face turns somber as she continues to read the passages.

  Apparently spirit beasts don’t have metaphysical organs, only possessing the body and soul. The lack of an intermediary is the main theory for why they mutate so easily compared to humans, with the soul unable to act as a filter.

  Though this is all work done by mortals, with the assistance of cultivators here and there, so it’s validity is more questionable than the more concrete sections on human anatomy and physiology.

  It’s a big book.

  Her door cracks open and Tantra glances up to see the familiar sight of Dozen walking through her door. He’s been doing that a lot lately, acting as a kind of intermediary between her and the rest of the family as none of them that matter are really willing to see her.

  That hurts, what hurts more is the vote to prohibit any guests while she’s trapped in her little room.

  Well, not trapped, they’d need a cultivator to force her to stay, and doing that is a quick way to incur the wrath of a sentinel considering they have no legal justification for detention.

  But they’re her family, she’ll listen, so long as it's reasonable.

  Dozen sits on a chair placed beside her bed for this exact purpose.

  “Keeping busy?” He tilts his chin towards the book.

  “Yeah, not much else to do but study and train.”

  He chuckles, “well at least you still have some passion for the intellectual arts.”

  “It’s not like I’ve changed into some completely new person at the sect.”

  “So the Tantra of before wouldn’t have hesitated to murder her brother?”

  Tantra flinches at his words and looks down at her book.

  She doesn’t regret it.

  She refuses to regret it.

  But it hurts every time Dozen reminds her, like scraping a blade to a fresh wound.

  She reminds herself of Rakan, holds the memory close to her chest, the times he’d offer nuggets of wisdom, the way he’d push her to her limits and not an inch further. She didn’t appreciate how good of a mentor he was until he was gone.

  She can’t even say thank you.

  She turns to look at Dozen with a hard expression, “I did what I had to do, his actions caused the death of someone precious, and by his estimation would’ve caused mine as well, and maybe even my friends if the assassins felt bloodthirsty.”

  He…isn’t taken aback, but he does look at her with some measure of surprise, along with the sadness.

  “Was it worth your family?”

  A surge of panic shoots through her veins.

  “So they’ve decided then?” She says, bottom lip quivering.

  He nods.

  “Your inheritance is forfeit, and we’re replacing your sigil with something less…influential. You’ll be living in an estate closer to the wall. We are granting these accommodations because of your status as a cultivator, and the continued utility of your service.”

  He takes a breath, and lets it out slow.

  “As of today you are no longer a Sol.”