Beta Chapters for Book Ten starting now on my Patreon. Prologue below. Enjoy.
The Mountain Fist Sect.
Somewhere East of the Zhong Empire.
Near the Void Lands.
Two shadows lingered underneath the moon-lit boughs of a massive tree overlooking a serene valley shrouded by night. Both were tall figures, clearly male, though the silhouette of one strangely shimmered, as if it was a phantom. His corporeal companion wore black, complete with an open hood revealing a cold yet handsome face framed by untamed shoulder-length hair. The dark trousers and shirt stood in stark contrast with the simple white robe of the ghostly form beside him. He looked young, the smooth beardless face strangely reflecting a vacuous expression. A slim shape protruded from his back, revealing the hilt of a sheathed sword. By comparison, the flickering form beside him had no such weapon, only prayer beads held in one hand.
“Must you do this again? Is there no other way?” asked the figure in white. The voice was peaceful and came across as a whisper, yet it exuded an aura of welcome calm. But the tranquil wave made no impression on the swordsman who didn’t even turn his head at the murmured query. The invisible, yet distinctive and peaceful vibration dissipated as it neared the man in black.
A gray nebulous fog quickly appeared around the man in black and pushed back into the intruding aura. Within the cloud, ghostly armed and armored forms appeared, all staring at the robed figure. Their expressions ranged from indifference to outright irritation. One of the spectral shapes moved forward and disappeared into the swordsman’s body.
“You know the answer to that, homie,” came an irreverent reply from the swordsman. An undertone of derision could clearly be sensed from the voice. “And don’t think we didn’t notice your purification shower. After countless attempts, accept that it doesn’t work on us.”
“A mind of hate leads to a life of anguish. There is no victory or defeat in violence,” answered the other softly, disregarding the mockery. “All of you have waded through a bloody flood filled with corpses of the innocent and guilty alike. Haven’t you had your fill?”
“There’s no hate, man! I’ve already told you that! It’s a goddamn correction! Call it saving them from bad karma. This Mountain Fist Sect is on my to-do list,” said the swordsman, swiftly drawing his weapon. The blade gave off an eerie hum as it showed its obsidian body to the world, the jet-black metal emitting a faint, murderous aura. As the strange weapon cleared its sheath, the facial features of the man subtly shifted, changing to a middle-aged face with narrowed, empty eyes.
“It doesn’t work that way,” sighed the ghostly figure, staring at his changed companion. The prayer beads started moving, a thumb caressing each pearl as the object rotated around a spectral hand. But unlike the digits holding it, the beadwork was solid, its existence rooted in the surrounding reality.
“The blade hungers while these petty gods hide. Devouring their bestowed power will force them out. This abominable realm shouldn’t even exist,” growled the other. Unexpectedly, his voice had changed. A low, unearthly echo now accompanied the words.
“It’s your turn to speak, Asura of the Blade? No pity or compassion for this mad, damaged mortal vessel you have stolen?” asked the white specter, leaning closer to the swordsman.
“Ten thousand years have we waited, ten thousand li have we walked. Our grievous resentment reaches the heavens, dug deep into the earth. We take what chances fickle fate had given us and what an opportunity indeed,” replied the man in black with a smile that wasn’t a smile.
The robed apparition sighed deeply in reply.
“A visitor’s body. Immune from the rules of this miserable land. Fate, indeed. But what of his soul’s right to divine rest? To Samsara? Is he but a mere tool of vengeance? You resent being played with, yet you are also guilty of the same sin.”
“Not your concern, bald monk. He’s halfway to the Yellow Springs, anyway. He serves a purpose now. Instead, be thankful I am here. This travesty of a world should be anathema to your eyes. It’s not even in the Mortal Realm,” came the mocking answer as a murderous glint flashed in the swordsman’s eyes.
“Gods play with mortals. With unimaginable cruelty and insufferable arrogance, I must admit. Yet that does not give one the right to kill both puppeteer and pawn. Life is sacred and the way of Samsara is terrible enough as punishment,” admonished the ghostly monk. Despite the obvious disapproval, the tone remained gentle.
“Too long, my man. Rebirth, reincarnation, all that shit. I want my cake now. I ain’t of your church, Sid. You’re welcome to preach, but don’t be pushy about it. Haters gonna hate, but killers gotta kill,” laughed the other, the voice reverting to its original tone, though now tinged with derision, “Now, if you’ll excuse this hombre, time’s a-wasting and a lot of dickheads need my teachings.”
With a swift motion, the swordsman’s left hand tightened his hood and covered the lower part of his face, leaving his cold, expectant eyes to gaze upon the dark shapes of elegant pavilions dotting the picturesque scene below the pair, an idyllic vista punctuated by sparks of light from abodes still awake.
The ghostly monk stared at the departing swordsman as the man moved swiftly down the mountainside. The incredible speed didn’t surprise him as he had seen it too often in the past. His companion could even go faster, especially in a fight. But the powerful abilities of the killer didn’t interest him. The coming bloodbath wasn’t something he could prevent. Heaving a sigh, he focused his mind as he moved toward the unsuspecting sect. He had seen more than his share of gruesome massacres, but the idea of another one always filled him with sadness. All he could hope for was that the number of deaths could be minimized, or at least the younger members of the sect could live through the slaughter to come.
A long night of prayers, the grieving monk thought as he slowly disappeared from the spot.
xxx
Elder So glanced at the two delightfully exhausted nubile forms beside him. Being at the peak of the Foundation Realm not only granted him a degree of longevity, but also enviable stamina. The additional sixty or so years his cultivation gave him wasn’t bad at all. Reaching his present qi stage also enabled him to maintain a middle-aged appearance and improved his skin and muscle tone.
A lewd smile appeared on his face as he reflected on the benefits of being an Outer Elder of the sect. Thousands of ambitious, desperate disciples made for a buyer’s market. The brutal competition for cultivation resources ensured a parade of flesh willing to warm his bed. A wave of his hand brought forth preferential treatment for sect assignments and monthly allocations. Even room assignments could be purveyed as transactional items.
He didn’t doubt that most of the Elders in the Outer Sect also indulged in the same unwarranted benefits. Such abuse was highly punished in the sect, but who’s to complain? The word of an Elder was law. They were gods in the realm called the Outer Sect of the Mountain Fist. Not to mention their martial prowess. A simple palm strike could kill any of the martial beginners under their supervision. Like the other Elders, he just have to avoid entangling with promising outer disciples and those backed by powerful families.
Many of the Elders in the Outer Sect had already given up on advancing beyond their current martial realm. In his view, the few who still desired to reach beyond the Foundation Realm were deluding themselves. Reaching the Soul Refinement level was an insurmountable task, except for a heaven-blessed few. It was a crucial benchmark on one’s Dao path, the gap between the two realms being that of heaven and earth. Mere talent couldn’t bridge the yawning chasm. An enormous amount of luck and resources were also necessary. The longevity and power granted by a Foundation level of martial cultivation were enough. His appearance had even improved. Not that he was handsome to begin with, but looking thirty years old at the age of a hundred twenty-six was an incredible benefit.
At this stage of his life, Elder So was a realist. His talent was average. The resources of the sect were devoted to the advancement of better-qualified disciples. If not for an uncle on his paternal side serving as an Inner Elder pushing for his promotion, he would have been stuck as one of the nameless inner disciples. Many of his contemporaries had already been chosen as core and even successor disciples. A few have moved beyond the sect, becoming its overlords in the towns and cities under its control. His current martial path had now moved to the Dao, or Way, of Enjoyment.
xxx
“Elder So! Elder So!” A loud, panicking voice abruptly disturbed his musings, followed by a series of hurried, disrespectful knocks on the wooden door of his residence.
The naked man glanced with annoyance at the undesired interruption. Glancing at his lower body, he could see that the Long Spear pill he had taken was again taking effect. A stupid disciple interrupted what was going to be a tiring, yet delightful night. The heat in his loins was rising, but from the anxious interruption, it looked like it was going to be a waste of a good pill. He wasn’t the Duty Elder, so any call for his presence meant it was urgent and the effect was going to be squandered.
Elder So still had another Long Spear pill but using it later would mean owing a favor to the Alchemy Elder and trading with the man was an expensive experience. Grunting in irritation, he carefully rose from the bed and reached for his uniform. A glance at the youthful, curvaceous figures beside him showed that the noise didn’t wake them from their well-deserved rest. He could give them the benefit of a few more hours of respite. Thinking about what awaited him when he returned, he licked his lips in anticipation. It wasn’t dual cultivation, but still extremely enjoyable.
He quietly stood up and dressed in his blue Elder attire, strapping his sword to his belt. Thankfully, the noisy disciple had ceased his panicked intrusion. The sliver of energy he sent out was enough to warn the unwelcome interloper. With a last lingering look at what he was going to leave behind, Elder So opened the door. A pair of wide, alarmed eyes greeted him. He could feel the fear and panic enveloping the disciple’s aura. He quickly stepped out and closed the door with one hand, while a finger moved to shut the other’s lips. His night’s entertainment needed their sleep.
“Quietly,” he warned, eyes glaring at the disciple.
“Intruder, Elder! The Duty Elder and five senior disciples have been killed! The other disciples are conscious or severely injured!”
The news shocked Elder So, rendering him unable to respond for several seconds. When was the last time anybody had the impudence of attacking their sect? Five hundred years ago? The deaths also meant the sect’s formidable barrier had been breached! That was a qi formation given by the heavens! Bestowed by the deity of the sect!
“Elder Li?” he inquired, asking about the fellow superior serving as the reserve Duty Elder.
“With more disciples! They’re at the path leading to the Main Hall, waiting for the intruder!”
Elder So quickly moved to the path leading down the hillside, with the disciple following his lead. Then he abruptly stopped and turned to the youth behind him.
“Intruder? Don’t you mean intruders?”
“There’s only one attacker, Elder So!” came the frightened answer, blowing apart his sense of reality.
