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Chapter 25: Politics and Play
🕑 Added 2025-04-14 12:03:54 +0000 UTCThe Young Master frowned. Something was afoot. Brother Dai would never suggest something so outrageous, at least not without good reason. Feng carefully studied his Senior Brother’s expression, before looking pointedly at his glaive. “I am unarmed, while you are not. And you still wish for me to fight you regardless?”
Despite his brash demeanour and physical stature, the Core Disciple was not a fool. If anything, Feng has learnt that the man possessed a particularly lethal cunning. For all his strength, he was not one to boldly charge headfirst into his problems. He was wise. He was capable of restraint.
And most of all, he was not one to perform wanton acts of disrespect without meaning behind them.
“I imagine that will make things more difficult for you, yes.” Brother Dai nodded sagely. “Still, you should be thanking me. I am doing you a favour, really.”
Feng raised an eyebrow. “This Junior would ask his Senior Brother to enlighten him on how this can be considered a favour.”
The other Disciple grinned broadly. “You were the one complaining earlier about needing to soothe your bruised ego after a fight with Lianshi. Really, what better way to do that than to pummel a Senior with your bare fist, and emerge victorious?”
Feng considered his words carefully.
“And the fact that the odds are heavily stacked in your favour?” The Young Master pointed out.
“As I said, an unfortunate disadvantage for you. Such things usually are, when it comes to your luck.” He shrugged, blade still pointed at Feng. “But if you are truly worried, we could have our venerated Elder here to moderate our battle. So that not so, Jun?”
Ah, so that’s how it was.
There was a brief pause, before another cultivator appeared between them in a flash of fire. The man who stood before him was no mere disciple. His qi burst forth like an inferno, engulfing the arena in searing pressure.
Nascent Realm, First Step. Elder Jun, overseer of the Sparring Halls, had arrived.
“You forget yourself, DiscipleDai.” The man’s voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the anger behind it. “Addressing an Elder by name alone is insolence beyond redemption. I could have you punished for that.”
“By all means, punish me. If doing so would soothe that oversized ego of yours, then I am more than willing to make that sacrifice on your behalf.” A vein popped out of the Elder’s head at Brother Dai’s reply. “But answer my question first. Will you oversee our fight, or not? It is, after all, your responsibility, is it not?”
So the Elder had been watching them the entire time. Feng had not even been able to sense him. Still, the Young Master understood his Senior Brother’s intention now.
It appeared he was to be a pawn in Sect politics once again.
Elder Jun's expression appeared calm, but his raging qi told a different story. The temperature of the arena rose to boiling levels, and there was an unnerving glow within the Elder’s eyes that spoke of barely restrained powers.
The Elder was in the Nascent Realm — the Fourth Realm of Cultivation, one where only a few in uncounted millions living within the Outer Provinces would ever reach.
In comparison, Brother Dai was still in the Tempering Realm — the Third Realm. While commendable, such an achievement was not comparable to the Elder’s.
Even disregarding the difference in station, Elder Jun’s superiority in cultivation should have warranted utmost respect. Any mere disciple that spoke to an Elder with such impudent manners would have already been incinerated in a flash of golden flames — provided the offended cultivator did not choose to make an example of the insolent junior first by prolonging their suffering.
Yet Elder Jun did no such thing because the disciple before him was nomeredisciple. The man could only glare at Brother Dai with hate in his eyes, while the disciple lazily scratched his nose.
Feng was reminded once again that there were exceptions in all things. A superiority in standing did not necessarily translate to a dominance in strength.
Even if it was often the case.
Brother Dai, for all his insolence and lack of station, was stronger than Elder Jun.
“If the Young Master agrees to your outlandish conditions, I will supervise.” Elder Jun bowed deferentially to Feng.
The Young Master considered the situation for a moment, studying Elder Jun’s and Brother Dai’s expressions. The Elder looked towards him solemnly, while his Senior Brother gave him a wink.
Fine, he could use some stress relief. “I will accept your offer, Senior Brother. How could I refuse such a considerate suggestion from an older disciple?”
Feng did not miss the brief flash of panic that passed through Elder Jun’s eyes before the older cultivator composed himself. The man gave the Young Master a respectful bow before he flash-stepped away with their Sect’s signature movement technique.
Brother Dai chuckled.
“I knew I could rely on you. Sorry to drag you into this, but I need to make a bit of a mess here.”
“Father’s order?” Feng inquired. The older disciple nodded.
A chance to let loose without care of collateral, and one with permission given by his Patriarch…
It seemed his fortunes were turning.
“How big?” the Young Master asked, anticipation building in his chest as he shifted into a stance, one specially made for countering reach weapons while unarmed.
“You remember the Medical Pavilion incident a few years back, when the Sect lost a few precious pagodas that day?”
“The fire took an entire day to stop.” Feng considered Brother Dai’s request, briefly checking his qi reserves, before nodding. “Alright then. I’ll play along, but can you keep up?”
“Have faith, Junior.” Brother Dai chuckled, aura rising to a blazing inferno. “Let us begin this properly, then. This lowly Senior greets the Heir of the Hei Clan, the One and Only Son of Patriarch Shang…”
Feng nodded in return. The fire within him threatened to boil over in impatience. “This Young Master greets the strongest Disciple of the Beheaded Phoenix Sect.”
“Begin!” Elder Jun's voice echoed. None within the Hall could have missed it.
The Young Master hoped those below had enough sense to evacuate the building.
Brother Dai was in front of him in an instant, glaive slashing down to bisect him from head to groin. Feng’s qi roared to life, teeth bared in an uncharacteristically maddened grin as he raised a fist.
Their blows met, and the arena erupted in flames.
~~~
Thirty minutes later…
The Young Master stalked out of the building.
Feng coughed a mouthful of congealed blood through an opened cheek. A melted tooth might have followed. Or perhaps it was a lump of burnt gum. He could no longer tell.
All around him, there was an air of activity and panic. Disciples and servants rushed about the building frantically. Some were carrying buckets of water, while others were ferrying cartons of black sand and freshly unearthed soil.
Or, at least, the Young Master assumed they were. Feng could neither see nor hear them any more. His eyes were melted goo, his ear ruptured beyond easy repair.
The only reason the Young Master even knew they were there was because he could still sense their qi, but even that was a barely perceptible thing. His spiritual balance was in utter turmoil, his reserve almost completely spent. The vaulted qi senses he possessed were barely functional, but it was enough for him to navigate his surroundings as he shuffled painfully forth, skin crackling and flaking off in blackened patches.
He could also sense the hellish heat radiating around him without issue, despite having the majority of his flesh recently incinerated into shrivelled knots of charred meat. Behind him, the esteemed Sparring Halls — whose grounds held sacred duelling purpose for the Sect’s many cultivators — stood utterly engulfed in a sea of living flames. Raging behemoths of fiery monsters still battled within the tower — the fury of summons left uncontrolled — further ruining even the fireproof floors and ramparts of the building beyond repair.
The Young Master trudged away from the tower’s footsteps, moving at a leisurely pace. Perhaps he should be putting more distance between himself and the collapsing building with more urgency, but the truth was he was already moving as fast as he could.
The Young Master was missing an arm, and one of his legs was broken. Feng could barely walk, let alone run or use his movement technique.
It didn’t help that his last remaining arm was stuck dragging the mangled body of his Senior Brother behind him. Or that, clenched in his few remaining teeth, was the shattered blade-edge of the glaive that the disciple was using earlier.
Once they were of sufficient distance away from the raging fire, the Young Master released his dead-grip on the body, fingers barely responding to his will. The broken glaive clattered noisily to the ground as Feng unclenched his teeth and collapsed to his knees. He breathed heavily, the air whistling between his sliced-opened cheeks with each exhale.
The pain in his body was indescribable. Nearly every single rib in his torso was broken, every organ either ruptured or on the brink of failure. His regeneration was working overtime just to keep him alive, and even that would not last much longer as his qi reserves were dwindling rapidly by the second. His mind was screaming in agony, his brain unable to process every injury that adorned his mangled self.
Feng had not felt so alive in a very, very long time.
He tried to laugh, but the only sound that came out was another gurgling choke. He tried to blink but realised that his eyelids had already adhered themselves to the melted jelly of his eyeballs. Feng let out another cough to clear his throat, before nudging at the charred and ruined body beside him.
“If the Senior would be so kind to wake up already…” he painfully grunted.
There was a groan, before an eye peaked opened from the blackened and peeling face of Brother Dai.
“We left the building already? And here I was hoping I could take a longer nap…”
Feng chuckled, and, in the process, coughed up another bloody chunk of meat. He was rather sure that it was a piece of his lung.
“Alright then…” His Senior Brother sat up as best as he could, which was rather difficult given his two missing legs. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”
“You don’t even have limbs left, Senior Brother,” Feng pointed out.
“I’ve done it using just my teeth before.” Brother Dai shrugged, his shoulder ending in two charred stumps. “But fair enough. Go ahead, and try to cut it off in one swing. I know I made the blade sharp enough for that.”
Brother Dai bowed his head. Feng slowly stood up, the movement somehow a more agonizing hurdle than the walk before. He picked up the broken glaive with his remaining arm, noting that — true to Brother Dai’s words — the blade was still exceptionally sharp despite its repeated use earlier.
Curious, that the intensity of the flames had not even warped the edge. He would have to ask where the disciple found the steel from. This level of advanced metallurgy was beyond even the alchemists of the Sect.
As Feng raised the blade, he thought he saw a flicker at the edge of his vision — a strange thing to be sure, considering he was still blind. His not-sight turned towards the movement, and Feng flinched when he saw that wretched red-headed woman back again, her visage impossibly clear as she stood amidst a landscape of sordid blackness.
His Heart did not say anything, merely studied him with an emotionless expression. That same singular Jade eye was as beautiful and terrible as he remembered.
Feng turned away from her. He would deal with that later.
“Ready?” The Young Master asked aloud, his arm carefully positioning itself. Blind as he was, making the accurate slash might be a little difficult…
“You hardly need to ask, Junior. Now, please hurry up. I’m quite sure my heart had stopped beating about two minutes ago, and I can’t keep myself conscious much—!”
Feng did not wait for his Senior Brother to finish. The moment he judged his aim to be true, Feng brought the blade down upon Brother Dai’s neck and sliced his head clean off.
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Divine Arts, Part 1
Though the Divines are long dead, their corpses still hold many resources and secrets to be plundered by prospective cultivators. Their celestial flesh and blood hold immense cultivation value, but the true worth of the Divines lies within the Astral secrets they once wielded to weave the cosmic stars between their fingers.
These Astral abilities are known as Divine Arts — powerful and mystical techniques that transcend the ordinary cultivation paths. Unlike regular qi techniques, which an ordinary practitioner can learn through scrolls or practice, the Divine Arts are composed of qi formulas that are so complex that they cannot be understood by even the most learned of cultivators. The knowledge of these techniques cannot even be inscribed in seals, being too sophisticated for even a Master of the Sealing Arts to comprehend, let alone formulate. Those who attempted such a task would usually go mad after centuries of fruitless efforts.
The only way to obtain the knowledge of a Deity’s Divine Arts is by creating a direct spiritual connection between the practitioner and the deceased god. Through the process of Communion, whereby a disciple devours the Divine Viands of their corpse god, they may ‘learn’ the secrets of their Sect’s most esoteric techniques.
– Excerpt from To Those Worthy of the Eternal Banquet
