TDL BK I, CH 1: Betrayal

Corpses were not rare in the Suanni Desolate Fields. It was one of the  most dangerous stretches of wilderness on the titanic Continent of Azan.  Populated by daemons and filled with treasures, countless people had  died within its borders and countless more would continue to do so. The  bloody body lying in the open field was not even the only corpse within  that acre. A series of blast marks, like pockmarks in the face of the  earth. Long gashes on the ground and trees linked them. In all, there  were six bodies and soon, if nothing was done, there would be one more.

[Analysing planar laws…99%]
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[Analysing planar laws…99.8]
[Analysis Complete!]
[Initiating Handshake Protocol…]
[…]
[Access Granted!]
[Beginning system checks…]
[Examining user…]

Leaning against a large boulder was the body of a young man. The  soon-to-be corpse was still warm with blood flowing at a slow trickle  from a sword wound to the torso. Besides this and a few cuts, it  remained relatively intact. The battle that caused all this had ended  very recently and the scavengers had not had the time to gather or dig  in yet. If his bleeding was not bad enough, his shallow, whistling  breathing indicated that it would not be long before the reaper came by.  Confused and lost in a way only the newly dead could empathise, he had  already begun his journey to the great beyond.

[The user is in critical condition. Please restore basic functionality!]

The sword wounds in his torso began to show signs of activity. Something  very sharp had pierced straight through him, cutting through ribs,  organs, and muscles before exiting out his back. It would have cut his  heart in two if not for one thing. His heart was on the other side!

[The user is in critical condition. Please restore basic functionality!]

This time, the message garnered some response.

The body shuddered and woke, eyelids flying open to expose a pair of  bright amber eyes. He drew a long gasping breath, his lungs painfully  trying to fill themselves with air. The young man coughed and sputtered  for a minute but his eyes were strange and unseeing as if dazed. His  hands rose to cradle his head as if hoping that would be enough to stem  the ache that threatened to break it open once more. When he pulled them  away, he found them smeared with blood.

In a motion that was more rote muscle memory than thought, he reached  into his pouch and took out a phial. Upending it into his mouth, he  tried to make sense of where he was and what was going on. Whatever  medicine he took worked quickly. His flesh, for lack of a better phrase,  just seemed to squirm together until it was whole. Split ribs held  faster as the muscle surrounding them grew strong again and more  astonishingly, his body's vital signs began to grow stronger. A major  feat considering that just a few seconds before, he was minutes from  death.

[User's body is mending… ]

[Synchronising…]

[Synchronising… 17%]

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"The Sect Head is dead. The patriarch is beyond ancient and besides  you, we have no other candidates for succession. I kill you now and it  will all be over. There'll be no reason to hold on to our empty shell.  No fighting, no killing one another!" The man said walking closer, the  point of his sword held out in front of him.

"I wish it did not come to this. Truly, I do! While I will not ask for  your forgiveness, I do hope you understand. It is for the greater good!"

The sword was thrust through his chest, its magic blade parting his  flesh like butter. His blood, warm and bright, splattered his killer and  watered the grass at his feet.

[Synchronising… 42%]

The message pulled him out of the flashback. While the report meant  nothing to him, it was strangely in sync with his healing. The larger  the numbers grew, the more control he had over his body. The pills were  working. Slowly, thanks to his control increasing, he discovered the  stiffness and dissonance he felt fading away and normal sensation  returning. By the time, it crossed 50%, he had started to make sense of  his memories. Unfortunately for him, this meant reliving his last  moments.

Further running would do him no good. He knew that much. Maybe on a  good day, he could put up a fight but not today, not after the battle he  had just had. His adversary was fresh and more advanced. It was clear  how the battle would go.

'I practically walked into that ambush myself!' he cursed, his grip tightening on his sword. 'Am I truly that naive?'

Angry disbelieving eyes stared at his Seventh Uncle, the man about to kill him and asked, "Why?"

The man stalled. His sword point fell for a split second before rising  again. For all his power and experience, he remained on guard against  him. The boy had not only killed the others, he had also sensed the  first strike, dodging the blow that should have ended this cleanly.

The man sighed. "You might find this hard to believe but I do not want to kill you. If there was another way…"

"I helped raise you, taught you how to wield the sword, watched over you since you were knee high… if there was another way…"

He seemed genuinely sad but Dunstan took it with a heap of salt. His own protector had just tried to kill him after all.

"The sect is failing, Dunstan!" the man revealed.

"I don't understand!" he asked in confusion. The sect had been having  trouble for years. The old head had died. Enrolment rates were down.  There was a minor lack of staff as well as many other small issues that  could trouble any business. It was nothing new.

"What does that have to do with killing me?"

"EVERYTHING!" his Seventh Uncle yelled hoarsely.

"Each time we take a step back, others take one forward. We're one of  the weakest third-grade sects this side of Azan and the vultures are  circling. Some are not willing to wait till we die first. None more so  that the Nine Phantoms Sect."

Of course, it had to be the Nine Phantoms Sect. Their sect had enjoyed  the spotlight for the last few years due to finally crossing the  boundary and becoming a fourth-grade sect. All the surrounding sects had  suffered for it. Enrolment was down everywhere but there. However,  things were not so easy for them. The other sects, sensing a threat were  either moving to secure themselves or move against them. Dunstan had  been under the impression that his sect was doing the latter.

"You're selling us out?"

For some reason, this betrayal was just as painful as the fact that one  of the people he trusted most was trying to kill him. The former was  someone he trusted betraying him and the latter was that person  betraying everything they stood for and everything they loved.

"No!" the man said to him. "I'm saving us."

"A skinny elephant still has two tonnes of meat. The Phantoms want to  absorb us to help strengthen their position and they have a lot of  support on the inside. It is better we join them than let some other  party take us out. There's just one problem."

"The Sixth Preceptor!" Dunstan realised. The old man would never agree to such a thing.

"Him and the other holdouts!" his seventh uncle spat. "They've got their  heads stuck in the sect's heyday and fail to acknowledge how it's  crumbling around us. It's caused a rift in the sect. We've kept it quiet  for now but there's already talk of rebellion."

Dunstan closed his eyes unwilling to imagine it.

"You see it too. That's why I'm doing this. The holdouts think of you as  the second coming of the founder. They're betting our survival on the  fact that you've inherited his bloodline thinking you'll magically lead  us back into prominence!"

Dunstan said nothing, his will deflating. A previously unknown pressure  settled on him. He wished he could say it was the realisation of what  exactly was expected of him but it was not. His Seventh Uncle had simply  locked him in place with a special technique. The cunning man had taken  advantage of his turmoil and lapsed guard to spring a trap. He  struggled, erupting his essence in the hopes of breaking the technique  but it was already too late. The man was already an arm's length away.

"The Sect Head is dead. The patriarch is beyond ancient and besides you,  we have no other candidates for succession. I kill you now and it will  all be over. There'll be no reason to hold on to our empty shell. No  fighting, no killing one another!" The man said walking closer, taking  his time now, the point of his sword held out in front of him.

"I wish it did not come to this. Truly, I do! While I will not ask for  your forgiveness but I do hope you understand. It is for the greater  good!"

The sword was thrust through his chest, its magic blade parting his  flesh like butter. His blood, warm and bright, splattered his killer and  watered the grass at his feet.

In his last moments, Dunstan wanted to scream, to yell at his Seventh  Uncle and tell him that he was wrong. To spit in his face and say that  the Preceptor and the other grandpas would not give in. That even if he  died, others would still hold out. The sect was more than just him and  the preceptor. It was all of them. It was their pride, their joy, their  loyalty, their ambitions and their home. But in those final moments, he  realised that he could no longer say that with certainty.

If his Seventh Uncle could betray him and the sect, why couldn't others do so as well?

'NO!' he screamed mentally. He could not let it end like this.

A talisman flashed into his hand. Elder Anthony's eyes widened. At the  moment of his victory, he lapsed in his control, not completely but  enough. Identifying the high-tier talisman for what it was and knowing  he could not stop it, he tried to flee but it was already too late. With  a bloody grin, Dunstan tossed the flaring talisman at the man. The  explosion that followed was directed at his opponent but the shockwave  that followed tossed his weakened body backwards. As his head hit the  boulder, the last thing Dunstan could remember thinking was, 'At least I  took him with me.'


Uncaring of its user's mental state, the floating interface merely continued its duty.

[Synchronising… 56%]