Chapter 186 - Final Counsel

Eric’s heart pounded with an odd mixture of trepidation and excitement as he spun around, shouting a quick warning Sam’s way before sprinting out the cave… when surprisingly, none other than Pavel stopped him.

“We have time.”

Eric blinked in surprise at this. “But I thought...”

“Time for final counsel. Time for you to regain your equilibrium as our soon-to-be guests walk the rainbow bridge from Terra to our pocket realm.” Pavel words abruptly cut off when his too-sharp eyes widened, impossibly fast hands grabbing Eric’s wrist and slowly unwinding the wrappings securing the source of his madness from the night before he had felt too embarrassed to even show Sam.

Eric felt his stomach drop with the look Pavel gave him before scowling down at the intricate crimson sigils Eric had carved into his own flesh the night before, finally catching sight of what Eric had done his best to keep hidden, even while training. Loosened attire now revealed what tightened wrappings had hid so well before.

Blood infused with essence kept Eric’s own regeneration at bay as Pavel gazed down at the intricate design incorporating the cultivator’s own exquisitely complex peripheral network. All of it depicted as if it were infinite fractals spiraling into harmonic complexity that a mental imprint alone had sizzled into Eric’s own flesh, branching around the rune for flame that had blazed in his dreams so brightly since the moment he had claimed the truth of that rune from the tiniest scrap of rice paper, the sigil circled by crimson roses surrounded by stems of airy fractal complexity.

Wind and Fire harmonized in exquisitely complex tattoos running up and down both of his arms.

A work of inspiration, an epiphanic breakthrough that now, reflected in his master’s unforgiving gaze, seemed the mark of a fool.

“Just how many half-understood arts do you dare to twist in a desperate effort to survive what’s to come?” Pavel tilted his head, his voice utterly free of mockery, even as Eric’s guts clenched in shame. “This madness your blade alone is fit for… your spirit lagging so far behind. Truly, Eric Silver, can you even say your foundation is still Pristine after blood magics and runic lore both taint your frame?”

And here alone Eric flashed a fierce smile, as amazed as Pavel was when he nodded whole heatedly and without reservation. His one consolation to the madness of his dazed act of the night before, when first glimpsed in the clear light of dawn, was that his Pristine meridian channels had suffered no taint. Perhaps because he had been binding only that which was intrinsic to himself.

He had claimed a rune that did naught but reflect the essence blazing in his soul. The triple twining of Spirit, Arcane, and Soul reserves all blessed with flame. And his own blood, of course, which could not be more a part of him than it already was. The formation of any sort of meridian plaque, he had found, would only occur when he dared to combine his arts with manipulating spirits, bodies, or forces that were not intrinsic to himself. And even then, far less plaque would formed than what Pavel seemed to fear.

“No taint whatsoever, Sifu.”

Pavel sighed, his relief so profound that Eric felt his guts clench anew with the dreadful certainty that he had come perilously close to putting all his dreams in jeopardy, avoiding doing so only thanks to an undeserved stroke of miraculous luck.

“Good. Let it remain so. If fortune favors us, you’ll have the opportunity to take advantage of their path, slipping past them just as we had planned.”

“And hopefully not have to fight anyone at all,” Eric acknowledged. “That would be best.”

Pavel nodded. “Slip free of their grip and claim your prizes, while we stand at the ready to do what must be done.” His gaze hardened. “But I would counsel you, even should combat ensue, you only use your twisted arts in the most dire of situations, lest you end up rupturing the very gift you would preserve above all else.”

Eric jerked a quick nod, turning to Sam, no longer even pretending to cultivate. “Is our surprise ready?” he asked, heart racing with either exhilaration or dread, he wasn’t sure which, for what was to come.

Sam grinned. “You’re damn right it is,” he said, patting the side of the massive revenant he had poured so much of himself into boosting and reinforcing, using arts Eric had done his best to understand mastering with chalk, study, and the groans of a mediocre student cramming for all he was worth in the four extra hours per night that Pavel needed to sleep over and above what Eric did. Because a System enhanced physique allowed him to cut so many corners, granting him extra hours to both cultivate and study forbidden arts he had absolutely no business polluting his channels with every night, as Pavel had pointed out more than once during their weeks of hyper-intensive training.

And Eric had agreed completely.

Or at the very least, he planned on holding off until he had achieved his fiercely held goal of boosting each and every one of his channels with Divine tier spirit fruit.

Which was why he had spent hours glaring and trying to master chalk diagrams, groaning when a smirking Sam made him feel like the less than perfect student he had always known himself to be, especially when he didn’t have blood-magic infused intuition allowing him to shortcut and insta-master so many lessons.

Of course, this way his meridian channels stayed in absolute pristine condition. And he was no longer interested in playing the fool, trading his life force for super-quick imprint mastery. Truths Sam had been more than happy to hammer, Eric forced to accept that he was basically the stereotypical idiot trading longevity for power that every prudent acolyte was warned not to emulate, and would no doubt have shriveled into a well-aged prune over the last half year, had his admittedly shit class not also made available the absolutely priceless ability to use experience points earned as a substitute for life force he could never get back. Or at least not outside of a certain miraculous pocket realm.

It had been a humbling experience, every night switching roles from disciple with too much to learn in too short a time, to apprentice neophyte, again, with too much to learn in too little time, where Sam, the lowest ranked cultivator among the three of them, suddenly rose in the status to revered instructor, and Eric had apologized more than once at the sacrifice the boy was making, corrupting his own channels with the residual of his necromantic arts, so that their emergency plans had a chance of working. Eric was just grateful that Pavel’s lessons were at least allowing his friend to keep that damage in check.

But as Samuel himself had put it, there were more important things than advancing as a cultivator when an enemy sect was breathing down your neck.

Namely, forging aces up their sleeves that just might give them the edge they needed to survive long enough to break out of here, should such prove necessary.

And all Eric had to do was look up at the snorting revenant tusker, radiating such potent death magics, absolutely covered in crimson sigils, with an extra deadly gift, thanks to the exceedingly foul package the original quartet of Wind cultivators had brought into this pocket realm.

A potent and terrible prize that now graced the tusks of their Greater Revenant, fused into its very essence, such that any enemy scratched by those blood-red tusks would have other things to worry about besides Eric’s ascension. And if Eric had ever wanted to see if boosting additional resistances was actually a thing in this world, beyond the basic handful that high stats alone seemed to increase… now was certainly not the time.

“Sweet as hell, isn’t he?” Sam said, beaming with obvious pride.

“He is,” Eric said, bowing to his friend. “Watching you interweave all those sigils and interlocking rituals into this masterwork was like watching an artist forge a fine steel blade. Thank you, Sam. If I actually had necromancy as a class… I think it would have dinged with a dozen level-ups by now.”

This observation earned a cheerful laugh, both of them ignoring Pavel’s look of obvious disapproval. “You’re more than welcome. And quit looking at me like I’m your second Sifu. I meant what I said, my blood runes are just overlapping your chalk outlines. This baby is as much yours as it is mine. All I did was commit the power. And if I ever wanted to bitch at the corrosion to my meridians…” he shrugged. “Not one damn necromancer ever worried about it before, and with you and Super Sifu on my side, At least I now know how to clean out the crud most of my colleagues probably don’t even realize is there.”

Samuel gave an almost pitying shake of his head. “They’ll never know the sheer visceral pleasure of feeling every limb tingle with pristine life, their hearts pounding with as much energy and strength flowing through them at eighty as I did playing varsity basketball, less than a year ago. Resetting their clocks and filling their remaining years with glorious vitality, even if they don’t actually refill the actual hourglasses of their lives. And the way Pavel’s looking at me and so carefully saying nothing… I wouldn’t be at all surprised if cultivation might actually be tacking a few years onto our hourglasses as well… even if that’s yet one more secret he’s not allowed to reveal to noobs outside his former sect.”

The young disciple of what were now seemingly contradictory arts, just like Eric, chuckled softly. “I might have paid a price, but at least I can fix the damage. And now we both know what we have to do to feel fucking awesome, even following our darker arts. And shit, Eric, you actually picked me six Greater Spirit Fruit, giving me a chance to ascend almost as absurdly high as you will.”

“Once you fully cleanse your meridians, and not a moment before then,” said Pavel with a frown. “As we agreed.”

Sam solemnly bowed his head. “Yeah, I got it. No shortcuts, like taking a smaller fruit to give me a boost at cleansing my channels, lest I end up leaving, what did you call it? Particularly sticky ossified plaque.” He had the grace to flash Eric an apologetic smile. “I know that was your original suggestion, Eric. To take one small one to give me a head start, before implanting the six choice specimens in my actual meridian gates later. But you gotta remember, Even if this realm’s giving me a Fire Qi affinity, I don’t have the actual Essence of Flame blazing through my soul like you do. So I’m going to follow my Sifu on that one.”

Eric winced and forced a smile. “And I don’t blame you one bit. My advice was flawed, at least for you. We were both just amateurs stumbling in the dark trying to figure things out before Pavel took us on as students. At least now we have an actual teacher that can tell us when were on the right track, or, like me sometimes, being complete idiots. Ha ha.”

Pavel nodded solemnly, pinning a suddenly flushing Samuel with eyes that seemed to measure the now shivering boy on scales Eric couldn’t even begin to fathom. “You do indeed benefit from a mentor who love nothing more than to see you blossom to your true potential. A mentor who would advise you to never again embrace your darker arts after this day.”

The cultivator then turned his now disapproving gaze towards their glorious, monstrous creation. “But I can’t deny that your abomination just might save our lives today, and for that, you have my respect. Even admiration for your sacrifice. Too many of our kind have died for the causes of others, or the most idealistic of notions. Even more have stalled their potential to nothing, wasting their youths in a perpetual search for the most perfect cultivation techniques, which is utter foolishness when one was born as anything but a Young Master to a resource-rich clan.

“A cultivator’s greatest duty to himself is to use whatever tools are necessary to survive and advance. Even if he lacks ideal cultivation techniques, so long as he has access to even medium quality tested techniques, he is still best served using those to ascend just as far and as fast as he can.”

Pavel gave a sad shake of his head. “Because the ugly truth that so few acknowledge is that save for truly divine techniques and the incredible few born with any hope of achieving the glories of Silver, youth always trumps perfection.”

The cave had grown so quiet that they could have heard a pin drop, Eric and Sam both gazing at Pavel’s stony expression, Eric feeling chills, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

“They know,” Eric said. “Even your sects… they know.”

Sam frowned. “How many people actually manage, well, to even hit Rank 50, the halfway mark to breaking through to Bronze?”

Pavel flashed an oddly bitter smile. “Far too few. And it is as much because of Sect policies as the actual talent of the cultivators themselves.”

The young necromancer blanched. “But wait… shit… I thought that the sects and clans and what else were formed to help people cultivate and ascend?”

Pavel gave a bitter sigh, shaking his head. “You both know I spent years researching in our clan’s library, ostensibly for scrolls on how to better my skills, but in truth, how to ascend. Among my research I came across a number of records so dry even an accountant risked death by boredom, hiding truths so ugly it was all I could do to continue the course I set for myself, tied to the sect that clothes and feeds my family. At least until now.”

A now fully kitted Eric blinked, chilled by the Pavel’s stony expression. “Okay, what was the secret? Will it help me with what I’m going to face in about ten minutes?” Eric asked while stretching and checking how well he could move in his armor.

He was more than pleased to find that a 75 Strength and master craftsmenship meant he could wear essence-infused greater beast hide, mithril hauberk, cross-quilted gambeson and Wind Beast leather wrappings about as comfortably as the average weekend athlete could wear a fifteen pound shirt of mail. Even if his armor and mithril blade weighed in at a lot closer to 600 pounds.

Pavel shook his head. “It will do nothing to help you now, save the wisdom that you must never pause long in your search for growth and illumination. Stop only for so long as it takes to cleanse your channels and master your blade and Qi abilities, and no longer, before you push yourself ever further.” He gave a bitter sigh. “In my search for the perfect technique to one day break through to Bronze, especially for a cultivator who had been forced by necessity to master skills and have the strongest possible Rank 30 foundation, I came across records deliberately hidden in the most obscure areas of the library, so well hidden that I suspect even the original masters who hid those truths away have long since forgotten their significance. For it really was nothing more than a bunch of dry statistics, the results of data analysis submitted by cultivators who, for whatever reason, are no longer with us today.”

Eric’s eyes widened at that, all his focus now on the cultivator flashing such a jaded smile, making it all too clear what had happen to those poor saps, used by their sect.

“Mysterious disappearances, which of course have absolutely no bearing on the ugly conclusions buried at the end of a particularly dull report.”

Sam frowned. “Okay, Sifu. Out with it already! What dark secrets and forbidden paths to power did those studies hold?”

Pavel sighed. “The most forbidden secret of all. The truth. For it seems that despite the constant glorification of specialized cultivation techniques, the focus on finding the absolute perfect path for every man or woman, and so many of us counseled to wait until we are deemed ready to master what will be, for us, the perfect path forward, those techniques, by themselves, have absolutely no bearing on our ability to ascend the ranks, let alone break through to Bronze.”

The chamber went utterly silent, Eric and Sam both gazing at Pavel with wide-eyed looks of incomprehension.

“But...shit! There goes the premise of every single cultivation novel I ever read,” Sam said with a chuckle, shaking his head.

Eric gazed at his Sifu for long moments. “But I’m not sure I understand. I thought finding the ideal technique would strengthen the degree of spiritual energy swirling through your meridian channels? Strengthen your degree of cultivation?”

His mentor nodded. “There are, of course, some basic premises that must be followed. Only advance to the next stage when your meridians have gotten to as close to a Pristine State as is possible. Only practice cultivation techniques aligned to your affinities. Affinities which can definitely be effected by your environment, such as both of you boys being clear Fire Qi practitioners, which is no surprise, having broken through as cultivators in a realm so saturated with Fire Qi as to include countless millions of spirit fruit blessing you with their glow over a period of months.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “The primary benefit that techniques with added complexity, or tailor made for your family grant, is an increase in the amount of spiritual energy you can hope to achieve each rank… and not by an insignificant amount. But when it comes to the most vital element of all, catalyzing the spiritual fires needed to blaze through the ranks in preparation for one’s glorious ascension to Bronze… none of that matters.”

Eric and Sam exchanged pointed looks, before turning back to their Sifu, eyes alight with a fire Eric hadn’t expected to see.

“So long as your technique incorporates your affinity, so long as you have done all you can to cleanse and stabilize your major and peripheral meridian channels, the determining factor as to whether or not it is possible for you to ever break through, whether or not your soul has the spark and fury, the sheer vitality to ascend… is how old you are and how strong was your momentum when you attempt your breakthrough to Bronze tier. A youth in his twenties, the younger the better, or an older genius who manages to blaze through White Tier Ranks in just a short handful of years. Both have kindled white-hot fires in the crucibles of their souls." Pavel flashed a bitter smile. "Of course, it is even better if the genius is young. And if one is older and benefited from far less frequent flickers of illumination, as is the case for most of us, or was forced to bank one's coals for decades, the farthest thing from a genius... then there is no hope at all."

Eric gazed at Pavel for long moments. “And those fuckers have been keeping you as a Rank 30 basic for how many years, grooming you for no role greater than baby sitting assholes like Scar?”

Pavel gave a bitter laugh. “For decades. Insisting that I wasn’t ready to ascend any further, that the time wasn’t right. And somehow it seemed that the time was never right, no matter how perfect my meridian flow, no matter how many missions I completed. And I grew increasingly suspicious it never would be. A suspicion that blossomed to bitter certainty when I discovered that every single outer disciple not born to one of the favored clans that make up our sect was also being held back from ascending past a certain rank, forever told that they just weren’t ready.”

The man sighed and squatted by their makeshift stove, eyes on the boar steaks that tasted so good with salt and spices after a long slow bake. “So many have been forbidden to ascend even beyond Rank 20, let alone all the way to the halfway mark of level 50. And even if only a small minority could actually hope to quicken the Winds within their soul to howl with the fierce storms of Bronze tier cultivation, every single one of us had paused our ascent up the latter not from lack of personal ability, but because we were instructed to by masters who expect obedience in all things.”

Pave gave a cynical snort as he plated massive steaks for all three of them and bringing it to their stone table. “Powerful masters who have already ascended, and could crush us in a heartbeat if we dared to displease them.”

Sam barked bitter laughter, for all that he was the first to dig in to the succulent meaty feast, as much a still growing young man as a cultivator, in constant need of fuel. “So, Bronze ascension is reserved for Young Masters alone, the emphasis on ‘young’ and all the common folk are allowed only to ascend to the point that they are useful, and no further.”

The young cultivator shook his head, pausing only enough to wet his throat with a water-filled stone mug as he glared out the cavern entrance, as if glaring at corruption itself. “The very people that gave you all the first stepping stones along the cultivator’s path then knock the ladder out from under you. Because they aren’t looking for powerful men and women to forge an alliance with. They are looking for devoted servants for their own favored scions.”

Pavel’s smile was all teeth as he sat down, well used to Sam’s eating habits. “It is good you understand, disciple. So heed my counsel when I say that there are far, far worse paths to take than that of the independent cultivator with but a single master to guide one forward, free of the politics, favoritism, and corruption of any one sect, no matter how scarce his knowledge may be, so long as they can grant you the most valuable gift of all.”

Eric nodded, he alone declining to eat. “Genuine interest in your ascension.”

Sam shook his head. “Damn. It seems like you guys are getting shafted almost as badly as we are.” He flashed a bitter smile at Pavel’s curious look. “We humans who once ruled Earth’s land, sea and skies, thinking our tech would lead us to a Trekkian universe of high-tech glory, are now nothing more than sorry suckers forced to play catch-up while we’re being invaded by System beasties and countless factions and clans colonizing our world. Clans made up of savvy alliances doing their best to make sure that we have access to absolutely nothing that would actually help us navigate the System or class interfaces at all.”

Pavel laughed without a trace of humor. “Why am I not surprised? It seems that Cultivation Sects and System-affiliated clans and alliances are utterly alike in their pursuit of power, most especially in their desire to emphasize their strengths by keeping those around them as weak as possible.”

Eric nodded his heartfelt agreement, his demeanor perfectly calm, though his heart raced with the sudden knowledge that invaders who bore him nothing but hostility were no longer in transit.

They had just entered the realm itself.

If they had been delayed by the gate before, they certainly weren’t now.

He chose not to rush Pavel’s words, understanding why his friend felt the need to share this, even share a final bite with Samuel, before they took the next step.

After years of dedicated service, Pavel needed to voice aloud his grievances. To justify not just to his students, but to himself, why it was okay to side with near-strangers against a clan he had served for decades.

A clan that, far from helping him to ascend, had used him mercilessly and stifled his growth after Rank 30 at every turn.

Eric held the man’s gaze for long moments. “Are you sure you want to do this, kung fu brother? If you don’t, I more than understand.”

Pavel flashed a bleak smile, finishing his Qi-infused spirit boar meat. “My hope is that your plan will work with an absolute minimum of bloodshed. Because if you think Scar, the offspring of a lesser elder was bad, he was nothing compared to the beloved descendant of the senior elder of our entire clan. It is for him that our sect would dare to pluck divine spirit fruit from under the nose of a Bronze Guardian. It is before him that even Scar would grovel. A young master that would happily see your entire planet forced to kneel in his honor, should the elders’ plans all come to fruition in the decades to come.” Pavel’s gaze pinned Eric where he stood. “Should any member of his party actually see my face, once they know that I haven’t dutifully died by Scar’s side… none of them must be allowed to leave here alive.”

Eric nodded. “I understand,” he said, having absolutely no doubt that these assholes would think nothing of cutting down Pavel’s family as punishment, should a certain ‘Young Master’ find out he was alive and helping Eric.

Sam frowned. “Best you get going, Eric. Pavel and I know our roles, if plan A doesn’t work out.”

Eric snorted. “Good. Because if we end up at plan C, we’re all truly fucked.”

Sam blinked. “We don’t even have a plan C.”

“My point exactly! So if B flops, you best get the fuck out ASAP, and hope to god we can slip past that psycho Bronze and whoever else might be gate-camping.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, that’s about it, isn’t it? Happy hunting, kung fu brother!”

Eric grinned at that, not that his friends could see, already racing through the forest as fast as his legs could take him, readying himself for what was to come. Because even if his plan worked flawlessly and he made perfect use of his Stealth skills, somehow he just knew that the sun would be setting on rivers of blood.

He could only hope it wouldn’t all be his own.

Chapter 187 - Poison Bait