MM - Chapter 248 - DEATH WISH

“The whole world has a death wish!” Raine’s vehement voice cut through the tension, “Even now, with so much on the line, how many of the world's greatest clans aren’t taking ZionLine seriously?” He leaned forward, gaze fixed on the old grandmaster. The intense curiosity staring back at him revealed the truth: Malakar wanted, needed, to know how much of what Vought told him about ZionLine was true.

The ancient grandmaster snorted, a flick of his wrist whipping his flowing beard to the side. “That little game is nothing more than a passing breeze. The few skirts it rustles will have no bearing on those of us who have witnessed this world turn for hundreds of years.”

Raine kept the snarl from his lips. He’s goading me. Fine. Listen up, old man.

“Game?” The word dripped from Raine’s lips, sarcasm held back by a thread. He shook his head, a slow, deliberate motion that drew his listeners in. “What game places you in a body so similar to your flesh and blood that you can’t tell the difference? What game, at every turn, pushes you against challenges that open the path to Genesis?” Nero’s eyes flew wide in response to the last word, and Orenna’s lips parted in a minute gasp. But Raine was far from done.

“What game has attributes so flawlessly executed that they perfectly instruct how to control a body post-Tempering?” His voice grew stronger with each question, his conviction solidifying into an undeniable force in the room. “What game allows its users to summon giant beasts that mimic the control of a domain avatar? What game contains all the secrets required to pass from a nobody, all the way to grandmaster, and beyond?” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. None dared draw breath, their thoughts spiraling inward at the horrific implications of millions of regular people having access to so much power.

“No,” Raine finished, his tone leaving no room for argument, “ZionLine is not a game.” He spat the word, his meaning clear: ZionLine was no passing toy; it was a dagger held against the throat of the entire world.

The blood had visibly drained from Orenna and Nero’s faces by the end of his speech. Pryce appeared steadfast, but Raine caught the tremble in his hands. Malakar, however, sat perfectly straight, his expression a stone mask. Not that Raine was trying to pierce the old man’s veil to get a peek at how he truly felt. There was no way such a blatant reading of intent would go unnoticed, and he didn’t actually have a death wish.

“No wonder he rushed us here,” Nero whispered, eyes distant as if replaying a recent memory.

Malakar moved so fast that not one of the four saw his hand slice through the air and slap Nero across the back of his head. The sharp thud echoed in the empty room while Malakar’s clipped chastisement began. “Do not allow your propriety to fade over such a simple matter.”

The dark-haired peak master nodded meekly, rubbing the smarting spot on his scalp. “My apologies. No wonder Grandmaster Vought commanded we drop everything to rush here, of all places. Still…” Nero’s gaze shifted back to Raine, skepticism warring in his eyes, “I find your words unbelievable. How can what you said be true? Who would create such a thing? And why? What good could it possibly do? More likely, such widespread access to martial secrets will cause untold deaths.”

Now it was Raine’s turn to snort, the sound sharp in the quiet suite. “You’re right. It will cause millions of deaths if we don’t work together to prevent that from happening.” He pointedly didn’t answer who was responsible. “Whether you believe it or not doesn’t matter. You’ll understand once you’re inside. Only feeling ZionLine for yourself will bring clarity; words are empty.”

With a single, almost imperceptible twitch of a finger, Malakar called for silence. All eyes swiveled from his hand up to his penetrating gaze. “Little Vought spun another tale.” The grandmaster’s voice was low and even. “A fanciful story of a boy who learned all that he knows within a game too dangerous to exist.”

Raine leaned back, toes digging into his zabuton as the tension in his shoulders eased for the first time. The ancient grandmaster’s motivations were finally clear. He had trained numerous generations in the martial path. He wanted to judge Raine’s progress for himself, to see if the methods he’d taught for so long were truly lacking compared to some game that couldn’t possibly match up to all the hype.

Raine chose each word carefully. “It's true enough. Obviously, I’ve practiced a bit on Earth, too, but not nearly as long as I did inside.”

Orenna spoke for the first time, her voice as strong and resonant as her muscled physique and posture. “You’re what, twenty? And ZionLine has been out for a few weeks. How have you trained there longer than you have out here? I’ve seen the vods, there’s no way that’s true.”

“As you know, ZionLine operates at triple time dilation,” Raine explained patiently. “Over just the last week, everyone inside has experienced three weeks of opportunities. Three times longer training not in placid sparring matches, but in life and death encounters against beasts far more powerful than themselves. But that’s just the surface layer of the time dilation. What’s still not common knowledge are the Mystic Realms. I found one that slowed time to a crawl, allowing me to train hours for every minute that passed on Earth.” He met their wide-eyed stares with a steady look. “As I said, seeing is believing. If you really want to know, then let’s go inside instead of wasting time talking out here.”

“No.” Malakar shook his head gently, grey beard swaying. “Not yet. There is another way to prove the veracity of your claims. Nero.”

The peak master stood and bowed. Then, without Raine even being able to track the movement, circled around the entire table to appear directly behind him. The peak master’s intent arrived a fraction of a second too late; hands clamped onto the scruff of Raine’s shirt and the back of his pants, jerking him into the air. Such was Nero’s precise bodily control that Raine’s flailing limbs did not so much as graze the table, sparing the tea in their cups from a single ripple.

Thankfully, Nero did not use all of his strength in the powerful over-the-shoulder throw that sent Raine hurtling across the room. With the kind of instinctive aerial control that ZionLine demanded at higher levels, he immediately grasped his trajectory. He kicked out a leg at just the right angle and with the perfect amount of force to flip himself right-side-up in mid-air. He landed smoothly on a foot and knee, sliding across the polished floor. His head whipped up to pin Nero with a furious glare.

“Second Ci-dan, Nero. He is barely a child.” Malakar’s lightly spoken command held the weight of absolute authority. Even if nobody had been around to hear, the world itself would have submitted to such an imposing will.

Ci-dan: Raine had heard the term many times in the past. It was the ranking that masters used to measure themselves against one another. It represented not only the years one had spent polishing their martial techniques, but also existed as a direct measurement of mental strength. A fifth Ci-dan would always lose to a tenth Ci-dan in a contest of mental abilities. At least, that was the common sense of their martial world. There were, as with all things, exceptions.

Nero adopted a high stance focused on speed, his arms up and at the ready. His eyes narrowed at KongRu, lip curled as he allowed a glimpse of his internal anger to show. [Barely a child? What kind of child is capable of killing Master Jedidiah?] There was no way Nero would voice such seditious thoughts aloud. He stalked forward with speed slowed to a crawl compared to moments ago.

Seeing him coming, every movement laced with the promise of violence, understanding dawned. They intended to test Raine in the only way the world’s current powers understood: the martial path. As one-sided as the decision to fight had been, he was far from opposed to the idea. He had grown significantly more powerful since facing Jedidiah. As of yet, none of his own people were able to push him hard enough to test his new limits. While not pleased about showcasing his skills in front of outsiders, it was not as if there was a choice. When it came to grandmasters like Malakar, the word ‘no’ could not exist before them.

Still, trouncing Nero while the man slowly ramped up his strength and speed didn’t appeal to Raine. He raised a hand, shaking his head. “Wait. What Ci-dan was Master Jedidiah?”

Hearing the name of his dead friend, Nero growled low. His expression schooled before glancing back at Malakar, who nodded faintly. Nero was scowling again by the time his eyes drilled into KongRu. “Officially, Master Jedidiah was of the eleventh Ci-dan. However, his advancement, in a sense, was crippled. He delayed many temperings, passing the opportunity off to others while continuing to cultivate his internal force. He was a great man. A patriot. And a friend.”

Raine’s brow furrowed, his thoughts whirling. Cultivating internal force? He says that like ‘internal force’ means more than just disabling mental limiters to reach the peak of physical strength. Could internal force be what I always call mental strength? That makes the most sense. Cultivating internal force: I like it.

In the past, Torune maintained a deathgrip on Raine’s knowledge; anyone who dared so much as whisper to him about the matters of masters was severely punished. The truths behind Internal force, Ci-dan, and what lay beyond, Ei-dan, were topics reserved for those who reached Genesis. To have such an open conversation, where the nomenclature was readily revealed, made his heart race.

Hold on, Jedidiah delayed temperings, which affected his Ci-dan?

A sudden realization struck. There was a hidden truth behind a master’s Ci-dan: it not only measured time spent learning martial techniques and developing internal force, but most importantly of all, Ci-dan measured the number of temperings one had undergone. So, if Jedidiah was eleventh Ci-dan, it meant he had been through the tempering process the same number of times. So far, Raine had only been through two temperings, though the second had been a critical success, whatever that meant.

Bowing over his cupped fists, Raine allowed his honest respect to shine through his intent. “I was too weak, and Master Jedidiah too powerful; I had no room to hold back. Had I not given my all, he would have been the one to kill me.” Maintaining the bow, he missed the approval shining in each of their eyes. A warrior meeting his end with honor, and against an opponent who valued that honor, was the wish of any true martial.

Rising, Raine faced Nero once more. “Please, begin at the eleventh Ci-dan.” There were too many gaps in his current knowledge, and the first step in addressing them was to see how far he had come.

A single, deliberate stroke of Malakar’s beard signaled his approval. “So be it.”

Nero cracked his neck in both directions, then rolled his shoulders, voice menacing. “I said that Master Jedidiah was technically, eleventh Ci-dan. He often neglected technique training in favor of sharpening his internal force. Allow me to educate you on what a true tenth Ci-dan can do.”

Raine’s pulse spiked anew, and the pleasant rush of adrenaline swarmed through his blood. “Gladly.” A sinister grin spread unbidden across his lips as he dropped into a lower stance that favored power and directional diversity.

With matching shouts, they kicked off the floor, bodies clashing in a flurry of super-human strength.