The Fourth Fall - Chapter 40 preview

Violence was an inevitability the moment the Wei’s treachery had become apparent. That so many lives had been wasted on the attack before just to test the Shen spoke of opponents who valued little but their own objectives. Any impediment was but an obstacle to be removed, even if said impediment might be a relative or something more illusory - like honor.

The only question in Wu Ying’s mind, in the mind of those watching, was how it would begin. The Shen and the Wei loyalists were on a timer. Who knew what kind of treachery occurred in the Wei’s spiritual instrument, among the ranks of the loyal as armies were marched towards the Shen? The pagoda sat, shield down and the building, grounded and vulnerable. Even now, the vanguard of the Cai looked to add a spirit instrument to their spoils.

Always, it was going to be violence. Yet, perhaps none were more surprised when it arrived from that most retiring of Nascent Soul cultivators, the one least suited to direct battle.

Patriarch Yi Lai knew better than to face his opponents in direct combat. Yet, violence had always been a possibility - and the Cai and Wei had made a mistake in having him join in the placement of the formations. They had trusted that no traps would be laid - and none had been.

Not directly.

All formations were but changes in the flow of chi, a twisting of the Dao of the world. An empowerment of aspects and a diminishment of others. Such actions had consequences, were delicate adjustments in the flow of reality. Like a river held back by a dam of sticks and mud, environmental chi was diverted by the placement of empowered flags powdered with spirit cores and imbued with dao and an understanding of the greater truths of reality.

For an expert, for one who had guided and studied the placement of such flags, it was a matter of extracting a single stick. A small break in a dam that held back the river of chi. A river that gushed out of the weakened spot, breaking through to sweep aside other flags, to widen the gap and flow through the newly created breach.

For an expert, it required a single pulse of power.

Patriarch Yi’s decisiveness caught them all by surprise. Even the King who had been blocking off both the Sect Head and Wu Ying never had time to stop the thrust of dao and chi. Four flags, set throughout the surroundings were torn apart, their shielding destroyed. Energy held at bay or directed along specific routes surged through new gaps.

Burgeoning trouble, but retaliation was faster.

The attack by King Cai was swift, an imbuement of his understanding of the dao, a curved blade wrapped in the brush that he cast at Patriarch Yi. The old man flew backwards, glittering talismans formed and breaking before his chest as the attack forced him away, bowling over attendants and guards as he was forced out of the tent.

At the same moment, the subtle game of daos clashing ended. The King slammed his immortal spirit upon the cultivators around, without care or subtlety. Even his allies staggered, forced to weather the sudden attack without aid.

Reflexively, Sect Head Yan and the Second General of the Shen blocked the attacks with their own immortal spirit, dispersing the spiritual attack a little. Even so, attendants and guards below the Core Formation level buckled. Many collapsed, a few of the weakest or those at the edges of the defense fainted. Others threw up as their spirits were assaulted.

Fractions of a second behind the King and the Patriarch, cultivators reacted as they weathered the initial assault. Swords were drawn, blade and killing intent filling the air such that mortal fabric and furniture shattered under the combined spiritual weight of dozens. The unlucky fell, throats cut and livers stabbed, the Wei battling one another as traitor turned on loyalists. The Three Swords drew and cut, laying waste to those around as Yin Xue ducked beneath a seeking dao, his eye and arm transformed.

Princes reached for their escape talisman, intent on leaving, sweat beading their faces.

A half dozen attendants and mortals died in those first moments..

Chaos.

And that was before Wu Ying and the winds took the tent apart. Winds rushed in, striking at the Cai and throwing them and those on the Wei side away, the full force of a typhoon coming to bear within moments. The wind cultivator was no defensive specialist, no cultivator who could protect the others with the weight of his immortal soul. His strength was in his body, in the winds that bent and twisted and blew.

So he used it.

Killing intent infused the cutting winds of the north, the explosive and powerful gales of the east. Sharpened edges of the jian, piercing defenses and auras tore into his opponents, leaving trails of blood and limbs behind. The tent itself was ripped away, destroyed furniture scraps turned into weapons against the Cai. All across the plains, soldiers hiding behind formations found themselves struck by winds that found them under their protections.

Scores died, their defenses - bought, readied, prepared – inadequate to the wrath of the winds.

The butcher’s bill began to climb, as bodies and corpses were flung from the hill.

Then, the winds faded.

Immortal soul of dominance and rule, of conquest and tyranny turned its attention to Wu Ying and his element. It constrained his control and the gale slowed. Like Wu Ying, Meng Dai was best on the offence, in opposition to another. His dao required an opponent to shine; and he struck with ferocity.

In the air between the Nascent Soul-level cultivators, the world began to warp.  Chi escaped, transforming from type to type, releasing gouts of heat and cold, shards of ice and metal and conjured earth forming in the air. A piercing whistle, heavenly chimes and the ominous striking of an unseen drum shook the earth, even as the scent of rotten meat and old blood filled the air. The consequence of clashing daos and chi hurled cultivators away, many needing no encouragement to retreat from the burgeoning storm.

“Kill them!”

The order by the King was superfluous, but for the sonic attack that he imbued these words with. A few careless cultivators who had not shrouded themselves staggered, ears bleeding. One, a mortal attendant of the First Prince was so unguarded, his head exploded and showered those nearby with skull shards, flesh and brain matter.

“We must get them out!” the Sect Head snarled, surging to his feet and with a pair of short staves in his hand. He used those to deflect the occasional attack coming at them, the staves themselves filled with flickering lightning and surrounded by dancing clouds that gathered around the tips.

No need to ask which them he meant, for the other cultivators had gathered around and were attempting to draw the Princes back. Fa Yuan had a hand on the First Prince, dragging him away as the Sixth General shielded him. The Third General had chosen to take the fight to the Wei directly, exploding from her seat and dragging a pair of Ministers and Sect Elders with her. The cavalry officer, the other Nascent Soul on their side was intent on ending the battle, targeting the weaker members of the Cai.

At the same time, the Three Swords of Iron Gate had formed with Yin Xue in a turn most surprising, the clash of blades as they guarded one another and struck out interspersed by the sudden surge of demonic chi and the clinging flames around a demonic arm. His eye glowed, and more than one cultivator, attempting to rush towards them found their feet tripped as clawed hands rose from the earth and tore at cloth shoes and bound trousers.

Demons, rising from the hells, all too briefly before returning to the earth under the command of the eye wielded by Yin Xue. Chaos, as guards and ministers turned against one another; traitors and loyalists spilling blood in equal measure, the Wei seeking to end their fight quickly.

Chaos.

The Shen were more coordinated. They had no traitors in their midst, no individuals suddenly struck with pangs of conscience or sought opportunity. They worked together, attempting to extract their charges, charges whose hidden armor and enchanted robes glowed and deflected attacks even as escape charms failed, one after the other.

“Elder Long!” The words were barked out, an order that was laced with implicit meaning as it emerged from the Sect Elder’s voice.

Wu Ying took the command to heart. He was already moving, Ren in hand. The first attack, the Dragon unsheathes its Claws came with focused sword intent and blade energy comining with the empowered wind and his dao. It tore through the earth beneath and bisected the guardian soldier that threw themselves in the way as easily as it parted the air before it.

A fool’s move, for when it struck the turned arm of Cai Meng Dai, the armored bracelet flared to life and the protective casement of energy cracked. In a flicker of will and movement, Wu Ying reformed behind the King, utilizing the full extent of his dao and wind body to reappear behind the man. The extension of his hand, the lunge he powered through his legs was but a final extension of the killing move.

An assassin’s technique, to attack from behind when his opponent was focused ahead. Another might feel that such action was dishonorable, but Wu Ying had fought in enough wars, had a clear enough grasp of his opponent to understand that a standup fight would result in only more death.

Better, to finish this fast.

He threw everything that he had into that single attack. The speed of the wind, the accumulated strength of his Core, his understanding of the blade and his nascent dao of formless energy and dispersal. Combined with Ren’s own dao of sharpness, the attack sung and reality itself shuddered.

A full lunge, ended.

Instead of a blade piercing a body, Wu Ying found himself blocked.

Ren turned aside, the massive war dao that his opponent wielded managing to intersperse itself. The attack was not without some result - blood ran down the side of Meng Dai’s neck, just above his gorget. The decapitating maneuver foiled by battle hardened reactions and a dao that commanded space itself to bend. Before Wu Ying could recover, his blade was forced back as the dao cut at him.

In moments, Wu Ying was on the defensive. The pair flowed over tent pegs and flapping ropes, Wu Ying borrowing the wind to retreat and reset himself even as his opponent charged and swung his massive dao. Those behind the wind cultivator were either dodged, the wind flowing around them, or cast aside. Those blocking the way of King Cai were smashed aside roughly or crushed beneath that domineering aura.

Flying backwards, blocking the furious attacks of the dao; Wu Ying could not reset himself. Every attempt at placing his feet, of grounding his balance was thwarted as he retreated, platforms of air shattered, his very control of the wind compromised.

His opponent was fast. Too fast for a mere Nascent Soul immortal. No one, not even the Sect Head should have been able to catch him, not when the wind itself was his element, what he was.

Something was wrong, and he could not understand it.

Outside now, in the air, grass sliding beneath cloth feet. Open air, the very earth torn open or exploded. Death and bodies, flying through the sky, the smell of blood and soil filling the air, the chime of metal and flashes of colour as clashing blades and opposing auras tore open hill and land.

Death, all around.

In the middle of the dance of blades, the winds whispered tales of the world around.

From the north, traces metal and sword oil, the march of booted feet as an army approached. Moving quickly, intent on joining this battle, though they were still a day away.

From the east, approaching from their guarded fort, the vanguard of the Cai, the score of Core Formation cultivators who charged the Verdant Green Water’s pagoda. Focused energy of a bagua mirror turned on them from the top of the pagoda, the attack that would have torn down a city’s walls breaking against the combined auras of the vanguard. Behind them, the fort smoked; the Patriarch of Eight Stanza’s opening move having torn a hole through the building as the unleashed energies of the formation acted upon the one thing that could not dodge such a cumbersome attack.

In the west, desperate defenders were busy raising the pagoda’s shields and protective formations. Already, the earth was dying, clouds gathering high above as water was drawn from the earth itself. The formations were at their weakest for the spirit instrument drew upon water and earth chi, and water chi was scarce.

South, the smell of blood and the clash of steel. Screams of betrayal and the cries of the wounded and dying. Fading now, as the battle for the Wei’s own fortress ended.

And finally, the central wind had much to say about his opponent. Whispered secrets that it learnt.

Not that it had time to finish, as the winds of the heavens and hells demanded to be heard. Demanded Wu Ying act on all their behalf, to make it known that this one; who had dared challenge the greater order as imposed by those above; be suitably punished.

The winds spoke to their friend, their brother, their ally.

Even as Meng Dai took hold of the winds themselves and demanded obedience, slowing the fleeing Wu Ying.

Already a li away in the space of a breath. Under the heavens, they fought.

Shards of killing intent and dao energy tore his robes apart, even the barest hint of blade aura stripping away the silk robes to reveal his armor. Resplendent green scale armor, fit to his body like a sleeve. Armor he had once acquired for services rendered under the oceans.

Armor whose scales were beginning to fray.

The dao dominated, each block, each parry resounded through the air, tore away cloth and shook scales. Meng Dai was not a better swordsman. He had not the Soul of the dao, though he had acquired the Heart of it. Where the jian was a gentleman’s weapon, his opponent’s sabre only sought blood. All straightforward attacks and dominance, cuts and aggression that required only one thing - that their opponent submit and perish.

He was not better, but he was Wu Ying’s equal in the blade. Meng Dai had slowed, for Wu Ying was actively combating his influence on his wind. The pressure of the king’s dao encompassed everything, slowed his body, his defenses, even blunted Ren’s edge.

Meng Dai’s dao should not have been able to do this, to exert such control as a mere Nascent Soul cultivator.

It should not... but it was.

“You understand now!” Laughter, almost maniacal punctuated his words and the cuts he threw. They flew backwards, around, spinning through the surroundings in circles that rose in the air. Mortal soldiers, scrambling below, low-level cultivators doing battle in the cooking area, in the stables and the gathering stores, blasted aside and slain indiscriminately as the conflict extended.

“Understand what?” Wu Ying panted out, blocking a high cut, twisting his wrist to throw an attack at his opponent’s open faced helm.

“That you cannot win!” Meng Dai ignored the strike, bending his head, allowing the attack to glance off the armored helmet. Wu Ying’s blade shrieked as it contacted the metal, a sliver of metal peeling loose. That caused Meng Dai to lose its battle craze, envy filling his voice. “Good sword!”

“You’ll see how good it is, when I sheathe it in your chest.” Posturing, because the moment gave Wu Ying time to reset his stance at last. They stood now, hovering over the surroundings. Below, the Shen and Wei fought together in the cooking pits against the Cai. No surprise, that the lowest members of the Wei had not been informed of the coming treachery.

Further afield, soldiers launched attacks at the distant pagoda and armies readied cannons and artillery and formation flags burst activated, twisting space and chi. The Cai vanguard, too close to be bypassed, blocked the entrance to the pagoda for the Shen members fleeing.

Royal personages caught in the open. Wings of the army turning aside, arcing to attack the survivors that tried to retreat. Behind, a battle between Nascent Soul cultivators in the original meeting place, as cloud and shadows and blowing horns of cavalry and a captain of the guard clashed.

Leaving the Shen princes vulnerable though not unarmed.

Then, no more time to take in individual impressions.

A low-line block sent Wu Ying into the air further, dao rising into jian and forcing the wind cultivator aloft.

Below, a troop of masked men, chike or just soldiers trained in some of the arts riding forth from a depression in the ground. Shedding disguises as they came forwards, only for the Fourth Prince to raise a hand, a foo dog inscribed on precious jade. The creature shot out of his fingers, pulling itself free of the jade and causing the artifact to shatter as the creature made of twisted light and earth chi landed amongst the assassins. A head dipped, caught a torso and twisted, legs and torso separating and splattering its friends. Then, it rampaged.

Down, Wu Ying came. The Dragon’s Truth aided by gravity and the wind. His attack, cast aside as his opponent cut upwards, the world trembling as the pair of techniques combined. A clap by a giant, a spark to light a city aflame.

The princes kept running, a pair of guards holding shields keeping an eye on the tent they had escaped from. The shields were already active, a protective convex glitter of flowing water and metal energy coursing upwards, drawing from the embedded spirit stones to stave off transcendent dao and coursing chi.

Freezing in place, legs bunching up against a platform of air. Recovering his stance, standing sideways in air, only to be forced to block an overpowering cut that tore through the sky and revealed the starless night above for a brief moment. The Dragon’s Rest took the energy, let it be imparted through the body to send another thunderclap of released energy out behind the fighting cultivators. In the distance, trees fell and mortal beasts staggered, ears bleeding.

The tent itself was a mess of impressions, so many competing daos, vying chi flows and overflowing killing intent that even Wu Ying could not grasp anything more than flickers of intent and activity.

The Guerilla General of the Cai flowing around and across the Rock of the Wei; the larger man actually forced backward against the very principles of his dao. That was the tyranny of cultivation levels, the sheer force exerted by the other as cuts blossomed across his body and around his armor. Yet, to give the man his due, it was only three steps - and he survived the attack, bloody and pained though his visage might be.

At the same time, the Patriarch of the Six Jade Gates was locked in battle with his counterpart, Shu Ren beating against the flailing mace and striking back with his own sticks. Slowly, slowly, winning that battle.

Fa Yuan, his sister, commanding the lesser cultivators, guiding them into battle while utilising her own sword at the front lines. She worked with the attendants, the guards and soldiers, reforming them on the hill below as the combined forces of the Wei and Cai charged them. Attempting to extract the cultivators before they were swamped. Holding the shivering chi and the wash of power from clashing Nascent Soul cultivators at bay by balancing the two battles against on another.

Desperate times for his people.

Cai Meng Dai grinned wide, retreating after their latest clash. His eyes glittered with bloodlust and the joy of battle joined. Even now, he flexed his dao and the chi that spread across the surroundings, turning the battle in subtle and direct ways against the combined forces.

“You’re good. Very good, boy. Too bad your cultivation level is too low to make your words reality.”

Eyes widened as understanding began to dawn.

Too late.

Rings on the fingers activating, understanding imposed upon the world as chi flooded the attack. The saber swung and this time, the Dragon’s Rest could not stop it. The wind was crushed beneath his feet, and the scales of his armor was compressed as the wind cultivator was cast into the distance, blood exploding from his mouth.

Then, the victorious king turned, aiming for the struggling cultivators in the tent.