The Third Realm - Chapter 25 preview

Wu Ying drifted down a little and forwards, letting the wind carry him to the edge of the encampment and then a little further. As he chose to move, the spirits of the horses that had obscured his image rode upwards, rejoining Ogdai high above.

To his surprise, as he passed the outer boundaries, he felt a slight prickling of his aura. Then, a stronger defense appeared behind him as ghostly stone turtles moved towards embedded flags, empowering the last failsafe defense of the tribe.

“That won’t hold…” Wu Ying muttered to himself. Even empowered by the living stone turtles behind it, the spiritual barrier would fail. Even so, it was impressive looking, the pale blue dome that was formed in the image of the creature’s shell.

The cantering of the horse approaching drew his attention back, Wu Ying’s lips peeling upwards in a slight, agreeable smile. He kept his hands away from his sword, as he floated on the wind and Mahah arrived.

“Who are you, southerner? Why do you stand with the filthy Sakhait? Have they allied with our enemies and betrayed the great steppes?” Mahah snarled, pulling her horse to a stop.

“Nothing of the sort. I’m an involuntary guest for the moment,” Wu Ying said, his smile still on his lips. “I am Long Wu Ying, a mere wandering gatherer.”

“Then stand aside, Cultivator Long. You owe these people nothing,” Mahah said. “I will not take much, just a few women and some gold. Maybe a few lives, if they dare shoot at me.” The look she gave to the crowd of elders and women who had gathered at the edges of the shielding was highly dismissive.

“Don’t believe her! She’s here to take revenge for the death of her son,” Narangerel shouted, her voice trembling with fear. “She won’t just take a few. She wants blood. That’s all the Borjigin ever want.” Then, a beat as she added. “Don’t think that Khan Erdene will not act if you go too far!”

“Let her! She will face the wrath of our Khan and understand her storm is nothing to his own,” Mahah snapped. Her eyes burning, the initial politeness having faded away after the accusation, she kicked her horse to push it closer to Wu Ying. “Now, stand aside, southerner!”

“It’s Cultivator Long,” Wu Ying murmured in gentle rebuke. “And I fear, I cannot. I gave my word that I would safeguard those behind me.” He tilted his head to the side. “Whatever grudges you might have, let it be for this day. There is no need for more blood to be spilled.”

Rather than bandy further words with Wu Ying, she kicked the sides of her horse. The creature started trotting even as Mahah raised her bow, her lips moving as she chanted a spell.

Instinct twinged and as the arrow was loosed, Wu Ying called forth the winds. They pushed the arrow aside, the missile flying with such speed it passed within cun of Wu Ying’s own swaying form before it struck the dome behind, releasing a ball of cloying mist that hissed as it struck the dome.

“Dangerous…” Wu Ying muttered as he kept the wind blowing in random patterns before him. He too drifted from side-to-side as more arrows crossed the distance with a sharp hiss even as a cloying mist rose from the ground, masking distance, vision and sound.

Wu Ying’s drew his weapon, holding it down by his side as he waited. Muffled hoofs, as Mahah rode not in a straight line but pivoted around him, taking the opportunity to pepper him with arrows. None reached him, his wind diverting their path long before they reached the cultivator.

Eventually, growing frustrated at the ineffectiveness of her tactics, the arrows stopped flying. Core Formation cultivators they might be, but the only opportunity one had to injure another of the same tier was to empower your attacks further.

Sometimes, it seemed that no matter how high the mountain one climbed, another mountain just as steep rose up ahead oneself on the climb to immortality. Hundreds of Body Cleansing cultivators might be nothing, yet still, the same amount of effort, of danger repeated when one was forced to fight another Core Formation cultivator.

It might make a man despair. Probably had, if Wu Ying was truthful to himself. That no matter how far one travelled, the journey still stretched. Onwards and onwards, without end till one reached the Heavens. And perhaps not even then?

The gods certainly were not saying.

Movement in the mist. Wu Ying let his body turn in the direction, twisting in the wind. Then he kept turning, whipping around entirely as Mahah attempted to sneak up on him, her curved sabre crashing down on him as she rode close, her body reforming entirely in the mist to lend weight.

Wu Ying’s jian rose and thrust upwards, taking the full force of the blow on the lower end of his guard. He could not stop-thrust at her face, the angle was all wrong even if he was floating in the air. Instead, he absorbed the energy of her attack by allowing his body to float away, detaching his weapon away from her as he spun aside and cut downwards, unleashing a Dragon’s Breath attack. In the attack, he imbued a little of his dao, a little of his killing intent.

It tore into her already dissipating body, seeming to clash with the remnants of the armour that she wore before tearing through. Misty trails parted from her body and Mahah let out a startled gasp, even as she finished disappearing into the mist again.

Wu Ying’s senses spread out further, spiritual senses clouded. It was not that he could not sense her – but that she was everywhere in the mist. Her chi, her aura permeated the mist entirely, hiding the concentration was that her being. Unless she was the mist itself…

No.

That would be too much, too strong for someone at their level. Perhaps if she ascended to the Nascent Soul stage, where immortal soul and body became to merge with the dao of the soul itself, then perhaps. For now, these were but tricks; methods to deceive.

Another movement, another cutting attempt. She rode past him, slicing upwards and he tucked his body close, raising his feet to his chest as he floated upwards. The attack ripped at him, the humming weapon in her hand missing by inches.

Then, as she slowed, he felt it. A tugging at his body, as the mist gripped at his form and yanked him down. Mist and wind fought, but so caught out was he that he was pulled downwards before he stabilized. His attention on the ghostly hands gripping him, Wu Ying never realized there was still one more trick to be played.

Rearing up on its front-legs, the horse kicked backwards. Surprise, then impact. Crushing impact, striking Wu Ying in the chest, in the shoulder as shod hooves sent him flying backwards, torn free from ghostly hands.

Coughing hard, Wu Ying rolled and rolled before coming to his feet. The horse neighed and a derisive laugh rose from all around him in the mist.

“Teaches me for taking her lightly,” Wu Ying cursed, his chest throbbing, ribs protesting from the assault. Right shoulder injured, the movement in his arm sluggish as it lay stunned. He switched grips, transferring the sword to his left hand. He was no ambidextrous hero of lore, able to fight with left nearly as well as right. But years of practice to ensure he was balanced out meant he could do well enough.

“Enough with this mist.” Echoing words with intent, he pushed outwards with his own aura even as the wind rose, from breeze to gale.

Unnatural spiritual pressure, keeping it held together was torn apart as Wu Ying imbued the full killing intent of his weapon into his own aura. Blade intent tore at his opponent’s aura and she fell backwards, spirit bleeding. The edges of her mist were plucked apart by the wind, torn from her control as Mahah was forced to contain and strengthen the aura around herself or be cut apart.

“You wish to fight? Then let us do so,” Wu Ying raised the blade to his forehead, offering her a curt salute. Dust and leaves, grass clippings and even the manure from nearby fields began to clog the air. As he brought his hand down, the wind died with it.

“A wind dao. You might think yourself unique, but we know the wind here;” Mahah taunted. “It comes, it goes, but it has no edge.”

Wu Ying smirked in answer and stalked forward. As he did so, he rose a little in the air with each step, the air beneath his feet firming. When his head was at the same height as Mahah, who was busy conjuring a series of small misty orbs, he stopped rising.

A half-dozen steps away, Wu Ying unleashed his killing intent. They might play at war, doing battle and raiding one another, but he had fought the dark sect and in a real war. He had seen thousands fall, listened to the screams and cries of the injured, watched as life slowly bled away or was robbed in delirious fevers. A blood wind rose, pushing Wu Ying forward with each step and Mahah’s mare, trained and raised alongside her as it might be, reacted. Just like any other beast, it backed away in instinctive fear.

Her preparations foiled a little, Mahah had no time to release the orbs that floated alongside her. Wu Ying’s blade sought her chest and only a desperate parry pushed the tip away from her heart. Instead, the jian sunk into a meaty and then misty shoulder, ripping outwards in a spray of white smoke as Wu Ying spun.

Normally, he would take her back; staying close but he was wary of the horse now and it’s feet. Instead he lashed out, staying to her off-hand side as he cut at leg and then, slipping around defending dao, thrust upwards at torso.

Again, his blade sunk into misty torso. Before he could extract it, an orb came flashing towards Wu Ying. He ducked its attempt at striking his face directly, but the ball of mist exploded nonetheless near him. That explosion was sufficient to throw him away, the expansion of air and… acid?

Hissing, he called the wind to himself, the breeze tugging at the stubbornly clinging liquid before it dispersed, leaving his clothing holey and the side of his face red and pock marked.

More misty orbs flew towards Wu Ying and he dodged the attacks, eyes narrowing as he threw a series of energetic blade strikes. Each strike that struck the orbs of mist caused them to erupt, spilling their contents across a dozen feet before his own wind dispersed it. Grass, blackened and bubbling from the acid died beneath each attack, even as the acid was dispersed into the sky.

A dozen orbs, and then her attack stopped, leaving Wu Ying to stare at the woman. Her shoulder and torso wound smoked, little trails of mist floating from the wound as Wu Ying watched, Mahan breathing hard from the exertion of her attack.

“You cannot win,” Wu Ying said, calmly. “Your surprise was learnt of, early. The shielding will hold, even if you tried to escape within. Your friends do battle, but it seems like that battle, like this one will take a while. And as for the men you brought along…” The wind whispered and he shrugged. “Well, that seems to be going even less well.”

Mahah snarled, the arm around her stomach moving away. A little more mist leaked before it trailed to a stop, as she raised her dao. “I am no coward southerner. This fight is not finished. Not yet. I will have vengeance for my xyy(10).”

Wu Ying sighed in disappointment. Kicking her beast into a gallop, Mahah let out a shrill, throat-filled yell.

***

Another dozen passes, and no true winner. After realizing the extent that this entire thing was ritualized, after noting how much the others held-back; Wu Ying did too as well. On top of that, of course, was the concern of actually killing someone and the resulting vendetta that might grow from it. After all, he had no clan to offer surety and cry vengeance for his loss.

In the end, streaming tiny wisps of mist, Mahah was forced to retreat when Ogdai returned, preceeding his newfound attention on their fight with a single, dark arrow that plunged into the earth beside the woman. It hummed as it lay in the ground, swirling spirits arising from it and spooking Mahah’s horse. Rather than fight it, she left with curses trailing after her fleeing figure.

In a short while, Daginaa returned too; a grim smile on his face while the silvery metal around his body flaked away in the wind. Beneath, deep bruises ran down arms and along his neck. When he spoke next, his voice was damaged and raspy. “Taught them a lesson, we did.”

“And yet, none of the elders were killed. Or badly injured;” Wu Ying said. “Ogdai even stopped when his opponent ran out of energy to conjure his arrows anymore.”

“Are you upset at the lack of death, Cultivator Long?” Daginaa said, a trace of a sneer appearing in his voice.

“No,” Wu Ying said. “I would prefer none die.” His lips curled up a little, in wry distaste as he added. “But that wasn’t to be, now was it?”

In the distance, he could still sense them. Tribesmen ferrying the limp corpses of their friends, aiding the injured back to the village. Two dead, another three injured badly enough that they would likely be useless for anything but light work for a month at least.

“Ah, of course. The Southerner disapproves of our methods,” Daginaa said. “You think we’re barbarians, for our fighting. For our blood feuds. You think we should just treat like you people, sending envoys and pieces of paper with lies written bold. Promises of peace that will be broken when it’s convenient?”

“Unfair. I said nothing of the sort. But I cannot say I enjoy violence for the sake of violence,” Wu Ying said.

“You think this is what it is?” Another voice this time, from behind Wu Ying. To his surprise, it was the third elder, Ganbold, the third member of their tribal council. The one who was but a middling Energy Storage cultivator.

“If not, please enlighten me,” Wu Ying replied.

“It is violence to train our men. Theirs. It is to keep the blade sharp, to hone our warriors and allow them to grow.”

Wu Ying nodded, having realized that bit. But… “Why? There are other ways. Tournaments and competitions, sparring.”

“Other ways, certainly. Yet, the edge would not be as fine.” The old man sighed, his head turning to where the tribesmen were still on their way back. “Yet, you are right. It is wasteful. It is inefficient. And if we had the time, the place and peace to grow; perhaps we would take up some of your softer methods. We used to, once.

“Then, your armies came north. Your envoys provided herbs and weapons to one clan, the another. Goading them with dreams of conquest and dominion over one another. And when both sides had been sufficiently weakened, you came. With your armies and your sects to take our land.”

“Not my kingdom,” Wu Ying said, defensively.

“All you southerners are the same to us,” Daginaa said, savagely. “Just like we are, to you.”

“Daginaa!” Ogdai snapped, guiding his spirit horse to put himself in front of the other man. He glared at his friend, his voice dropping lower. “Stow your bow. You lash out at the wrong person.”

Daginaa lips curled and then he turned his head, spitting at the ground pointedly before stalking away. Wu Ying frowned, watching the elder leave.

“Daginaa might have said it impoliticly, but in the end, he is not wrong. Many see you as just another of those who have attacked us, pitted us against each other. And if we have to train our sons and daughters in a way that sees some die, it is necessary too. For we never know when another army might come, and all of us will be required to see them off.” Ganbold’s voice held a deep weariness in it. Hidden beneath the exhaustion though was a trace of longing, as though he wished for a world that was not as harsh.

“I… see.” Wu Ying paused, closing his eyes for a moment. He did not know what else he could say, about the reality of the worlds they had lived, how their culture, their worlds had changed because of the southern kingdom’s strategies.

Then again… “And the raids conducted on the south? The peasants killed, the herds and goods stolen? Is that just retaliation? Or part of all this…?” He waved a hand around.

To his surprise, Ganbold grinned. “Well, that might have been done in good fun. Taking a few books, a few women, a few head of cattle from rich southerners who can afford it, it’s not that much of a thing, is it?”

“Not to you perhaps, but for the peasants so affected? I think they might argue.”

Ganbold nodded. “So be it. Perhaps there is pain enough to go around.”

Silence fell over the trio, before Ogdai, seeming uncomfortable with it suddenly spoke up, almost making Wu Ying jump.

“Congratulations anyway, Cultivator Long! On your closed door success. We must celebrate it tonight.” Eyes crinkling a little, Ogdai added as he watched Wu Ying look uncomfortable at that insinuation. “It’ll be good to have something else to celebrate other than the battle.”

And with that kind of lead-in, how could Wu Ying reject the suggestion.

Footnote:

10 - Xyy – son in Mongol.