Chương 16

Lodin stood alone in the dark. The only light came from the stairwell behind him, a pale glow that reached just far enough to touch the edge of the slaughter. Bodies heaped against bodies. Limbs tangled with limbs. Ichor pooled across the stone floor in shades of black and green and red, thick enough to reflect what little light there was. The smell was fouler than the sight. Rotten and sulfurous, a reek that crawled down the back of his throat and refused to fade.

A chime sounded in his mind, the Registry making a note of his deed. – MINOR DEMON TIDE SLAIN Demons Slain: 347 – Something glinted among the dead. Lodin knelt and pushed aside the carcass of a spider-thing. Its legs curled inward like a dead hand. Beneath it, half-buried in gore, lay a sphere the size of a plum. Black as pitch and cold to the touch, and faint light pulsed within it like a slow heartbeat. A demon core. He looked across the carnage. More glints caught his eye.

Dozens of them, hundreds, scattered among the fallen like dark stars in a field of meat. Lodin sighed, produced a sack from his storage ring, and set to work collecting them. - - - - Joyful Garden was an oasis in the chaos of Thousand Bridges. The establishment was an inn, restaurant, spirit beast preserve, and botanical garden in one.

The central building contained the guestrooms, and around it there were clusters of tables, each grouping an island in a sea of foliage crisscrossed by manmade rivers and gently arched footbridges, in which tame spirit beasts wandered about and grazed, the whole complex walled off from the rest of the city. They sat at a secluded table near the north wall. Yi Dian of the Divine Gale Sect occupied the seat to Lodin's left, his posture straight, his hands folded in his lap.

Kang Dae Han sat across from them both, a cup of plum wine in one hand and a half-eaten plate of pork belly steam buns before him. Lodin told them what he had found beneath the cemetery, the hidden door, the subterranean mansion and the horde of demons that had poured from the darkness. The skeletal figure who had called himself Gutou, and the technique that drained his vitality through touch alone. Dae Han set down his wine.

His weathered face had gone still, and his one good eye fixed on some point past Lodin's shoulder.

"Cadaverous," he said.

"Pale as a sheet. Drains life force through touch." He rubbed his jaw.

"The technique I recognize. Blood cultivation. One of the demonic arts. Practitioners drain the life force of others and convert it to power."

"Also known as vampiric cultivation," said Dian, his voice flat with contempt. Dae Han nodded.

"I've crossed paths with a few over the years. They tend to be discreet. The technique is said to be ah, lets call it pleasurable for the practitioner. One can get carried away with it. If a vampiric cultivator has a healthy appetite it tends to leave lots of corpses." Yi Dian stared into his tea. His thumb traced the rim of the cup, slow and absent. Something worked behind his eyes, thoughts turning over like stones in a stream. He looked up at Lodin.

"Describe that painting to me again." Lodin nodded and took his time. The dragon, serpentine and vast, the wounds that marked its body, the three figures who stood against it, small but defiant, one with a jian, one with a dao, one with a spear. Two men and a woman. Behind them, the land stretched out in careful detail. A crescent bay, mountains beyond it, and the tallest of those mountains rendered in shades of black. Elder Dian listened. His gaze never left Lodin's face.

When Lodin finished, the Elder gave a slow nod.

"Well," he said.

"I suppose I know something about that."

"What do you know?" Dian set down his tea. He folded his hands on the table before him and considered his words.

"In order for it to make sense, we have to go back to when there was no Dragon's Rest. Just this world, Huidao, a dragon called Wandering Flame, and a party of ambitious cultivators." Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"Wandering Flame was an ancient dragon. He crossed the ocean, wounded from some battle amongst his own kind, and came to recover here, on this world." Dian paused.

"At that time, a powerful and ambitious young cultivator named Jin Shenlei was betrothed to a daughter of the Imperial House. He wanted to give her a wedding gift worthy of her station. So he set his sights on the then-untamed world of Huidao. The Imperial House was already planning to build a settlement here, as its location makes it an ideal hub for maritime trade. So Jin Shenlei decided to make himself useful and claim the land in the name of his betrothed."

"Ambitious indeed," Dae Han said.

"He was. But he was not foolish enough to attempt it alone. He brought two friends, Jorin Shen and Mayari Lakan. The three of them had shared several adventures together. They are the founders of Dragon's Rest, and the heads of the three most powerful sects in the city to this day, the Divine Gale Sect, the Steel Serpent Sect and the Jade Nettle Sect." Dian picked up his tea, looked at it, and took a small sip before he continued.

"Their plan was to set sail for Huidao and dispatch whatever pirates, demons or spirit beasts they would happen to find. They were not expecting to encounter Wandering Flame. They were powerful cultivators, even all those centuries ago. But a dragon, even a wounded one, is still a most formidable being. A divine being. It cannot be killed by ordinary means." Dian's voice grew quieter.

"When they faced Wandering Flame, it is said that Jin Shenlei surprised his companions. He used a technique they didn't know he possessed. The God-Slaying Threefold Cut. A technique of the jian, which severs the Roots, Gates and Seals of a beast, demon, god or cultivator from each other." Elder Dian paused to have another sip of tea.

"The details of that battle have never been made public. What we know, we know from rumor and conjecture. But there are those who claim the technique was not executed correctly. That the Roots, Gates and Seals of Wandering Flame were not properly severed. This resulted in the death of the dragon's body and the fracture of its spirit into two, and that one half of that severed soul was cast down into hell and the other half remained here, kept in containment somewhere secure.

The free half of the soul, mad with pain and lust for revenge, is said to endure in hell even now, gathering demonic cultivators to its banner. Preparing for the day of its resurrection." Dian sat back in his chair.

"The portrait you described would suggest that this Gutou is a believer in those conjectures. Whether the belief has any basis in fact, I cannot say." He folded his hands.

"But demonic cultivators in Dragon's Rest have venerated Wandering Flame since the city's founding." Lodin leaned forward.

"Gutou said my brother was chosen. To be honored above all others, is the way he put it." The words made him grimace.

"What would that mean, to people like them?" Dian and Dae Han exchanged a glance.

"If they truly work toward the resurrection of Wandering Flame," Dian said, "Then they would require certain things. Resources, reagents. And most importantly..."

"A vessel," Dae Han finished.

"A body capable of housing a divine soul." The cold in Lodin's chest spread deeper.

"Your brother," Dian said.

"You told me he's your opposite. All of his Gates fully open, his Seals nonexistent." Lodin nodded.

"A body with no limits on its spiritual capacity." Dian's face was grim.

"No ceiling on how much power it could contain. If one were looking for a vessel to house the soul of a dragon..." The three of them sat in silence, each bearing the gravity of the thought. Lodin bore the worst of it. The weight of it bowed his head. Gutou's face hung in his mind. The corpse-smile as he sank into shadow. Your brother was chosen. To be honored above all others. The signs he should have seen, the questions he should have asked. They clawed against the inside of his skull like hungry ghosts.

Dae Han poured himself another cup of plum wine and drank it in a single swallow. Elder Dian stared into his tea, looking thoughtful. The lantern light carved deep shadows beneath his eyes.

"So, what's your next move?" Dae Han asked, as he set down his cup.

"You still haven't shown me that list of demonic cultivators," said Elder Dian. Lodin frowned and shook his head.

"You can look at it tomorrow," he said, as he got to his feet.

"I need rest. I'll find you after breakfast." Lodin left them at the table and walked the paths of Joyful Garden. The smell of night flowers hung in the air. A spirit beast that resembled a silver deer raised its head to watch him pass, its dark eyes calm and incurious. Somewhere beyond the garden walls, the noise of Thousand Bridges continued, the clatter of carts and the calls of vendors who worked through the night. Here those sounds felt distant, muted. His body had carried him through the day.

It would carry him further if he asked it to, as far as need be. But the weariness he felt now was not in his muscles. He crossed a footbridge and followed a path that wound through tall thickets of bamboo. A pond glimmered to his left, its surface broken by the slow movement of golden fish. Stone benches lined the water's edge, empty at this hour. He could have sat and watched the fish until dawn. He could have let the stillness of this place seep into him and quiet his thoughts.

But his thoughts would not be quieted. They circled back to the same place, again and again. To Gutou's loathsome smile, just before the darkness swallowed it. To Lorn's grin, under a clear sunny sky. Lodin made his way to the center of the garden, to the main structure, and reached his room. It was small and clean, a bed against one wall, a table beneath a window that looked out over a small moonlit pond. A folded letter waited on the pillow. He picked it up and opened it, recognized the sharp handwriting. Mom's.

– If you're reading this, it means you're in Dragon's Rest and you've done as I asked. The staff of Joyful Garden will treat you well, so long as you remember your manners. I'll be buying a world key and the stoutest riding drake I can find in Trondheim and setting out soon after I pen this letter. I should arrive shortly after you, but don't rest on your laurels. Use the list. I cannot tell you how much I've missed you both. We will find Lorn, and we will be together again.

Love, Mom – He read the letter twice and set it on the table beside the bed. Ten years had passed since she sent him and Lorn to train with Master Yan. Letters had come, and gifts, but not her. They were boys when they left her, and now they were men. And now she was on her way. He wasn't certain how he felt about it. The bed creaked when he lay down. Bamboo shadows moved across the ceiling, stirred by a breeze he couldn't feel. His body sank into the mattress and his muscles began the slow process of relaxation.

He'd learned something important today. Tomorrow he would learn more. He closed his eyes, and as he began to slip into a deep sleep, he hoped he would learn what he needed before there was nothing of Lorn left to save.