Chương 18

Sunlight filtered through the bamboo and fell in stripes across Lodin's table. He had come down from his room and asked after Yi Dian at the front desk; the attendant informed him Dian had arrived an hour prior and was taking tea in the east garden, so Lodin found him there and joined him at his table, and the two of them got to work. Kang Dae Han would likely be somewhere on the premises, but Lodin chose to go looking for him later. He didn't seem like an early riser.

The list lay unrolled between them, crowded with names and notations in his mother's sharp handwriting. Dian studied it while Lodin ate. The Elder's finger traced a column of names, stopped, moved on. His brow furrowed. He reached for his tea, drank, set the cup down without looking at it.

"Some of these names surprise me." He tapped one entry.

"This one runs a medicine shop in Trader's Row. I have purchased from him myself." He stared at the name for a long moment, frowning, then moved on.

"Her information's accurate," Lodin said.

"I've no reason to doubt it, yet. It's just unfortunate if true." Dian's voice was flat. He returned to the list, his finger moving down the columns. The kitchen had sent out a platter of dumplings stuffed with spirit boar, the meat tender and rich, seasoned with garlic and ginger and scallion and a hint of five-spice that lingered on the tongue. Alongside it sat a bowl of congee with century egg, the rice broken down to silk. The food was excellent, but Lodin ate without haste and let Dian study.

"Here." Lodin looked up. Dian's finger stopped on a section near the bottom of the list.

"What is it?"

"The Shattered Summit Sect." Dian spoke the name as though it tasted foul.

"Every member of this sect is on your mother's list." Lodin set down his chopsticks.

"A whole sect?"

"A small, young one. Perhaps thirty in all, no elders, its Patriarch freshly advanced to Core Perfection. But that isn't the concerning part. What concerns me is that the Shattered Summit Sect no longer exists. All its members died about two years ago."

"Explain." Dian folded his hands on his lap. His eyes stayed fixed on the list.

"Two years past, a plague struck the region northwest of the city. A terrible sickness that killed mortals and cultivators alike. The Shattered Summit Sect maintained their compound in that region, near a village called Miaoling." Lodin frowned.

"Cultivators died from a plague?"

"Such things have happened before," said Dian, with a casual shrug.

"The sect was not heard from after the outbreak, so they were presumed dead. The governor's administration evacuated the region and it remains sealed to this day, and no effort has been made to re-settle it. Common folk say the land itself is cursed." Lodin studied the list. The names of the Shattered Summit Sect were written in the same hand as all the others, precise and clear. She had listed them as alive.

"If they died two years ago," Lodin said, "why are they on this list?"

"That is what I would like to know." Lodin reached for his tea, found the cup empty, set it down. A server appeared at his elbow and refilled it, silent and efficient, then vanished back into the garden.

"Where is this place?"

"You leave the city through the west gate, walk past the farmland outside the walls, then take the north fork in the road. You'll next encounter the fence they built around the quarantined area. It's a short walk beyond that to reach the compound itself, which sits on a cratered hilltop that overlooks the evacuated village." Dian stared up at Lodin as he got up from the table, an eyebrow raised.

"You cannot be considering going over there."

"Their names are on the list," said Lodin.

"And you're telling me the whole area's empty."

"It's empty because of a plague, in case you didn't hear me correctly the first time," said Dian. Lodin shrugged.

"Their names are on the list."

"Be that as it may, if any of them remained in that area when the plague struck, they would certainly be dead," the Elder said.

"Maybe." Lodin picked up his tea.

"But mom doesn't make mistakes like that. She put those names down for a reason." Dian studied him for a moment, an eyebrow raised.

"And who is your mother, exactly?"

"Nobody special."

"I rather doubt that." Lodin grinned, shrugged again.

"That's as much as I'm gonna tell you." This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Dian stared at Lodin a moment longer, and when it became clear that no further explanation was coming he shook his head and had a sip of his own tea.

"Be careful," he said.

"Whatever affliction killed those villagers may still be out there." Lodin nodded.

"That's what I aim to find out." He tucked the list back into his storage ring, gave Dian a nod of thanks, and turned toward the path that led deeper into the garden. Kang Dae Han turned out to be easy to find; he dozed nearby, beneath a willow tree near one of the ponds. The roguish cultivator lay sprawled across a stone bench, his kasa tilted over his face, his long jian propped against the armrest. A half-empty bottle of plum wine sat on the ground beside him, next to a plate with a few crumbs left on it.

Lodin gave him a tap on the shoulder. Dae Han snorted, pushed the kasa back, and squinted up at Lodin with his one good eye.

"What time is it?"

"Morning. We're going on a nature hike." Dae Han stared at him.

"A what?"

"Nature hike. Three days northwest. Beautiful scenery. Abandoned village. Possibly a plague."

"Possibly a plague." Dae Han's eye narrowed.

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"I just got paid. I was planning to spend it on wine and women and a soft bed."

"You can do that when we get back."

"If we get back. You said plague." Lodin cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you wanna know how my build works, or don't you." Dae Han sat there for a long moment. He scratched the stubble on his chin. He looked at the bottle of wine. He looked at the sun. He looked at Lodin.

"Damn you," he said, and got to his feet. They made their way toward the garden's entrance. Servers bowed as they passed. Spirit beasts watched from amidst the foliage, calm and unbothered by the presence of humans. Lodin reached the gate and pushed it open. The street beyond was packed with cultivators. They filled the intersection in front of Joyful Garden's entrance, and lined both sides of the narrow lanes leading up to it.

Some perched on balcony rails, others on rooftops, men and women of every shape size and build, each clad in a different colored sect costume, most bearing weapons; jians, daos, spears, hammers, axes, claws, daggers, lashes, chakrams, and more exotic things he could not immediately identify. Lodin's heart sank the moment he saw them. And just as quickly, he understood who they were and why they were here.

Yesterday he publicly beat down two Divine Gale disciples at the market, and a third at the public arena grounds in Saltside. Even if news of his fight with Tong Lau that evening hadn't gotten out, every sect in the city would now be aware there was someone new in town, a yellow haired barbarian from Joguo. Just the sort of novelty an up-and-coming cultivator would want to claim victory over to increase their renown. The crowd fell silent as he stepped through the gate.

Dae Han peered over Lodin's shoulder and let out a low whistle.

"Friends of yours?" Lodin blew out a sigh, rubbed the bridge of his nose between his first knuckle and thumb.

"Is there a really big arena around here," he asked Dae Han. Dae Han hummed thoughtfully, scratched his chin.

"The Founders Memorial Fighting Ground, near the Terraces. It's open to the public, big enough to hold a small war." Lodin turned back to the crowd.

"Alright," he said, loud enough for all of them to hear.

"I'll fight you all at the same time. Founders Memorial Fighting Ground. Three days from now." He paused.

"That work for everyone?" The cultivators exchanged glances. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Three days?" A man in green and gold shoved his way to the front. He was thick through the chest and arms, with a shaved head and a heavy jaw.

"I've got somewhere to be," Lodin said.

"Then you can be carried there in pieces." The man cracked his knuckles.

"Fight us now, coward." Lodin looked at him. Looked at the crowd behind him.

"Tell you what," he said.

"If you can take one hit from me and you're still standing after, I'll fight you right now." The man in green and gold sneered. He planted his feet, raised his guard, and nodded. Lodin stepped forward and threw a straight right. The punch connected flush on the man's jaw and sent him flying, arms limp, eyes rolled back in his head as he sailed through the air until his body struck the cobblestones, skidded across the street and came to rest face down, motionless. Silence.

"Next?" There was a brief commotion. Then a woman stepped up. She was short and stocky, with a spear strapped across her back. She dropped into a low stance, one palm forward, the other drawn back to her hip. Qi shimmered around her hands. Lodin's fist caught her in the sternum. The force lifted her off her feet and sent her tumbling backward across the street. She skidded to a stop, groaned, pressed her palms to the ground. She made it to one knee. Swayed there. Her eyes found Lodin's face.

Then her arms gave out and she collapsed.

"Next." The crowd shifted. No one moved forward this time. Then the mass of bodies parted, and a young man walked through. He was tall as Lodin and nearly as broad through the shoulders. The cultivators around him scrambled aside as he passed, their faces pale, their voices dropped to whispers. A long black cloak hung from his frame, its high collar framed a handsome face with sharp cheekbones and a jawline to match.

His black hair was cropped close to the scalp, and a square goatee trimmed just as close outlined his chin. The cloak's soulsteel clasp was a fine piece of workmanship; the head of a serpent, with fire opals for eyes. He stopped ten feet from Lodin and regarded him with calm, dark eyes.

"Akiyama Shin," he said.

"Inner Disciple of the Steel Serpent Sect." Lodin inclined his head.

"Lodin. Unaffiliated." Shin swept the cloak from his shoulders in a single fluid motion. The black fabric sailed through the air and settled on the cobblestones behind him. Beneath it his torso was bare, his hands bound in black wraps that wound from his knuckles to the middle of his long forearms. Wide pleated trousers of stiff black cotton cinched at his waist, their seams pressed crisp and clean.

His body was lean as a blade, every muscle and prominent vein cut in sharp relief, the skin stretched over a frame that lacked a single ounce of excess weight. The transformation began before the cloak touched the ground. It started at his fingertips and spread inward. His skin took on a metallic sheen, silver-gray, the color of polished soulsteel. The change rippled up his forearms, across his shoulders, over his chest. Every surface became smooth and hard, like armor forged to the shape of a man.

Light played across the contours of his body, traced the ridges of muscle, caught the edges of bone beneath. His brown eyes became points of red-orange flame in soulsteel sockets. He settled into a deep stance, his weight perfectly centered, his guard precise enough to be a model for a training manual.

"Whenever you are ready," Shin said, and his voice echoed like living steel. Lodin's grin widened. He shot forward and slammed a straight right into Shin's jaw. The impact rang like a hammer on an anvil. Shin's head turned with the blow, but his feet stayed planted, his stance unbroken. Where Lodin's knuckles had struck, the soulsteel glowed red-orange, the same color as those burning eyes. The glow pulsed once. Then it moved.

It raced down Shin's neck in a bright line, across his shoulder, down the length of his arm. It gathered in his fist and blazed there, hot and hungry. Shin's counterpunch caught Lodin square in the chest. The force was immense. Lodin felt his feet leave the ground, felt the air rush past his ears, felt the world blur as he flew backward. He hit the ground ten feet away and skidded another five before he caught himself, palms scraping stone, boots gouging furrows in the street. He looked down at his chest.

The skin was unmarked. He looked up at Shin. The glow had faded from the man's fist. He stood in the same perfect stance, waiting. Lodin rose to his feet and rolled his shoulders.

"Oh," he said.

"That's fun."