Chương 11: Chapter 1.11: Virtuous Perfection

Favius twisted out of the path of the fist as it passed his head. He cautiously feinted a counterattack, testing whether to commit. But despite his caution, he missed the kick and tumbled through the sand, groaning as it covered his sweaty body and slipped into his loincloth. His assailant jumped forward, and Favius rolled aside just before a foot stomped down. He scrambled back and grabbed a fistful of sand, throwing it at the man's face, which bought him enough time to get back up.

He gave himself no time to recover and charged his attacker. A vicious exchange of blows followed, and he managed to block two kicks before finally landing a fist on his enemy's stomach.

"Cease!" came Brutus' sharp voice from above, and Favius collapsed on his back, breathing heavily, while the cultivator chuckled and wiped the remaining sand out of his chest hair.

"Well fought, boy." Between heavy breaths, Favius returned the man's smile, struck by how normal this morning felt. Brutus had trained him from the age of four, and fighting the cultivator was perfect practice. The man always regulated his strength and speed so Favius had a chance to hit him—if he performed flawlessly. Fighting the man was as exhilarating as it was exhausting.

Brutus settled onto the sand of the gymnasium's arena beside him, and as the cold morning air broke the sweaty heat of battle, the older man spoke up.

"Cultivation is the virtuous pursuit of perfected insight." Favius nodded as Brutus stared at the landscape under the rising sun. He waited for Brutus to continue, but the man said nothing, apparently in no hurry to continue. Favius frowned with annoyance, but he followed his bodyguard's example and studied the landscape. He repeated the statement in his mind: virtuous pursuit of perfected insight.

Well, I guess I'm supposed to contemplate that, to realize the profound depth of that statement, or something like that. He suppressed a sneer before taking a deep breath. I used to be so dismissive of all the mumbo-jumbo back on Earth, but this world— He remembered how Brutus had taken apart an entire squad of soldiers. This world has mumbo-jumbo that is actually dangerous, so I should approach it with an open mind. Favius hummed and considered the statement again.

Finally, Brutus spoke up, apparently having sensed Favius's change of attitude somehow.

"Normally, a child is not taught about the nature of cultivation before they reach their first majority, for it is all too easy for the ignorant to hurt themselves. So promise me this, boy." Brutus turned his head towards him, and their eyes met.

"Do not do anything without my instruction. Even if you think you could proceed along the path, consult me before doing anything. Otherwise, you might regret your actions for the rest of your life." The man's tone was grave, and Favius nodded slowly. I know next to nothing about the magic here. If I'm too arrogant about it... Hell, playing around with it, or maybe even trying to analyze it scientifically, is the equivalent of a caveman tinkering with loaded firearms and explosives. He inclined his head to Brutus.

"I swear on my honor that I will follow your instructions and consult you before proceeding in any way."

"Good." Brutus squeezed his shoulder and sprang lightly to his feet. He wiped off the remaining sand.

"Let us continue this conversation in the bathhouse." He glared towards the gardens, and for a moment Favius could have sworn he saw movement. They left the gymnasium and soon found themselves in a cool pool. It was constructed from black stone that retained much of the sun's heat, so the water was, if not pleasant, at least bearable. Brutus continued his lecture.

"Breath." He put a hand on his chest and took in air with closed eyes, then held it and exhaled slowly. Favius imitated him, and after a short while Brutus continued. He focused his attention on how the air entered through his nose and inflated his lungs before leaving again.

"Breath is what powers a cultivator's core. Insight and tribulation are what forge it. You know the five ranks of cultivators?" Favius furrowed his brow, then nodded.

"Cultor, Praecultor, Alticultor, Magnicultor, and Transcensor, correct?" Brutus nodded.

"Precisely. I am a Magnicultor, one of a few hundred in the Republic." Brutus tipped his finger in the water and drew on the stone outside the pool five concentric circles before marking out five lines radiating from the center, forming a spiderweb.

"A man becomes a Cultor by challenging the heavens with his total comprehension of a deep insight, which, if he is beloved by the Muses and of virtuous stock, will cause his core to form." He pointed at the innermost circle.

"From then on, he has to find five insights in total to be able to undergo a tribulation to enhance his core." He pointed at each of the rings in turn.

"That is the path towards the heavens." Favius nodded and considered the structure before him.

"How many insights do you have?" Brutus' eyes narrowed and he looked around. Then he leaned in, his beard brushing Favius's ear.

"You should know better than to ask such questions." This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Favius's heartbeat quickened as Brutus paused for a long moment without moving.

"But as I am sworn to your service, Dominus, I shall tell you that I have attained eighteen insights so far." After the cultivator settled back into the water, Favius hummed and considered what he had learned. Breath, insight, and some talk about Muses and virtue. I honestly can't tell if the last parts are mere mysticism or if there is something to that. Given that this is literally magic, it could go either way. And... He pressed his lips together. I don't think there's a good way to ask this.

They spent the rest of their time in the bath in silence before getting dressed and enjoying a breakfast together with Urania and Caliga. Favius allowed himself to be drawn into their conversation, sharing gossip and listening to Caliga's descriptions of all the places she wanted to show them. As their breakfast settled down, Caliga grabbed his hand.

"Come on, let's go to the stream. We might even find some frogs." Urania's expression was a mix of disgust and resignation as the older girl began pulling on her arm. Favius smiled and shook his head.

"I am going to go to the library instead." Caliga pouted while a brief flash of hope crossed Urania's face.

"What do you want in the library? It's such a boring, dusty place. And I hate it if Mom makes me read poetry."

"Poetry?" Favius asked, but a mischievous expression spread over Caliga's face as she grabbed Urania by the shoulder before she could escape towards Favius. He gave a sweet smile and mouthed: "Have fun, sister." She glared at him.

"Oh, you'll see." Calliga chuckled, grabbed Urania's hand, and pulled her away. Brutus studied him curiously but didn't ask any questions as they left for what he hoped was a repository of knowledge. Upon entering the room filled with shelves, Favius smiled. At first glance, there were over a thousand scrolls here. He grinned.

"Time to get started on learning about this world." He stepped forward and scanned the two shelves. The first one had an indexing system. Organized roughly by year and purpose. He pulled out a scroll at random. It was a ledger. Wages paid, units of various fruits and products sold, and so on. Administrative details of running a farm estate. He pulled out several more scrolls, and all of them were administrative trivia. Favius shrugged. Well, at the very least I don't have to invent bureaucracy for the locals.

Before he could focus on the second shelf, the door opened and Tiro, his personal slave, entered the room. Favius pressed his lips together and swallowed. Brutus looked curiously up at him, opening an eye without stopping his meditative breathing. The slave lowered his head.

"How may I serve the young master?" Favius looked at the man.

"I am merely exploring the library," he said, glancing uncomfortably between the slave and Brutus. The Magniculator closed his eyes again, and Favius stared at Tiro, waiting for him to leave. But he didn't. Favius shifted from foot to foot, considering. Should I say something? Send him away? But he shook his head and returned his attention to the second shelf. This one lacked any kind of indexing, and he studied the scroll cases. His eyes slowly narrowed. Is... is this shelf sorted by color of the scroll cases?

He took a step back and stared at the shelf in disbelief. It actually is sorted by color. I always thought that was a bad joke for librarians.

"How?" he sputtered out loud. Tiro cleared his throat, but Favius ignored him, far too offended to think of anything except the shelf's organization. He took a step forward and grabbed a scroll, a green one from the middle of the shelf, at random. He carried it over to a reading desk and opened it. An hour and seven scrolls later, Favius slammed his head into the desk. It was epic poetry. It was all epic poetry. He shook his head.

He had already noticed a detail in the language: that it was fond of referencing mythology. While even back on Earth calling a traitor Judas had been a feature that existed in language, the local poetry was full of it. It was as if poets delighted in the equivalent of raiding the local mythology in the manner one would raid the Bible, and for whatever generic role a character might hold—friend, enemy, ally, wise leader—they used the name of a mythological or historical figure to reference that.

Worse, there were even references to other myths and works that clearly assumed any reader would be deeply familiar with the entire poetic tradition. And as if adding insult to injury, the local poets were also fond of layering meanings in a manner that his Chinese friends had assured him was the norm in Eastern poetry. Tiro stepped forward again.

"What is the matter, young master? Do you require refreshments?" Favius groaned.

"No, it's just..." He gestured in disgust at the poetry.

"It's all useless," he growled. Tiro raised a single eyebrow but kept his otherwise stoic facade.

"Useless? While it is certainly beyond this humble servant's domain of expertise, calling the noble art of poetry useless might not be wise." Favius let out a long breath.

"But I'm looking for something practical." Brutus guffawed in his corner of the room.

"You went into a library looking for practical knowledge?" The boy ground his teeth, then let out a bitter chuckle. It was frustrating, but Brutus was possibly right. Tiro slowly nodded his head.

"I shall get the master some wine to restore his spirit." By the time Tiro returned, Favius had put back the scrolls, and without thinking about it, he downed a cup of wine. Next Favius attacked the shelf systematically, grabbing a scroll from the upper right corner, quickly assessing it and putting it back. Finally, he struck gold with the thirtieth scroll, which was held in a red case. He read the title, blinked, and read it again. On Animal Traits and Civic Character.

An Analysis on the Question of the Influence of Shifter Blood on the Virtuosity of Men. He smiled broadly. This wasn't useless poetry. This was a text discussing bloodlines like his eagle-owl lineage. In other words, a treatise on magic.