Magma Dragon Cultivation

46th of Season of Earth, 56th year of the 32nd cycle

Newt said nothing, because he did not know what to say. Elder Stronggrow had dedicated his life to the clan, sacrificing his own growth and cultivation to teach new generations. The notion moved him deeply. He wanted to help his respected senior, to provide the resources he needed to advance, to extend his life, and seek new heights. He wanted, but did not know how to.

The sorrow with which the wise old man discussed Newt’s uncle was just as chilling. A man forced by his family to do what they wanted him while disregarding his wishes fought back by forcing the family to do things he wanted while disregarding the consequences.

After considering those matters, Newt still could not find it in his heart to forgive his uncle. There were certainly other ways. He could have stolen a handful of spirit gems and fled, he could have—Newt had no other idea what his uncle could have done, but there were certainly paths open to him which did not include selling his own brother and sister-in-law as slaves!

No, Newt would not forgive Victor. Never. But what puzzled him the most were the elders who followed his uncle’s lead. Why did they do it?

He avoided the nasty question and focused on his routine. He ate, he slept and learned the five techniques. Mastering them took merely a week, even with his heart demons disturbing his comprehension.

Newt did not improve his realm during those days. He could feel what his teacher had warned him about. The ambient energy was thin, it would take months or years of quiet absorption before he advanced a single layer, and advancing through spirit gems was too expensive to justify it. Each new layer took as much energy as all the previous ones put together, and Newt could see the result not being worth the price he had to pay with his clan’s finances in dire straits. He even regretted reaching the third layer rather than investing that wealth back into the clan. But it was too late for regret.

He had already harvested all obvious spirit gems, and digging further was reduced to blind fumbling. Having mastered the techniques and confirming that exploring Magmin’s realm was probably suicidal, Newt reached a decision and left the mine.

He knocked on his teacher’s door.

“Teacher?”

“Come in, Newstar.”

“I won’t bother you for long. I have decided to leave,” Newt said without opening the door. “I leave the clan in your capable hands while I will leave to see the world. I will come back when I reach the peak of the second realm.”

Elder Stronggrow reached the door in five strides. He pulled the door so hard the gust buffeted his wizened face and long beard.

“What are you talking about, Newstar?”

Newt resisted the urge to shift under his teacher’s stern gaze.

“Teacher, your words from the other day got me thinking. Maybe the problem is that the clan keeps its children close to home.” Newt’s insecure tone grew bolder, argumentative. “If the clan’s youths were forced to toughen up in the outside world, they would have strained the clan’s resources less. Some of those youths might have found secret realms or other treasures to bring back home, instead of leeching what the honorable ancestor has left for us.”

Newt drew a breath. “I will set an example. If the patriarch can leave and test his luck, so can the others. If anyone is willing and has potential, we can provide them with spirit beasts’ cores to awaken their spirit roots. It’s a better way to use our limited finances than to keep funding the main branch.”

Elder Stronggrow looked at his student, thinking him a naive, idealistic boy. “And what happens if a branch family’s scions grow stronger than the main branch?”

Newt was silent for a moment, before voicing something he never dared to before. “Teacher, why do we have a main branch? Does it matter who was the oldest seven or seventeen hundred years ago if we are all Honorable Ancestor’s descendants? Is that relevant to decide who gets the chance to cultivate? Who gets to be rich and who gets to be a servant?”

Elder Stronggrow’s face grew red. “Newstar, that is heresy—”

“I don’t think it is. I would want to have chances if I were a branch family member, and I don’t think healthy competition for those who want it is bad. That way, those who don’t want to cultivate can pursue other goals.”

Elder Stronggrow opened his mouth to dissuade Newt, then closed them. “Newstar, I believe you are correct regarding one thing. You should see the world. It will open your eyes to some truths, and you will understand why you cannot let others usurp power. Not all have the kind heart and pure visions like you do.”

He continued, “Where do you intend to go?”

“Elder Brave mentioned Jasmine has joined the Black Fist sect, and he mentioned they will host a tournament in ten days. I hope the prizes will be good enough to help my cultivation. And speaking of resources, I want you to sell those manacles they shackled you with and purchase spirit beast cores. See if there are any youths worth teaching and elevate them. Don’t just look close to the main branch. Servants with our bloodline should get a chance as well.”

Elder Stronggrow hesitated for a moment before feeling obliged to speak.

“Do you know that sects and clans are divided into orthodox, unorthodox, and demonic?”

Newt shook his head. He knew evil cultivators existed and that righteous ones hunted them down, saving the lives of innocents, but he did not know a formal division existed.

“I figured,” Elder Stroggrow sighed. “Orthodox organizations have a unified set of rules and moral principles which they uphold. They do not kill innocents, they bring criminals before a court which decides their fate, and they strive to protect the non-cultivators from oppression. Unorthodox organizations exploit the non-cultivators. They do not slaughter, but they treat common folk like slaves and objects. Their word is their own. If they are honorable, they will keep it, if not they won’t. Their organization won’t hold them responsible for cheating someone, but will deliver them to orthodox courts if pressed far enough.

“Black Fist sect is an unorthodox organization. They will respect nothing but brute force in ambiguous situations or when higher power isn’t there to keep them in line.”

Elder Stronggrow gave Newt a pointed look, and the youth nodded, understanding what his teacher was saying.

“Good. Finally, there’s demons. They are evil men and women, not shying from open murder, always on the run and fleeing from the orthodox faction’s heresy hunters. They are often lone cultivators, but sometimes they make underground communities. Where the unorthodox faction may trade in slaves, the demonic faction trades in much more gruesome items, and I hope you never learn what it is.”

Newt listened carefully, and the matter of Jasmine joining the Black Fist sect suddenly made a lot more sense. She was forced. Probably abducted because the sect’s young master regarded her as a common thing, not a person with dreams and hopes of her own. He hoped she was all right.

When Elder Stronggrow stopped talking, Newt asked about an organization which he believed did not fit any of the categories.

“What of the imperial family?”

“They are neither orthodox nor unorthodox, but somewhere in the middle. Imperial laws exist, and they must be followed, lest the law enforcers follow you, but they ignore most infractions as long as you pay taxes and don’t exterminate the population under your rule. They don’t care whether non-cultivators are slaves, healthy or sick; living and able is enough. In fact, our clan is so beneath their notice that they consider us a mortal family. There is nothing we could do to shake the empire.”

Newt gulped. His father could shoot bolts of flame from his fists and fight the region’s spirit beasts, yet he was merely a mortal to the imperial family.

“Newstar, I don’t think you were paying much attention to what I have been saying.”

Newt frowned. “I have.”

“I said the Black Fist sect is an unorthodox organization, and you still want to go.”

Newt nodded with a serious expression. “I have to save Jasmine.”

Elder Stronggrow drew a breath to argue, but Newt stopped him. “Teacher, I know what I’m doing. You cannot make me back down.”

The elder deflated like a balloon. He wanted to argue more, but saw his logic would fall on deaf ears. Sometimes, people need to run into a wall head-first before accepting it exists.

“Be careful.”

“I will. I will leave tomorrow.”

With that, they parted. Newt went to the patriarch’s residence and went to sleep.

In his dream, he traveled to the Black Fist sect. He joined the tournament, where his enemies used dirty tricks against him, but the referee ignored them. Yet despite all the obstacles, Newt faced the young master who had kidnapped Jasmine in the finals. He defeated the man, but the referee refused to call a match and the young master tried to stab Newt in the back.

Newt protected himself in time, and like his uncle, he struck down the arrogant youth before his father ran down to the arena.

The sect master was enraged, charging towards Newt, and the youth defended himself, fist against staff. The bulky man’s blows landed like meteors and threw Newt off balance. Just as the young man thought he was dead, a crossbow bolt struck the sect master who twisted in pain. Newt seized the chance and struck his head with a burning fist—

Newt woke up with a scream.

Sweat was running down his face and his back while his heart pounded against his ribs.

“It was a nightmare, just a nightmare.” He ran his fingers through his wet hair and went back to bed.