Magma Dragon Cultivation

62nd of Season of Earth, 56th year of the 32nd cycle

Newt left the sect master’s tea parlor in a daze. He felt hollow and did not know what to do with himself. A master of a small sect, a peak third realm cultivator, a man with dozens of children and over twenty wives, told him he was planning to go off adventuring just like that.

Newt asked the exact same questions he asked himself. What about the family? They were mostly adults and had enough means for comfortable lives, with the sect to support them in their aspirations. Besides, nobody viewed him like a father, but like financial and physical support for their dumb decisions.

What about the sect? The deputy sect master wanted to become the sect master anyway, why not let him? If someone was willing and plotted to take over what was in truth a burden, why stop them?

Blackfist’s answers all seemed frivolous, easy, almost dark humor, yet Newt could not form proper arguments against them. Worse, they made him think. What stopped him from dropping all the obligations he had to the clan and pursuing what interested him? Reuniting with his parents and achieving a cultivation realm higher than his ancestor. Maybe finding a girl better than that traitorous snake Jasmine?

Like Blackfist had said, the only thing shackling Newt at that moment were his own thoughts and preconceptions. He owed nothing to a family which had imprisoned him and exiled his parents. The few good men he could treat like individuals, not like members of a larger whole. The only problem with that approach was the children. Blazing Salamander clan’s youths had not slighted Newt. They were victims of their senior generations’ cruelty and self-centeredness.

Newt had planned to go to the imperial library, but as deep in thought as he was, his feet brought him before his tavern. He realized where he was too late and sighed. Fortunately, he had not opened the door, so he turned around and headed back towards the city center.

“Roasted yamaceratops,” a hawker shouted as Newt neared the market district which housed the library. The empty streets turned crowded and wooden stalls took up more than half the available space, flaking the walkway from both sides, forcing Newt to bump shoulders at first, then push his way through the press of bodies.

Newt saw spices, dyes, tough scaled hides of various saurians, and soft fabrics made from plants and insects. The air smelled of grilled meat and vegetables, and Newt felt his mouth water despite not being hungry. He stopped by a stall selling crescents, fried pastry filled with honeyed strawberries.

Newt bit into the crispy treat and his mood improved as the warm, sweet syrup soaked his tongue. He chewed the crunchy bits with zeal, then thought about Jasmine and bit his cheek. His eyes watered, and he held back a curse, almost throwing the crescent on the ground and stomping it in anger.

But the delicacy was not to blame, neither for Newt’s carelessness, nor Jasmine’s true nature. A part of Newt still wanted to shout that something was amiss, that Jasmine was forced in some manner, but then he recalled her eyes, shining not with fear or lust, but pure greed. Jasmine was indeed forced, but the one doing the forcing was Jasmine herself. It was clear even to Newt.

He sighed and finished his treat, hardly feeling its taste before once more seeking the library.

The library was easy to find, a three story building made of giant slabs of white stone. Four thick columns supported the roof above a wide portico where visitors could take shelter from the elements while waiting for admission.

As Blackfist had mentioned, the portico was empty; apparently, few cultivators were interested in reading the texts which the imperial family had approved.

“Good day, clean your hands,” the library’s custodian said as soon as Newt crossed the threshold.

Newt looked at his hands and saw specks of pink honey. He was about to ask for a rag or something to wipe them with when he had a better idea. Red scales covered his skin and a flash of heat turned the specs into charred motes of dust.

Neat, I can always have clean hands when I need it. He could bet Magmin had never considered his skill would be twisted into a hand sanitizer. For multiple reasons.

The woman wearing green and gold of imperial servants eyed Newt, her frown deepening. “No open flames, nor use of techniques fueled by spiritual energy.”

Newt nodded, but the stern woman did not seem to trust him. Newt’s third eye informed him she was in the same realm as him. The blonde appeared to be in her early forties, and she would have been attractive if not for the scowl and a frown reserved for the barbarian invading her sanctum.

“What brings you here?” she asked, and Newt almost said he was looking for interesting books, but stopped himself.

He had already considered what he would look for in the imperial trove of knowledge.

“Instruction on how to resolve heart demons permanently, in nonviolent ways. Cultivation forms for fire or earth cultivators of the second realm.”

‘Advice on how to cope with the betrayal and loss of a girl you loved for years.’ Newt wanted to add that final bit, but he doubted a cultivation library could offer any help on the topic.

“Maybe something about cultivation paths beyond the basic affinities?”

The librarian glared at him, as if trying to pierce his eyes and see what is on the other side before shaking her head, revealing a tightly bound bun.

“You are too young to consider potential paths, not enough life experience. You won’t need it until you reach the peak of the fourth realm.” Newt wished to argue her cold assertion. She was merely at the second realm, like him. That meant she was not qualified to give advice about higher realms of cultivation, especially since she would not have been posted in such a remote area if she had any useful skill or talent.

“And the rest?” Newt asked, wanting to avoid conflict. He could always ask Blackfist later.

Newt considered the thought. Do I really trust him already? Why? He has the kind of presence that makes you want to trust him, but it could be a trick of some sort.

“We have various books about heart demons and cultivation techniques. You are free to check our index, but reading a tome beyond the introduction requires a payment either in knowledge, treasures, or spirit gems of appropriate realm.”

“How do I pay in knowledge?”

The stern blonde gave Newt a frosty look. He fidgeted, and after several moments she decided he really did not know what she meant.

“You must provide a scroll of equal value. Techniques are tested later, but assuming they are original, we will evaluate them based on the realm in which they are useful, and provide adequate compensation.”

Finally, it was Newt’s turn to frown.

“How much time does that take?”

“Several weeks, possibly months if the technique is too advanced for our reviewer and we need outside consultation.”

Who has time for that? “And if I pay in spirit gems?”

“Perusing one technique or cultivation method costs a spirit gem whose realm is one level lower than the technique’s required realm. For first realm techniques, you may pay in coin, first realm spirit gems for the second realm techniques and so on.”

Newt pulled a spirit gem out of his pouch.

“That would buy you access to one second realm cultivation method or combat technique,” the librarian answered before Newt could voice his question.

Robbery! Newt understood why the library was abandoned. The imperial family would rob you if you dared to read their books.

“That,” Newt started, “is extremely expensive.”

“Only in this heaven-forsaken region,” the librarian shrugged, showing the first sign of emotion other than anger and suspicion. “To reach the peak of a given realm, you need two to three thousand spirit gems, or years and decades of mediation. Giving a dozen spirit gems to pave your way for the next realm seems cheap to me. Especially considering the spirit gems you paid would be next to useless to you in the next realm.”

The way the woman looked at Newt changed. From professional disinterest to derisive judgment. “The great imperial family is using the proceeds for nothing but to maintain the libraries and keep them stocked with knowledge available to all. If you can’t afford even this minimal fee, we have no place for you here.”

Newt hesitated. He could pay with the techniques he knew, but he did not wish to reveal his family’s inheritance to strangers just to read through five books. He did not think his family’s crippled techniques were advanced or earth-shattering, quite the opposite, but they still belonged to his clan, and exposing them for the world to see felt wrong.

As for Magmin’s techniques, he would not share them. No matter what kind of knowledge the librarian had access to, it was worth less than what he would give, if they only viewed them as tome for tome exchange.

Finally, he only had three spirit gems, and three books would change little.

“I might return later,” he bade the librarian a good day and left. He already knew a man who claimed he had used the library, and he could just ask him.