Magma Dragon Cultivation

60th of Season of Air, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

“You will regret this!” Guildmaster Barbadon shouted after Newt as he left the guild proper.

But before Newt managed five steps, he saw a familiar attractive blonde leaning against the wall. He took a moment to realize she was the woman who had managed the reception desk when he had first arrived. Newt strained his brain before recalling her name was Dolorna.

Dolorna’s face was the opposite of Newt’s focused frown, she smiled and waved him over.

“Dandelion passed by half an hour ago. When he saw you were still taking the test, he gave me a message for you.” She looked left and right before leaning closer to Newt.

“Do you know Dandelion from before?”

Newt nodded.

“Do you have any tips?”

Newt stared at her.

“Any advice for me. Dandelion finally agreed to take me out for a drink, and I want to leave a good impression. What kind of women does he like? Anything I should never say in front of him?”

Newt was trying to piece together what was happening before finally speaking. “He’s friendly unless you threaten him. As for women he likes, I don’t know. I think he was married and had children, but I am no longer sure.”

Dolorna thanked Newt and handed him a note, which simply said, ‘See you at the Association an hour before sundown.’

“Excuse me,” Newt asked her for directions politely, and headed into the street. Even while hurrying, focused on his goal, Newt saw more different species of dinosaurs and shops in fifteen minutes than he did in his seventeen years.

The streets were still bustling and crowded, with uniformed guards patrolling them at regular intervals. The air smelled of dinosaurs, people, and grilled food, and somehow, it was not as bad as Newt had expected it. He ignored the large store fronts and the smaller carts pushed by peddlers, finally stopping before a three story building made of white marble.

Honorable Cultivators’ Association? Never knew that was the Association’s full name. Newt mouthed the words. Sounds clunky.

The entrance was eight feet tall and twenty feet wide, and as Newt entered, he noticed that while there were no doors, an invisible barrier blocked heat, sound, and smells. Inside, the association was a large communal chamber filled with long, ornate tables, which could seat twelve people, lined with comfortable-looking sitting cushions.

The hall was mostly empty, only three tables had patrons, two of which were lone men, while the final one was a group of five women in identical blue robes.

Newt’s third eye told him the loners were in the third realm, while the women varied, two in third, and one in second and fourth, while the last one was a mortal. The lone cultivators sipped their tea without glancing towards Newt, but the women all looked him over, scanning his face and dismissing him. He met each of their gazes, but his heart quivered when he met the mortal woman’s stare.

It was like abyss staring at him, her young face contrasted by eyes which had seen centuries pass.

“Which sect are you from?” her clear voice cleaved the silence.

“Formation Scribes’ Guild,” Newt answered, clutching for straws.

“Of course you are,” she nodded as if everything was clear to her, before she shifted her attention back to the doorless entrance.

Newt wiped the sweat off his brow, wondering what just happened. He walked deeper into the large chamber and approached the counter in the back.

“Good day,” he said to the handsome young man standing behind the counter, reading a book.

The attendant closed the book and placed it on the counter face down, hiding its title, and focused on Newt.

“Good day, Sir. How may I be of assistance?”

Newt wanted to say he wished to join, but his mouth refused to obey. “Who is that woman?”

“They are not members, and I do not know their identities, but their robes are from the Everfrost Palace.”

Newt had never heard of the Everfrost Palace, but from the clerk’s respectful tone they were a major force. Newt examined the man with his third eye. While the clerk was taller and better built than Newt, he was merely at the first realm, and Newt could beat him silly with one arm tied behind his back.

The young master he once was would have treated him like a servant, but thanks to his experiences and Dandelion’s influence, Newt’s next words were not a haughty order.

“Thank you.” He smiled, even though the clerk remained impassive. “I would like to join the Association. Are there any tests or requirements before registering?”

The clerk nodded and pulled a crystalline device from under his counter. Newt tried not to look like a bumpkin as he examined it, but found nothing interesting about it, save for some lingering spiritual energy traces.

“Just send your spiritual energy into the realmer. If your realm is higher than six, please do so carefully, you will have to cover the cost of the device should you damage it.”

Newt touched the cold, smooth crystal and sent a trickle of energy inside, not because he was being careful, but because a trickle was more or less all he had after taking the test at the Formation Scribes’ Guild. The way he severed connection with the maze artifact cost him most of his spiritual energy.

Three thick lines topped by two dots appeared on the instrument, and the attendant nodded.

“Second layer of the third realm. Your name, please.”

Newt completed the registration in five minutes, with one less spirit gem to weigh his purse. The Association did not care for his real name or any other information, save for his realm, which determined which tasks he was allowed to take. By Association standards, Newt could apply for jobs starting from the peak of the second realm, all the way until the fifth layer of the third realm, and of higher layers, if he joined a larger group.

Association was not responsible for the accuracy of mission details, nor any wounds and damages a cultivator suffered on their task.

The clerk made certain to make that extremely clear. Twice. He also advised Newt to stick to the lower end of the tasks which the guild finds appropriate for his realm until he gained some experience and knew what to expect when going out.

Newt stepped away from the desk when a sudden chill ran down his spine. It took him a moment to realize the sensation was not some fear or instinct, but an actual phenomenon. His skin stung from the unnatural flash of frost, which had frozen his sweat.

“Are you Dandelion, once called Blackfist the Brigand, the former sect master of the Black Fist sect?” A familiar, chilly voice slashed the air.

“Greetings, I am Dandelion, and I was once called by the names you just mentioned. May I have the pleasure of knowing who is asking about me?” Dandelion’s voice was smooth, his smile calm and natural, as if ice was not prickling at his skin and the weight of a mountain was not pressing down on the room so hard that both Newt and the lone cultivators shuddered.

The terrible silence drew longer and longer, lasting nearly half a minute, yet Dandelion remained relaxed, his smile casual. Finally, the woman spoke.

“I am Elder Frostgrave. Five weeks ago, three rogues assaulted my grandniece in the streets, and you fended them off all by yourself.”

Dandelion shrugged. “I help lots of people, beautiful women especially are my weakness.”

Elder Frostgrave shot him a glare, but Dandelion remained relaxed.

“That is not empty bravado, you genuinely do not fear me,” she said, perplexed.

“Why would I fear an elder of an orthodox sect, whose relative I saved in passing, while sitting in an establishment sponsored by the imperial family itself?”

The chill weakened. Newt could almost feel the Elder Frostgrave’s confusion, probably something everyone experienced the first time they met Dandelion.

“Did you cooperate with the attackers to get some benefits out of me?”

“No, I am not and was not related in any way with those who wished to harm you, your sect or your family.”

Elder Frostgrave paused. “Did you pay them, or hire someone else to hire helpers.”

“I did not. Nor did I in any way instigate the matter or make it happen. I recognized the uniform and believed I would get some reward for saving an illustrious sect’s disciple.”

“Lie to me,” Elder Frostgrave ordered.

“I would never lie to you,” Dandelion said, and after a moment, Elder Frostgrave burst into laughter, shocking the four ladies keeping her company.

“You really are witty,” Elder Frostgrave said, and Dandelion smiled back.

Elder Frostgrave stared at Dandelion, slicing him into thin strips with her eyes and devouring what she saw. Newt took a while to realize she was observing the former sect master with her third eye.

“You are not Dandelion Blackfist,” the air in the room turned solid, a swarm of icicles manifested, swimming like a shoal of piranhas, and Dandelion’s calm facade cracked for the first time since Newt had met the man.