Unintended Cultivator

As one day dragged into two, two into four, and four into eight, Sen found a kind of unpleasant routine. He’d sleep for a few hours at night while Falling Leaf guarded him. Then, he’d cultivate while she slept. After that, they’d walk. He did his best to avoid fights when he could. The old wariness and observation that he’d employed on the streets were amplified in the solitude of the forest. He became much more adept at spotting trouble before it spotted him. Sometimes, he hid. Other times he waited. Sometimes, he ran. For all the effort he put into avoiding conflicts, not a day went by without some beast forcing his hand. There were moments when he felt like there was some other power driving these things toward him on purpose. Yet, when he stretched his senses and his qi to their limits, there was never so much as a hint of another human presence. The spirit beasts were attacking him because he invaded their territory, or even just because he was there. As the endless killing stretched out, Sen observed changes in himself that he considered both good and bad.

He became much more proficient with those types of qi where he had a lesser affinity. Shadow qi techniques were of limited value, save to hide. Even then, it was only helpful if the beast wasn’t tracking his qi. Despite his desperate use of fire to bring down the hawk, he hadn’t used it since. Sen had a very healthy respect for fire and couldn’t shake the image of himself burning to death in a forest fire he started. Without easy recourse to his strongest affinities, he’d been forced to use and hone the rest. The lone, fragile wind blade he could conjure when Ma Caihong arrived had become three blades that could shatter stone. He could summon an all-encompassing fog that covered hundreds of feet. With a ready source of water, he could form whips and even a compressed water spear that would pierce most hides. He could rip away enough earth and stone to drop a beast into an eight-foot-deep pit. Plants would entangle the limbs of beasts. With enough concentration, he could yank all the air away from where a beast stood.

In the back of his mind, Sen knew that this forced use of lesser affinities was a good thing. Master Feng had said that cultivators gave up their flexibility in favor of mastering a single affinity. After all the fighting and killing, Sen understood the pure practical value of retaining that flexibility in combat. Yet, Sen saw all of the practice as a secondary benefit. To him, the true prize was utilizing more than one kind of qi at the same time. Unless he was aiming for very small effects, he was still limited to two. He was pretty sure that the limit was his channels, rather than ability. The mental strain grew less intense with every use, which led him to think that some kind of reinforcement or expansion of his qi channels would let him use several different techniques at the same time.

Of course, as all progress does, it came at a cost. When he’d set out, Sen had mixed feelings about having to kill the beasts. He knew that the point of all of this was to create his killing intent, but he didn’t think it was working. He didn’t want to kill any more than he had the first day. All that had really happened was that he’d become numb to it all. When some beast caught him off guard, he didn’t think about the fact that it was a living thing anymore. He didn’t wonder if it had young nearby that it thought it was protecting. It just became one more obstacle to his weary, sleep-deprived mind. He’d even given some thought to not taking any more cores. His storage ring was starting to give him some resistance every time he tried to put something more inside of it.

“You know, I don’t think I really need another core,” Sen said to Falling Leaf.

He was staring down at a huge, bloody pile of meat and scales that had been a demon beast a few minutes earlier. It had been crafty and hidden up in the trees. Then, almost silently, it had tried to drop onto Sen. Unfortunately for this snake, it wasn’t the first time that death had tried to come for Sen from above. He’d barely looked up before he sent a condensed pillar of air straight into the snake’s open mouth and ripped it apart from the inside out. Sen had spent so much time washing blood from his hands that the idea of picking through the remains of the snake was just exhausting. He picked up a stick and idly nudged a piece of snake a little closer to the pile. The ghost panther gave him a flat look. She seemed to take it personally if he left behind things that she thought were useful or valuable.

“I don’t really have any more room,” he pleaded. “If I find the core, do you want it?”

While the big cat didn’t talk, at least not that Sen had heard, she got her message across easily enough. She sort of tilted her head and blinked and did let him know that she found that acceptable. As she padded off a little way to stretch out and watch him, Sen found a bigger stick. Slowly but surely, he picked apart the bits and pieces. He found the core hiding beneath a small bush and pulled it out. He stood up and lifted the core.

“Found it!” He shouted to get her attention.

He turned to throw the core over to her, which gave him the perfect view of a pure white ape all but materializing next to Falling Leaf. Sen found himself transfixed as the ghost panther tried to attack the ape. Yet, for all her lethal speed, the ape was faster. Its arm was a blur as it batted at the big cat. Sen heard the massive hand connect with her head. The sound it made left him certain that it had been a deadly blow. As it had with that goat, Sen’s universe condensed. Everything fell away except him and the ape. Except, he knew something was different. Something had changed inside him, deep in places where he couldn’t look. All of those experiences, all of those seemingly senseless beast deaths, his own willingness to kill them, it all fused into something.

He felt it crystalizing, felt it becoming, and felt his own place in the world shift because of it. He could almost see it inside himself. It was a pure blue flame ringed in blades so sharp that they could sever fate. Around them was a citadel of shadow and mist. Hurricane winds howled through the halls of that citadel, even as raging torrents of water hurled themselves down around the flame from granite cliffs that stretched to the sky. The flame, though, burned pure and steady. Air did not move it. Water did not quench it. Earth could not touch it. Metal could only endure it. That flame did not warm. Those halls did not shelter. Those cliffs heralded only one thing.

In that moment, Sen found something he hadn’t felt before. With all of those other beasts, he’d killed because it was the only way through. He hadn't considered anything beyond that. As absolutely everything inside him focused in on that ape, though, Sen understood that he wanted this thing dead. It had almost certainly killed Falling Leaf and not because the cat had been doing anything. She’d just been lying around. It had killed her because it could. Sen didn’t remember drawing his jian. He didn’t remember cycling fire qi. All he remembered was hurling his absolute commitment, his diamond-hard resolve, his killing intent at the ape. Sen watched as that intangible pressure that came from inside his soul crushed the ape to the ground. Sen saw the absolute terror in its eyes as he strode toward it. Then, Sen lifted his jian and brought it down. A finger-thick whip of white fire lashed down from the tip of the blade and split the doomed ape down the middle.