Familiar Face

In fighting his way up the tall mountain, Lucian found many chances to refine his usage of the Shadowwalker art, and became increasingly proficient at resisting the three fold pressure of body, spirit, and cultivation. Every porcelain skinned expert he slew brought him that featureless power he'd now used to make a quarter of his blood undergo that qualitative change to Trueblood. Two more anchors had been formed too, one in his other leg, and another in his right arm.

Just one more, and he could begin the process of merging body and soul. Yet the more he practiced the Shadowwalker art, the more one particular thought haunted him. That same nagging voice that always pushed him to experiment and develop new uses for his power. That same voice that had sunk stubborn claws into the idea that his blood could hold more than just life.

But as he fought atop a tightrope of life or death, barely prevailing over his foes, worry replaced fanciful thought. He'd still not caught up to Nil.

Lucian thought a lot of Nil, he was talented, strong, and seemed well-natured. But if he was honest with himself, he didn't truly believe the man could surpass the second mountain. And there was certainly no chance of him besting the 5th stage experts here, even with all the luck in the world.

If that were the case, then he had to have met one of two ends. Either he turned to leave, and the inheritance ground welcomed his retreat… or he was dead. Worse than dead; broken down into his components and stuck together again as a prize for others.

'Don't be an idiot Nil, it's not worth the risk' If his thoughts were hypocritical, he did not notice.

Another vacant eyed man appeared before him, built like an elephant but with skin pale enough for the finest of noble ladies. Eight large cracks ran throughout his bare chest, and as he stepped forward, slowly but heavily, small pieces of his body fell off like dust.

Lucian needed the old breathing exercise to rid his thoughts and become tranquil. And when he did, their battle began.

Ten minutes later, after a fight that felt to Lucian as if it stretched on forever, Lucian's shadow moved in ways the light did not permit to deliver the blade of a sword through the huge man's own shadow.

That alone could not truly 'injure' the man, but it brought spiritual and psychological shock along with great pain. Alas, the man seemed to feel no pain, but the spiritual shock was enough to disrupt his defense as Lucian ran him through with a shortspear of caustic blood, and slashed his throat with a curved knife.

Covered in a great volume of his own blood, Lucian's arms fell limp as he watched the large man hit his knees onto the ground and break apart into dust and silver light.

As he let that silver light encompass him, he called on the lost blood and it began absorbing back into Lucian's body, even those scattered drops flying over. While none were Trueblood, after cultivating the Boundless Condensation technique for so long, every drop of his blood was incredibly valuable, and could fill a basin if decondensed.

As his blood returned, the silver light flooded him too. Everytime an enemy showed up, he was reaching his limit with the pressure, and had to retreat at least a hundred steps to where it was lesser before facing such a foe.

This time, he'd only reatreated 50 steps, a great achievement, but in consequence, he almost died as his chest was cratered and his heart mangled. It took three circulations of the Heart of Dawn, all the power he could muster, and a constant retreat of atleast 500 steps to fight through the suppressive intent in his wounds and heal through it.

But that all proved one thing. His heart was not a weakness. For 4th-stage Grand Life cultivators, the heart, mind, and soul were their weaknesses, everything else could be regenerated in time. But he'd obviously outdone the average somehow.

Was it his vitality attribute? Those were supposed to get exponentially stronger as one cultivated a similar aspect. Or perhaps it was his Trueblood.

With a cough of blood, he began walking back to where he'd retreated from, and then sat down to finish healing and adjusting to the pressure.

'I'm almost at the top. But I need a bit more. There's still more to do.'

Somewhere along the line, his thoughts had changed. Rather than seeking the end, and the greater inheritance, he wanted to complete his trueblood, to form another anchor, and to make steps towards the 5th stage.

But, as he was now, there would be only one more foe to fight. There had never before been more than one 5th stage expert, and as he advanced forward, a good three hours later, this held true even until the end, as his final opponent appeared before him.

It was with sad resignation that he realised he knew this person. He had watched their battles in the High Clash with great interest.

Tall, with long hair and flowing silver robes, a ribbon as wide as a head hung between her hands, and a silver pin, sharp like a spike ran through her hair.

There were no cracks through her face, but her skin was unnaturally white, and her eyes as vacant as the rest.

Sara Ranil of the Twisting Fates sect, whom Nil had battled in the semifinals.

A 3rd-stage Daoist at the height of her generation, yet now it was a 5th stage aura that rolled out around her.

'It's not Nil.' The thought brought him little joy. He knew Nil about as much as he did Sara, that is to say not at all. But he had good impressions of both. They were each talented and driven, and both had shown great sportsmanship in the tournament. They were the kind of people Lucian would have enjoyed contesting with, had he been an ordinary disciple, and not groomed as he was.

But as he saw Sara Ranil winding that long and wide ribbon around her hands, taking slow steps towards him as an oppressive aura beat against his body, he knew that none of that mattered any longer.

He'd done it before, and he would do it again.

Kill.

**

Within the second valley of mountains, midway up the tallest of the two, David Ballas grit his teeth as he cut his way through animated armor and statues of stone and metal.

His sword was one he trained to cut through everything. In cultivating the sword, he had forgone the flying blades of most daoists, ignored the external conjuration of energy, and focused everything on a sword that would cut.

As much as he'd like to claim it was for his devotion to the art that he made those choices, that was only one part of it. Every generation of cultivators since the advent of qi grew more and more talented, and David knew without a doubt in his mind that he was among the most talented his world had yet seen.

If only he had recognized where his talents lay early in life. For years before entering this place, he had been stuck at the peak of the 3rd stage, unable to advance as a Daoist. To go further than this required great talent in manipulation of spirit as well as a fundamental connection to the dao, however underdeveloped. But those were both things he lacked.

It had taken a long time to admit where he had gone wrong. He was incredibly talented, yes, but only in recent years did he recognize that his talent was not for the Dao. All along it had been the sword and himself. Communing with the dao, forging a core with ties to the plains, these things had always slowed him down.

Even his miniscule comprehension of the Dao of Fire, the easiest force to recognize and understand, came with incredible hardship. But the arts he found, they all required one to build a strong foundation for the dao within the 3rd stage.

The specifics could change, but a connection with the universe had to be made, and that was something he had never achieved.

It was for that reason that he had begun to cultivate the body. He never announced the fact, he considered it a shameful admission of his inability. But his father and Takis knew, and he was sure that all-seeing monarch knew the day he started.

Now, within The Maelstrom, he was put to the grindstone, made to adapt and persist, and his cultivation saw incredible benefit as a result.

His father told him that the paths of a Daoist and Augmentor were incompatible, that he would never reach his true potential walking both, but that was fine. When his Augmentor cultivation caught up with his might as a Daoist, he'd abandon the latter.

His long blade cut through a bronze statue, and he absorbed the nourishing energies of body and soul that left it. He was alone now, with the disappearance of Takis, but he didn't doubt that the prince was rushing through this same mountain right now.

If he wanted to reach whatever Mr. Clarke claims still waited here, he would need to hurry to reach it before Takis.