Oathbound

Chapter 72

Oathbound

Lu Yang crouched by the budding garden, watering it gently. He'd switched out into one of his simpler, gray robes, and sought some work from Leo--the latter offered him the temporary job of a gardener, and he happily accepted. 

Even now, before any of the planted seeds had truly budded, he could tell that the 'ordinary' seeds from outside the forest had begun mutating. He didn't quite know what would happen once they bloomed, but he was sort of looking forward to it. 

He wasn't alone by the garden, either--there were a few curious Spirits observing him, namely a blue-eyed rabbit and the black panther. The latter was named Blackie, and as far as he could tell, the rabbit did not have a name. The two sat side by side and silently watched him. 

"It's called levium technique," he spoke, explaining his way of watering. "Every seed, even of the same species, is unique in some small ways. Ordinarily, you simply water the dirt evenly, as that is mostly enough. However, levium technique teaches us to treat each and every seed individually; some demand wetter soil, some dryer, some yet demand only shallow wetness, and some demand the water reach their roots. However, we are not clairvoyant--thus, we observe. Bit by bit, we learned how each and every seed behaves. We quaintly close our eyes, and listen to the voices of the voiceless." the eyes of the two Spirits widened ever so slightly, and even Lu Yang found himself on the cusps of extending his arm to pet them... but he didn't dare. Even if Leo repeatedly said that they were all largely harmless, it was impossible for Lu Yang to divorce himself from the idea that these tiny little creatures were akin to Gods in his family's lore. 

He stood up and moved to the other side of the garden, slowly repeating the process over and over again for each individual plant. It was somewhat unnecessary, however, and he hadn't planned on doing it had he not mentioned the technique to the Spirits. Most of these seeds were exceedingly ordinary, and merely being planted into the Nameless Forest's soil was more than enough to cause a mutation. Properly rearing them was a bit of an overkill. However, now that he was committed to it, he charged head-on. 

"Take this seed, for instance," he pointed at the few budding leaves jutting out from the ground. "Silent Lotus usually grows near a source of water--a stream, a pond, a river--or even directly inside of it if it is shallow enough. As such, it is very thirsty, especially when in infancy. Because it is planted near other seeds, if we are not careful, it could cause drought elsewhere by demanding more for itself. As such, we dig out a shallow canal around it, and pour water until it fills that canal up. It means that the lotus seed had taken in as much as it can for now, and it would still have some in reserve for later. 

"Or take this seed," he pointed at the only plant that had a flower slowly blooming. The petals were still facing inward, closed, though its orange hue was slowly growing transparent. "Sundew Pulp. Unlike Silent Lotus, it doesn't require a lot of water--minimal amounts, even. However, it does need a lot of sunlight-specifically, early sunlight. The light from the star, as it bends over the horizon early at the dawn, disperses Qi in particular ways, temporarily forming something we call Sundew. It's not like actual dew, since it is mostly Qi rearranged in a specific way, but due to the Sundew Pulp's natural inclinations, the effect the Sundew has over water is around a hundred times better." 

Both Spirits followed him and sat by his side, seeming engrossed in his words. Lu Yang felt a certain tranquility that he hadn't felt in a long time. The reason he knew so much about gardening wasn't because everyone did--before he was consumed with work, back when he still had time to do things beyond necessity, he found enjoyment in tending to a small garden that his mother had made when he was born. It was even smaller than this one, having only six or seven different plants, but tending to them daily was a beyond meditative experience. 

He'd forgotten, in both the flames of conflict and the selfish pursuit of Dao, that there was more to life. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the tangled fumes of the forest's scents--morning grass, the bark of the trees, the carried scent of flowers, the nearby pond... it was nature at its most primal, and it was almost like a calming intoxicant. 

"Breakfast's ready!" he heard a voice calling him, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

He stood up and stretched as the panther and the rabbit raced off toward the source of the voice. Lu Yang smiled and followed shortly after, reaching the central area quickly--he was yet to get over his initial shock of seeing so many Spirits and animals converge here every meal. It seemed that their numbers increased once again, as though the stories of this place were reaching places further and further out. 

"You look relaxed," Leo said with a smile as Lu Yang sat down and took the plate.

"I am," he replied. "I forgot how calming the gardening can be." 

"Indeed. Sometimes simple things are needed to remind us that we need respite." 

"Hm? It's different this morning."

"You noticed? I changed out a few vegetables," Leo said. "The taste is not as tantalizing, but it has a good kickback after swallowing."

"That it does."

"How are your wounds?"

"Healed," Lu Yang replied. "Rather, I haven't felt this good in... well, in a long, long time."

"Hey, don't steal! There's enough for everyone!" he shooed one of the Spirits that tried to sneak a piece of meat, prompting Lu Yang to break out into cold sweat. He danced at the periphery of whether Leo knew who these animals were--and he was uncertain which one was more terrifying... that he didn't know, or that he did know and still treated them this way. "Haah, did you notice that more showed up this morning?"

"So I wasn't mistaken," he said.

"Sixteen more," Leo said. "When I started making meals, there were only ten, fifteen animals at the most. Now, I can barely keep up. If more start appearing, I might legitimately have to clone myself." 

"Ha ha, there is no need. Even if I can't help fully with cooking due to lack of talent, I can still help with gathering at least."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. I had a pair of Disciples helping me until recently, but they went to test themselves out in the Cradle of the First Men."

"Oh?" Lu Yang arched his brows. It wasn't entirely unexpected--even he spent a year at the Cradle in his early twenties. It was sort of a rite of passage for any young cultivator. "You have Disciples?"

"You could say," Leo chuckled strangely. "It was mostly that I didn't have the heart to turn them away."

"If they are confident enough to go to the Cradle, you must have taught them well." 

"I just hope they'll stay safe and not risk their lives for treasures." Lu Yang briefly wanted to mention that only a fool would, considering that he seemed to hold all the priceless treasures any cultivator could want, but he stayed his lips. 

"It is difficult to resist the call of the glitter," Lu Yang said, remembering his own youth. "Few stay their fingers, and even fewer their hearts. It is a test of human heart, I feel, for even the worthless glitter seems inviting." 

"That's true," Leo said. "Well, all I can do is believe in them." 

Silence fell upon the forest, lofty and lithe, like graceful silk wrapping around their hearts.

**

The earth hummed violently, as though a bellowing call from the depths echoed out past its innumerable cracks. The trees shook and swayed, and the blades of grass began to shiver as though with terror. Above, the blue sky reddened at first, and then blackened until there was no light to be witnessed. 

A figure stepped out from the shadows and observed silently--silver eyes shimmered in the dark like a pair of stars, silent and unassuming. 

The darkness surged like tidal waves crashing into one another, invisible vapors turning corporeal, almost like ashen smoke. From within, phantom figures flashed in and out, like enigmatic ghosts in a storm. Beastly jowls hung like faltering liquid, eyes round, wide and infinite, and voice stilled in a reality beyond this. 

Within the ever-surging darkness, there was a spec of light, flickering and faltering. It seemed as though the bonds of everything lurched toward it, shadows like arms trying to grasp it... but failing. 

Above the flickering light was yet another figure, old and destitute, worn-out and insolvent. His robes hung loose from his bone-and-flesh body, tattered, bloodied, and torn. In his left hand he held a sword, simple and short, shimmering with a golden light. The figure floated in the nothingness, deflecting the all-consuming shadows breathlessly. Yet, his eyes were cold and detached, offering a glimpse of a soul that was not there.

"Let us..." hisses whispered from the bulging nothingness.

"Let us in..."

"Free us..."

"Save us..."

"Pity us..."

It was not the first time he'd heard them, nor would it be the last. Thousands, millions... he'd lost count over the incalculable number of years. When he was a boy, and when he was told he was chosen to become a Sword God by his Master, his joy would lapse a mountain. But it was a trick, a lie, a cheat, a despicable ploy by a tired old man in want of death. 

In his stead now he stood--just as tired, just as old, just as broken, and just as in want of death. But unlike his Master, he was unable to tear his heart asunder and mantle this fate upon another child. He'd fight, day after day after day after day, long after his bones were dust and his flesh ash, and long after he should have become a memory buried in a coffin. 

"You dreary old thing, give up already!"

"Are you not tired?! Are you not desiring rest?!"

Their whispers were the yearnings of his heart, the very yearnings he had to deny. Instead of listening to them, he swung his sword once again--it hummed loftily, serenading the empty nothingness in a voice that he could not hear. From within the simple design, a golden rune shone out as brightly as the sun itself. It shuttered the surrounding miles of darkness backward, causing the wails and screams of pain and agony to erupt into a world-bounding symphony. 

His old body was no longer--in its stead, there was a masculine, dashing figure with a head full of hair and muscles where only flesh was. He stood a holy figure in the cascading darkness, a dam holding back to flooding river. 

An ordinary boy shorn of life, he was given the mantle of a God, and a duty of an Oathbound. 

Fight. 

Every day.

Every night. 

God must protect his realm at all cost. It was a duty unwanted, yet a duty he knew he must fulfill. 

Thus, he fought.

Every day.

Every night. 

And would fight until his weathered heart and soul could fight no more, until he, too, became a fading whisper in the wind, forever to be forgotten.