The man was perhaps a few decades older than Yu Han. It was hard to tell with cultivators. The lifespan increase before core formation wasn’t much. But they did tend to live longer unless forcefully being stopped.
The print of age on this one’s face was clear. He was probably a common talent.
Most cultivators with refined talent or higher eventually reached Qi Gathering, many hitting the milestone before the cutoff to join the inner sect. Those who missed the window but reached Level 11 aimed for tournament spots or elder sponsorships. Some pivoted for roles as sect stewards.
Those who remained despite decades of toil in the outer sect were mostly common talents. Still striving for that one spark to ignite their qi.
Gong Muhua was one. This guy might be another. The old man who’d absolutely demolished the seven thugs was also such a cultivator.
Most stalled at Level 10. Persistence technically guaranteed a breakthrough as the dao didn't deal in impossible tribulations, only mindbogglingly difficult ones. But even if a mortal-grade affinity allowed for qi gathering in theory, the reality was usually a losing race against the clock.
Cultivation took time. A long time.
By the time they would reach qi gathering, the increase in lifespan would be so little that they’d have little hope of ever building a proper foundation.
So they’d look for shortcuts and fortuitous encounters. A popular shortcut was bowing the head to those above. Though Yu Han was of the opinion that such a path would wind far longer than no shortcuts in the long term.
“Well met.” The man cupped his fists. He was tall, way past 200 centimetres. A wolftooth club slung over his shoulder. It was huge, with monster fangs jutting out at irregular intervals. Part of it was covered in cloth so that the fangs wouldn’t poke the man. “Yu Han, I presume.”
Yu Han returned the courtesy with a bow of his own. “Indeed I am. May I ask what business the senior brother has with me?”
The tall man went straight to the point. “Your betters have judged your acts, and you have been deemed worthy of investment. A certain core disciple of the sect extends an invitation to his pavilion. We shall meet at sunbreak in three days.”
“And the name of the core disciple is?” Yu Han asked.
“Not for you to dwell upon.” The tall man nodded. “This one’s name is Lu Shan. I’m known as Strong Shan in the outer sect. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I have some repute.”
“Ah, indeed, so it’s Senior Brother Shan!” Yu Han had no idea who the hell he was. “I didn’t know I was in your presence. Would tea suffice?”
Lu Shan waved his hand. “I have other matters. The invitation extends to your two friends as well, Huang Niuniu and Li Yao. Bring them to our meeting as commanded.”
“This one isn’t worthy, isn’t worthy,” Yu Han bowed deeply.
Lu Shan nodded, crossing his arms. “Well then, you best prepare—”
“I’ll forward this matter to Senior Brother Duan Xiaolong,” Yu Han said. “I shall mention that Senior Brother Lu Shan had urged us for a reply within three days—”
“We cultivate immortality. What is three days and three months?” Lu Shan said. “They are all measures of time. There is no rush.”
“By the will of our betters as you have said,” Yu Han continued. “Us four, including Fang Zhao, have been commanded to stick together. So I wonder why he was not extended an invitation?”
Lu Shan had no reply, but his gaze sharpened.
“That is not for me to ask, I assume, neither is it proper for you to answer.” Yu Han gave Lu Shan a look as if to show he ‘got it.’ He added, “I shall still hear Senior Brother Duan Xiaolong’s reply. One core disciple to another, perhaps they can come to an agreement about it.”
Lu Shan looked Yu Han up and down. “It’s a little too soon for a rookie like you to meddle in core disciple politics, don’t you think?”
“Meddle? My word. I would never.”
“Take care not to get your hand scorched,” Lu Shan said. “Gong Muhua’s lessons must be lacking.”
It was an allusion to either a threat, an insult, or the guy really didn’t know.
“I hear he moved homes recently,” Yu Han said. “But the curse of the night soil followed. A poor fate, to have no place to excrete. Shall we still meet in three days, at sunbreak? Perhaps I’ll miss cleaning up the cesspools in certain parts of the centrum in the meanwhile. Where does Strong Shan live? Let’s meet at your house.”
“No need,” Lu Shan said. “Expect to hear from us again. Perhaps the core disciples can reach an agreement, as you suggested.”
The tall man left.
“And that’s what happened,” Yu Han said. He’d just gotten back from the Law Enforcement hall. It was good to prepare just in case things went south. Tan Ruoxuan gave him a bunch of Jade of Moments just in case.
Yu Han had asked her if it was okay for him to borrow so many earth-grade artefacts. Tan Ruoxuan and a senior sister who looked every bit the bored receptionist had snickered for two solid minutes. Apparently, their laughter was the only answer he was going to get.
The four were lounging in the Night Alchemists’ Yard. Fang Zhao meditated with open eyes, staring at a bloody pattern appearing on his skin. It was part of his new bloodline art, the Sanguine Blood Mark. He had recovered more, though not fully. Still an impressive result considering it had only been a night. The boy squinted, and the blood mark vanished into his skin.
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The wounds visibly healed.
Li Yao polished care of his swords. That one nick near the handle of one of them was quite literally grinding his gears and his whetstone. He would get another one, but he’d grown attached to his first ever two blades.
Huang Niuniu blushed. Furiously. She sat all the way on the other end of the veranda.
“Did something happen between you and Cow Girl?” Li Yao asked.
“No,” Yu Han lied. “So what’s the plan now?”
“Do you think Senior Duan’s gonna mind?” Li Yao said. “You were pulling shit outta your ass. Right?”
“Indeed I was,” Yu Han said.
“Ain’t that bad?” Li Yao said.
“Remember when Senior Tan said Senior Duan spoke up for us after the Mad Bloodhounds incident?” Yu Han said. “I’m guessing we’re on a list already. He wants us to do something, or act a certain way. He won’t mind.”
“Are you sure?” Li Yao said, and Mistress Miao snapped her head in his direction.
The cat walked over. “Who is sure about what?”
“Nope,” Yu Han said.
“Then it’s a gamble,” Li Yao said.
“It’s a deduction,” Yu Han said. “An educated guess.”
“Well, too late for regrets. I’d sooner eat my sword than be an ingrate,” Li Yao shrugged.
A sandal was thrown from the other end of the veranda. It flew over their heads and landed on the yard.
“What?” Li Yao asked Huang Niuniu.
“P-Practicing my aim,” she said. She hopped around them with a large distance and picked the sandal up. Put it on, then lifted Mistress Miao from under her belly. The cat didn’t struggle. The girl ran off.
“The plan should be to get the courtyard running as soon as we can, no?” Fang Zhao chimed in. He stood up and stretched. His usual routine before practising. “Brother Yu, care for a spar?”
Yu Han got up too. “Why not?”
The two took position about fifteen meters apart. Yu Han used a wooden pole that was about the same length as his halberd. It was far lighter, but it was a spar.
Fang Zhao shot forward, a palm lashing out.
Synaptic Bloom!
The world slowed down. Time didn’t, but his processing of external information rose by magnitudes. Smell and taste fell away. But not too much. Sight, sound, and touch remained. They amplified.
Too late to dodge.
He parried the palm with the pole’s body. He used the subtle force to angle the bottom half of the pole backwards and the upper half downwards and in front. It went straight for Fang Zhao’s shoulder.
The red-eyed boy dodged, following up with six more palm strikes.
The wind from the strikes hit him before the palms. Sweat dripped down Yu Han’s forehead. He felt the shockwaves.
Yu Han blocked, parried, and jumped backwards, always barely staying out of the palms’ range.
After the seventh palm strike, Fang Zhao slid forward, a fist angled towards Yu Han’s abdomen.
Yu Han hadn’t seen him use this attack before. Not wanting to get punched, he drove down with the pole. The grainy wood responded to his fingertips like another limb. He sent it spearing toward Fang Zhao, spinning the shaft like a drill. His gaze remained locked on his opponent’s every micro-adjustment.
Fang Zhao planted his toes on the dirt, the inertia flinging his upper body up like the arm of a catapult. Yu Han had barely enough time to get into Mountain Root Stance.
Wind whispered. Palm met wood. The vibration travelled through the staff and into Yu Han’s bone.
He lost lifeforce. A sharp whistle sounded all throughout his body, hitting his eardrums like a knife.
He tasted bile. His Thousand Petals Awareness slipped. Senses of taste and smell came back.
Was that the Whispering Wind Palm? It was one of the arts the Liang steward had given.
Stone cutting chop!
The feedback from the clash caught Fang Zhao off guard too. The pole caught his hand as he was retreating. A satisfying thud of bone knocking on wood.
The boy yelped, swayed backwards left and right, and jumped back. Another new art? Yu Han’s follow up strikes failed to catch him.
Fang Zhao charged forward mid-retreat, punching out with two fists simultaneously, one above and the other below. His right fist made a thunderous sound, the other appeared heavy as a boulder.
Yu Han focused on the lower fist. Soft, airy lines surrounded it. There was a subtle glow within the knuckle too.
Is that qi? Or lifeforce?
Yu Han ducked, then sidestepped left, dodging the fist above. He caught the other with the pole.
The heavy punch, accompanied by lines so translucent they were nearly invisible, collided with the wood with barely a sound. For a split second, nothing happened.
But Yu Han felt the waves upon waves of force piling into the pole. He let go, just before the pole splintered into pieces.
Yu Han’s kick had already landed on Fang Zhao’s torso.
The boy flew back, but pushed against the ground with his palms as if walking on his hands, and flipped upright.
Yu Han’s muscles were sore. He could feel them reaching their limit. Taut, like elastic pulled to the very edge. His breath was ragged. The blur at the edge of his vision focused, while the uncanny sharpness of Fang Zhao, the target of his concentration, faded.
He smelled the sweat dripping down his neck, tasted the ache in his knees, and saw his beating heart.
He dropped the two wood pieces. Then Synaptic Bloom.
“I give,” he said.
“Brother Yu!” Fang Zhao grinned, “it was just getting good!”
“I can’t sustain Synaptic Bloom anymore.”
“What a magnificent art,” Fang Zhao said. “You must teach it to me.”
“It doesn’t appear as an art though,” Yu Han said. “And you’d need a psychic art to power it in the first place. I can share that if you want.”
“You must formulate the steps, carefully, one movement of the muscle at a time,” Fang Zhao said. “New arts are created all the time. Once you systemise a structured method, I am sure it will appear as an auxiliary art. Or perhaps a martial art? In any case, the dao is all-knowing. Brother Yu, well fought.”
Huang Niuniu and Fei Rui clapped. Mistress Miao looked bored. She pawed the air with her forelegs. The three went away again, this time to the donkey shed.
“Brother Yu, perhaps it’s not a good idea to disregard your sense of smell entirely,” Fang Zhao said during the feedback section.
“If I don’t mute a sense, then it’s hard to amplify others so quickly.”
“But you can still amplify them without muting any, correct?”
Yu Han nodded.
“Then it’s better to amplify all senses than to fight with half,” Fang Zhao said. “To me, fighting without smell or taste would be like fighting with one arm tied to a tree.”
Yu Han had a lot to ponder with that. He wasn’t a savant of combat. He’d taken to muting senses because initially he wanted Thousand Petals Awareness to block his smell because he’d be working in cesspools. But the coverall helmet took care of that. Did he really need to mute first and then amplify? Or should he train both skills separately?
Fang Zhao and Li Yao sparred next. Li Yao used wooden practice swords. He’d carved them himself, trying to match the weight and size of his real swords.
Their fight lasted longer, and both got hit more. Fang Zhao was obviously trying to get practice in with the newer arts he’d learnt. If he had used the Sanguine Blood Marks, or even his usual repertoire of martial arts fully, then Yu Han would not have lasted even ten seconds.
Li Yao stuck with dual wielding the two sword arts he already knew. Silver Serpent Blade Dance and the Sword Stream Separation Art. One sword would twist and turn. Snap back and pounce. A rapier might have been a better sword for it. Though it was designed for the Jian, a type of double-edged sword. The other wooden sword was slightly different. Heavier and longer, and slightly curved, perhaps meant more for slashing? It wasn’t a sabre, but acted as if it was.
Every time Li Yao swung it, the wind would howl. The spar ended with Li Yao catching Fang Zhao in the leg with an outstretched foot, tripping him.
As always, the scar-faced boy didn’t play fair.
Fang Zhao laughed it off. Before they could start the next round of spars, this time Yu Han versus Li Yao, angry shouting came from the yard’s gate.
The three made their way over.
Huang Niuniu was in an argument with Dong Tianlan.
? The Broken Arcanist [Weak to OP | Necro | Progression LitRPG] ?
by Aleth08
A dying heart. A shattered legacy. A debt written in blood.
The world he walks was saved by blood once before, and it has never been kind to what survives on borrowed mercy.
Inspired by novels I like: Warlock of the Magus World | Reverend Insanity | A Record of a Mortal's Journey to Immortality etc.
Release Schedule: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday [After the initial run]
What to expect:
[+] Weak to OP
[+] Necro MC
[+] Morally Grey Pragmatic MC
[+] LitRPG-Cultivation Blend
[+] Arcana Based Powers System
[+] Romance [Not Harem]
[+] Third-Person Limited Narration
