Better to seek wisdom at the feet of elders than to learn obedience under the rod. For the gentle guidance of the wise is like a nourishing rain that helps the sapling grow strong and straight, while the forceful blow may straighten the tree but leave it scarred and brittle. Wisdom gained through respect endures, but lessons learned through fear are soon forgotten. Thus, honor your elders and embrace their teachings, for a path lit by experience is safer than one stumbled through in darkness.

  - The Book of Wise Tellings from the Land of Streams.

  My next fight that day was against an opponent who wielded a flashy, flamboyant, yet ultimately ineffective fighting style. It was a wonder he had advanced this far. His spinning kicks and elaborate punches made him resemble a dancer more than a warrior, and they struck with all the force of a damp rag.

  As the bout dragged on, boredom crept in, and I found myself nearly yawning. To amuse myself, I decided to use Greater Drain, curious to see how long he could sustain such energetic yet futile maneuvers. Unexpectedly, he shifted tactics, abandoning his strikes to attempt a grapple.

  In that moment, close as lovers, the worthless memories of the worm seeped into me. Disgusted, I shoved him aside and resolved to end the farce. With a decisive Power Strike to his sternum, I stopped his heart, bringing the fight to a swift conclusion.

  As always, the crowd went wild. Among his memories was a rare jewel, a girl who had given herself to him. I would relive that memory next time as I rutted with Elenora. Perhaps I would make a sidequest of it to find where she lives…

  No, such delights would have to be put aside for more pressing matters. It felt like I would need a lot more kills to have any chance of reaching the next level. The experience points I received now were but a pittance.

  Once the crowd had settled, I went to check on Larynda. If Tai-san caused the girl any lasting harm, he would die. No, the old man would die anyway, but I would make his death particularly horrific and slow.

  I stepped into the cool white-washed room where the heat of the day dared not intrude. The ceiling high above me was painted with a delicate array of stylized Dust flowers, their petals and vines twining across the pale ivory stone. The air was thick with incense, the sweet and smoky tendrils curling from a swinging thurible, filling the space with a fragrance that clung to the skin. I had a feeling that the healers thought the clean aroma aided in their fight against unclean humors.

  In the center, Larynda lay on a low cot, surrounded by healers, men and women both, draped in robes of pristine white and their waists bound with black leather belts. Their voices rose in a low, rhythmic chant, low words that carried the weight of solemnity. As they murmured, the girl’s lips touched the rim of a silver cup, from which she drank a red liquid, a potion of Healing. The liquid in the goblet seemed to shimmer like freshly spilled blood in the candlelight. Perhaps all of the chanting malarkey strengthened its effects.

  A quick cast of Identify told me all I needed to know: my ward was hale and whole, though the ritual continued. Whatever affliction had brought her here was already gone, but still, the healers worked as though they were transfixed in completing their duties.

  "How are you feeling?" I asked, offering an awkward smile.

  She returned it weakly, her shoulders slumping as she sighed. "I’m alright. Didn’t think I’d lose like that. I guess I didn’t take the old man seriously. If I had just..."

  "Could have, would have, should have," I cut her off sternly. "Did we not teach you better? Those are the excuses of the weak."

  "Well, that’s rich coming from you. You lost to him too, if I remember," she shot back, clearly irritated.

  "Larynda!" I snapped, anger flaring.

  The healers in white studiously avoided my gaze, suddenly engrossed in their charts or organizing Alchemics on the shelves. They knew I was capable of inflicting injuries beyond even their skills to heal.

  "Fine, fine, I get it," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Just kill the bastard for me, won’t you?"

  Her words caught me off guard; such a savage request was uncharacteristic of her. I had no idea who could have influenced her to speak like that.

  "Of course," I replied with a gracious smile. "I’ll twist his arms and snap them off like twigs."

  Without warning, she hugged me, fiercely and suddenly. The embrace was full of pent-up frustration. Against my will, I felt the firm softness of her growing form and realized, with a pang of odd regret, that my ward was becoming a woman.

  "Make him pay..." she whispered, her voice filled with passionate fire.

  "Don't lose next time," I muttered, feeling a bit awkward as I patted her back in a friendly, platonic gesture.

  She clung to me tighter, her tears of frustration dampening my shoulder. As she wept, I felt increasingly uncomfortable but waited until she had gotten the worst out of her system before gently pushing her away.

  "How about some tea? I'm sure you'll feel better after a warm cup," I offered, casting a meaningful glance at the nearby staff.

  One of them hurried off, and before long, a simple yet charming tea set was laid out before us. The set was made of white clay, its surfaces smooth but well-worn. Some of the cups were chipped at the edges, hinting at years of use and countless shared moments. The stout kettle steamed invitingly, and the earthy scent of tea leaves filled the air.

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  I busied myself with preparing the tea, grateful for the distraction. Pouring hot water over the leaves, I watched the liquid turn a warm amber. I handed Larynda a cup, and she mutely accepted it with a small, appreciative nod.

  We settled down—I on a small, creaky wooden stool, and she on the edge of her cot—and began to talk about the small things. Slowly, I teased out the remaining negative emotions within her. With each passing moment, I noticed her shoulders relaxing and a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The color slowly returned to her cheeks as the warmth of the tea and the light conversation eased her spirits.

  *****

  One of the healers, an elderly gentleman with a weathered, sun-beaten face, insisted that Larynda remain under their care, explaining they needed to perform a few more checks before releasing her. He was adamant, unfazed by my subtle threats. I realized then that the man was certainly dedicated to his post. Stubborn and sure, the cantankerous old healer had a very different sort of strength to my own.

  As I wandered back to my quarters, my escort followed closely behind, the clank of their armor echoing with every step. My path was suddenly blocked by one of my greatest annoyances—Tai-san.

  "Hello there, young man!" he greeted me, far too cheerfully for my liking.

  I ignored him and continued walking.

  "A word of advice, my angry young friend. But first, congratulations. It’s a testament to your strength and talent that you’ve made it this far. By the way, an excellent, if crude, display of Iron Body. However..." He paused, letting the words hang. "Your next opponent is beyond you."

  I stopped, turning back to him. "What is it, old man? Is it you?" I asked with a huff of annoyance.

  "No," he replied, stroking his long beard, "but the man who bested me—a warrior-monk of the River God. He is as far beyond me as I am beyond you, I'm afraid."

  I narrowed my eyes. "You were never beyond me, and a monk of River? Does that mean he is good with boats or swimming?"

  "Ha! I took a liking to you," he chuckled. "I sparred with you as I would train an acolyte, holding back the true power my contemplation has given me."

  "Prove it then," I snarled, challenging Tai-san. Turning to my guards, I commanded, "You lot—do not interfere. It’s time I teach this one a lesson."

  Tai-san sighed. "It seems I must first teach you humility before you can learn anything."

  "Just get it over with, old man," I shot back, mockingly gesturing for him to come at me with one hand, while keeping the other behind my back.

  The old man launched himself at me, but his fist was aimed at the space just next to my head. I saw his intent, he wanted to intimidate me by smashing the stone of the wall. Silly thing, I had seen feats greater than that.

  I met his fist with my own, an Entropic Strike powering the blow. My knuckles smashed just under Tai-sans and should have cracked his bones. That was the thing about fighting without gloves or hand protection: your hands, as well as being your weapons, could also be a point of weakness.

  However, despite a spidery black pattern spreading from his hand, the old man seemed unfazed. His expression remained one of supreme concentration. Tai-san had not been lying when he said he had been holding back in our initial fight. The only problem was, so had I.

  “Forgive, but let this be a lesson in the gulf between us. This is the first technique of my style, Tiger Claw. The key is focus and a clear heart and mind,” my opponent droned on as if he were a teacher instructing a child

  His hands slashed at me, fingers forming claws that raked across my flesh, drawing blood. However, my Improved Pain Nullification skill enabled me to take the damage in a clinical and withdrawn fashion, observing that the technique did around twenty-three points of damage.

  “That’s it?” I commented, more annoyed at the fact that the help would have to find me new clothes. My guards stood stock still, looking professionally disinterested in my ‘lesson.’

  “I think that your technique could do with some improvement,” I mused with an evil grin.

  Mockingly, I curled my hands into claws, copying Tai-san. Clear the mind? Focus? What utter nonsense. All I wanted to do was humiliate this pathetic example of a human being before I sent him to meet his ancestors. Heavens knew they had probably been waiting long enough.

  Vitriol filled me. Vitriol and hate for this man who thought he was in a position to teach. How dare he hurt Larynda. How dare he think striking me was a lesson!

  With an Improved Rush Strike, I closed what little distance there was between us. Seething with rage, I channeled it into my attack, raking my claws across his torso and face.

  I let out a madman’s laugh, bitter glee filling my voice. It seemed that inspiration could be had from the most unlikely of sources. Tai-san screamed, purple spreading from the gashes where I had struck him. As the discoloration spread, the furrows in his flesh hissed as if they were burning.

  Even without weapons, I had become deadly.

  “You are… a fast study…” he wheezed.

  A backhanded blow to his temple finally silenced him utterly, caving in his skull. Some people just always wanted to have the last word, and I did not have it within me to entertain them.

  The notification did much to assuage my anger; the fresh influx of experience was a soothing balm. With Larynda now avenged, my rage seeped away, even as blood trickled from the old man's lifeless ears. Not only that, but the gain in Wisdom was enough to increase my maximum Mana by a single point.

  Rereading the notification, I realized the old man was not just human but a human cultivator. What did that mean? Had Tai-san been of a different species or an evolved form of common humanity?

  It was a shame he could no longer answer me. However, his death revealed a faster way to acquire more experience—I needed to hunt down and kill more of these cultivators, whatever they were.

  “You are all witnesses to this man attacking me,” I proclaimed, my voice cutting through the tense air. “Jealous of my prowess, he assaulted me. I absolve you of all responsibility, for it was I who tried to reason with this crazed lunatic. You simply killed him to defend me when he attacked, as was your duty. Does anyone here say otherwise? Know that this is the only path that will save you face.”

  I fixed each of them with a steely gaze, ensuring they grasped the weight of my words. “Good. Tell the servants to dispose of this corpse wherever you people discard your dead,” I commanded, delivering a powerful kick to Tai-san’s infuriating face, smashing his features beyond recognition.

  The men exchanged uneasy glances, shuffling as they adjusted their weapons. No doubt they were calculating the potential cost of defiance.

  Their silence was my answer, but I sensed they needed further persuasion. “Do not make me repeat myself,” I said coldly.

  Their leader, a dark-bearded man wearing an open-faced nasal helm, snapped to attention and gave me a quick salute before barking orders to the rest of the escort. With a triumphant grin, I returned to my quarters, feeling as though I were part of a victory procession.