A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

What should have been a fifty-person free-for-all was reorganized in less than a minute. Small groups formed around. And plenty of shouts traveled around the arena; a few veterans took point without asking.

The cause of the change stood near the center now.

A beast, at least thirteen feet tall.

No one on the continent had seen anything like it. People spoke anyway.

"A giant boar? But its face is too flat…"

"Maybe something from the south?"

It looked like a dog. A very large one with a flat muzzle and round, wet eyes. Folds lay heavy across its face. The nose was dark and soft. It breathed with a small, even hitch, sometimes even sounding as if it was gargling.

Hff-Hff-Snrrf

A team of people who used chains moved first. Two archers supported them, aiming for the joints. A caster had also started using a spell.

The chains touched, hooks tangled on its fur, and the steel links tightened.

Then, the beast sat.

Weight immediately settled on the metal as it answered with a single hard snapping sound, and then went slack, links skipping over the sand.

Another group tried lower. Shields forward, legs targeted. They aimed at hinges: ankles, knees, hips.

But the beast simply lifted one paw and swiped them; three people guarded against it went down to a knee.

Hff-Hff-Snrrf-Hff

This time, a net, wide as a shop roof, floated down from the left. It landed over the beast's head and shoulders. But the beast sneezed once and the net lifted and folded itself over two of the throwers instead. They cursed, pulled it off, and tried again elsewhere.

"Pit?" an earthworker asked.

"Front third," her partner answered.

A mouth opened in the sand and the beast tilted into it. It paused when its elbow sunk, and with a small grunt, simply pulled it out and walked forward.

A spear was headed for its eye. The spear had the right speed and angle, but the wielder did not commit at the last moment; after all, the face in front of him did not look like one that intended to kill him.

Instead, he turned the point downwards and intended to scar the beast's face instead, trying to slash downward. However, a paw met his ribs and sent him gently flying to the side. He eventually stopped rolling on the ground, and then he lifted his hand and stayed there.

A paladin called for a wedge. They timed their strike to the breath, slid in, and went for the rear legs. The beast moved again, but this time, it jumped. The result this time were two flattened and unconscious entrants.

Illusionists set bait. A rack of meat, then a squealing toy, then the shape of a running cat. The beast's head tilted a bit, looking at each of them, slow and attentive, but then it returned to the nearest person. The illusions were dismissed without comment.

Hff-Snrrf-Hff-Hff

An archer called out to those near him that there was no entry for a beast of this size in any reference he owned. He suggested that this was simply a polymorph at its source.

But did that really change anything? The threat was right in front of them, and there was nothing they could do.

In the stands, some laughed at the sound of the beast's breathing. But inside the arena, no one did. The sound felt very off for the situation they were in.

Hff-Hff

By the tenth minute, most of those inside the arena had adapted. Groups had stopped throwing bodies at the beast.

Instead, they performed a last coordinated attempt meant for ogres.

It was to no avail.

At the center, the beast breathed, eyes large and calm. Then, it suddenly charged forward at the remaining entrants.

Hff-Snrrf-Hff

*****

There wasn't anyone here I needed to be wary of.

In the previous round, there were two. Here, none.

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Since there were no threats, I stayed at the center and let the rest of the entrants decide how much they wanted to test. I had to make this as much of a spectacle as possible.

A group of four did the sensible thing and stayed away. They kept to the edges. Whenever I turned, they adjusted and moved away. They didn't even attempt to fight when an opening seemed to invite them, nor did they try to be clever behind my back. Since they were smart enough, I left them alone.

By the 20th minute, the inside of the arena was quieter. Five of us stood: the four who had not engaged, and me. The marshal checked for any deahts, looked at each of us for any major injuries, and raised his flag. Since there were no technicalities that were violated, we essentially passed to the next stage.

That was the moment my existence stopped being a rumor.

Luminographers had been looking for something to sell, and I was the perfect target.

Newspapers came out of their trays with clean lines: round eyes, heavy folds, and a flat nose. Vendors bought them by the bulk and carried them down the steps while they were still damp. And people bought them because they had never seen a beast my size on this continent.

Of course, more rumors took root faster than ink could dry. The same details repeated from mouth to mouth.

But by afternoon, once someone said Sunmire, it stayed. Godbeast followed after it in the same breath. Then "the sixth heir," then "missing," then "disgrace," as if the words were bound together and could not be spoken apart.

People went to find proof. The local libraries were quickly filled up. Reporters ran fingers down by the year and they looked for the next scoop.

They turned more pages and found nothing. They checked indexes. They looked through the records by the year. But all they came back with was dust on their sleeves and not much else.

That lack became its own story. A few papers ran side notes to say there was no formal confirmation from any Sunmire office and no public roll that used my title.

The notes all ended in the same place: the Adventurer's Guild would post standings and affiliations at day's end, as it always did. The board would show who had passed the first stage. It would show names and sponsors. It would settle everything.

I stayed large. Hiding would have been pointless after this morning.

Everything before the board was speculation. The news, the rumors, the old notices from Sunmire with their missing lines: all air. The Adventurer's Guild was one of the most trusted establishments in the world, and what they put out was basically the truth..

I breathed and waited.

Rinvara still sat at the guest-of-honor area, and I was there beside her with my paws under the bar. Sali was behind us on a bench, half-buried under blankets the staff kept bringing. They were feeding her too much. Fruit slices, bread strips dipped in honey, salted nuts, a skewer of meat

The other rounds went on. But I dozed by as I watched.

Between matches, the attendants would come by to ask if I needed water or shade. I said no to the shade. I drank. When I turned to look at Sali, she made a face and hid a sweet under her tongue like a child.

The staff found her cute and brought her more food. I worried she'd get fat.

The guild heads sat near us in a small row with a table for their cups. Six in all. Five men and one woman. If not for the uniforms, they could have been the neighbors who tell you your gate hinge was loose and then fix it. Mid-forties at first-glance.

They didn't speak much. They just watched the fights. Every so often, one of them would write a few words on a small notebook and keep it in their coat.

But still, I felt pressure when I looked at them. It was not killing intent. It was not threat. I tested that feeling because of my curiosity, and when I lingered on the woman too long, she glanced over.

I looked back at the arena. I could feel my heart beat hard in my throat.

'So, this was a Phase-0…'

The rest of the day went by normally. The crews were fast with repairs, and when someone broke a rule, they were quickly disqualified. People cheered at the fights, and many adventurers nearing Phase-2 had started appearing in the later rounds.

As the last matches finished, the reporters started to gather at the main entrance.

The board crews brought out the frames. And in there were stacks of sheets by the round—names, numbers, affiliations.

I went with Rinvara to the main entrance. I stood beside her at the side so the crowd could pass. The guild heads came down by a separate stair and took their places near the board. The woman from their line looked at me once more, not long, and then at the empty board.

The sheets went up.

People read silently at first, then louder. The sound swelled and then broke into many smaller sounds as groups pulled away to talk.

There, on a sheet, read my name: "Pophet, the Gentle Faith that Echoes (Sunmire)."

The word Sunmire hit the crowd and they couldn't help but glance at me. Reporters ran for the presses again as they had started a new copy with more information now.

Since we had confirmation that I had already passed to the next stage, I went back to my quarters with Sali. Rinvara went back to hers with Mira pushing her wheelchair.

We didn't share so much as a conversation today, other than a normal greeting, especially since there were too many eyes around us.

By the time we reached the street, the first evening editions were already being waved everywhere. My name and picture was on the front.

Now, Sunmire could no longer deny my existence.

The Adventurer's Guild had confirmed the entry and the sponsor, Sunmire's delegates, had signed. Brother Maevin's seal was on file. Rava, the Light that Shines All, had added her mark in the witness column.

This had eventually made its way to Bishop Quarroth, who had received the message on his desk. He read the header, then the line with my name, then the signatures. His hand went flat. The table cracked under it.

Quarroth picked up the receiver. He called the number he kept under a slip in the prayer book. The line clicked twice. A woman answered with the guild's cover name and asked for a reference.

"You told me he was dead," Quarroth said. He kept his voice even. The receiver stayed light in his hand.

Silence on the far end. Paper moving. Someone else came onto the line.

"I'm looking at him on the papers now. You failed the job ten years ago." Quarroth's voice was shaky with anger.

"Understood," the second voice answered. No apology or excuse. "We will conduct an investigation and purview our operations."

"You will do more than review it," Quarroth said. "Your organization owes me now."

"We understand," the voice said. "We will send you a report by morning."

Quarroth set the receiver down. He looked at the cracked edge of the table and did not ring for a repair. He folded the guild notice and put it in the book where the number had been. He left the page open.

Outside, in Sunmire, the wheels were turning once more.

The fabled Godbeast. The Sixth Heir. Disgrace. The Mutt.

The very individual Sunmire had tried to contain was now being recognized by the world.

And with that, the other four siblings had different emotions towards his survival.

One of regret.

One of elation.

One of anger.

And one of indifference.