NOVEL NEXT Chapter 60: Sword-Grafted [Sidestory]
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12 years ago, during the Four Mountain Tournament…
"That was a rather interesting thing you just did."
Rather than immediately reply — or even acknowledge the newcomer in any respectable capacity — Doctor Lu insolently took another drag of her pipe, slow and indulgent. She then pursed her lips and expertly blew out a perfect circle of narcotic smoke.
The good Doctor grinned as she admired her work. Childish and pointless as the act was, even this little hobby could be considered 'art'.
The Painter within her approved, even if the Chirurgeon didn't.
It helped that the leaves she was smoking were of a superb quality, not at all anything like the ones she took to tide her addiction through during the early years of her time in the Flesh-Grafted Empire.
Her status as the Elder of the Medical Pavilion within the Split-Headed Carnivores Sect afforded her no end of luxury and connection. Not bad at all, especially for someone who had been wandering around villages treating minor injuries for rubbish goods merely a decade ago.
Though the good Doctor must admit, the position of Elder was not without its fair share of perils.
It was only once the smoke dissipated that Yihui bothered to look at the speaker: a woman of dark copper hair, bearing the same sapphire eyes as the Beheaded Phoenix Sect's Patriarch.
Yihui tilted her head. "Strange. You are not the woman I had expected to visit me."
Hei Xingyu, daughter and Heiress to the Hei Clan, stepped into the light. Those unsettlingly pale eyes never left the Doctor, but Yihui dismissed the Young Miss's gaze as the product of curiosity. The Doctor's looks were foreign to those of the Flesh-Grafted Empire, so a few stares from strangers were nothing new.
"And who, exactly, were you hoping for?" the Heiress asked politely.
Yihui purposefully took another languid drag of her pipe instead of answering. Her mind became that of blissful clouds and rich aromas. The Painter marvelled at the sensation, while the Chirurgeon clinically noted how much more potent the refined substances of the Reverse World were compared to her old home across the Abyssal Ridge.
Even the most powerful of military stimulants she received during her brief jaunt with the 78th UEC Expeditionary Force during the crossing paled in comparison to this new mixture she concocted.
Perhaps it was to be expected. The drugs she inhaled were meant for the lungs of experienced cultivators, while Yihui — despite all her skills and powers — still mostly possessed a baseline human biology.
Mostly.
Just another thing to thank the old hag for, she supposed. If she ever saw the Wise Old One again, Yihui would like to know why the ancient woman had decided to save her out of the other ten thousand souls lost in that damnable voyage.
A full minute had passed. When the Doctor saw the Heiress still waiting patiently for an answer, she sighed.
"A red-headed pest. It isn't something you need concern yourself with, Young Miss," Yihui answered, leaning back comfortably against the sinfully plush chair prepared by her harem of servants — yet another perk of her position. "The burden of hunting down a certain Devil is mine to bear, passed down from an old hag of a Master. If you do happen to see her, though, let me know."
Yihui set aside her pipe. She glanced over her seat, overlooking the Arena's medical alcove. Beneath her, a pair of disciples were intermingled in a heated embrace — the male was unconscious, while the female was sobbing against him.
Shao and Dai. Both were previously village wastes void of last names. Both were of differing Sects. And both were products of vital investment to the good Doctor.
A passerby might be forgiven for thinking these two were locked in illicit affairs — not too far from the truth, perhaps, but given how they had just tried to kill each other not even a minute ago, Yihui felt that it was too soon to call their relationship intimate.
"You knew those two would fight. You knew that woman would have tried to kill herself. You knew that man would seek to save her," Xingyu observed. "You engineered this meeting; pushed them to form this relationship."
"Did I?" Yihui mused. "I am but a simple doctor of the Split-Headed Carnivore Sect, here to lend my hand to the wounds borne by hot-headed disciples within this multi-sect tournament. I would not know of something as banal as matchmaking."
"Why?" The Heiress asked.
"Why don't I get into matchmaking? Teenagers are horrid things, Young Miss. All those hormones and angst and lust… Ha! We are better off letting them settle their own affairs, even if they end up tearing chunks out of each other in the process."
Xingyu did not laugh. Her expression was bare of even a hint of a smile. She merely waited, her pale eyes staring unflinchingly into the Doctor's.
No, not unflinchingly. Yihui frowned.
The Painter noted the unusual shade of the iris. What was once pale blue seemed to have turned almost bronze-like. Were they always that reflective or—?///
The Chirurgeon replayed the details of the last minute. The Young Miss had not even blinked once. Her chest was still; her breathing practically non-existent. She should have noticed that immediately. Why didn't she? Something was wrongwrongwrongWRONG—///
The Doctor tilted her head. "What, I don't even get a laugh?"
The Young Miss shook her head. "Humour is difficult for me to comprehend. That has always been my tw—, I mean my Father's forte."
"Pity I got you for a conversation partner instead of him, then." The Doctor rubbed her eyes. God, she was tired. She felt the beginnings of a migraine forming. "Anyway, concerning your 'Why' earlier… Those two lovebirds down there are sort of my responsibility. If possible, I prefer it if they don't kill themselves."
"The Clans might kill them anyway," the Heiress remarked neutrally. "Their performance in the last fight was exemplary. Far beyond what cultivators of their standing should be capable of, especially without a Clan's backing. The scions fear their positions might be usurped by an outsider in the future."
What wasteful behaviour. Then again, given the environment these barbaric cannibals had nurtured, perhaps they were simply being pre-emptive in dealing with potential threats.
Who's to say the prey of today might not soon become the predators of tomorrow?
"Would you be one of those worried scions, Young Miss?" Yihui asked tauntingly. "Is that why you have come to talk with me?"
"I know you did something to them," the Heiress stated bluntly. "I would like to know what that is."
The Painter laughed. "Sorry, the secrets of my art are not for sharing—"
The Chirurgeon sneered. "Come to steal my knowledge for yourself? Well, even if I tell you, it's not like you can replicate the procedure—"
Yihui tried to stand, move, do anything. Something was off; she had to MOVENOWTHERE'SASWORD—
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
The Doctor opened her mouth, then closed it as a wave of vertigo assailed her. "Ugh… That stings. Should lay off the drugs for a while. My head feels like it is going through a blender…"
"You should," the SWORD Heiress nodded. "Father frequently indulges in drinks when he thinks I'm not looking. His loathsome habit for it has not endeared me to those who willingly choose to feed their addictions rather than fight it."
"Save your preaching for someone who cares, Princess," the Doctor groaned. Her head… Why does it hurt so badly? "Anyway… You want to know about those two? What are your intentions for them?"
"They are interesting. Far stronger than they should be for their cultivation or age," Xingyu lightly replied. "Is it so strange I wish to know more about them? Especially from the architect of their strength?"
"Curiosity is no sin," Yihui chuckled. "But forcing one to answer questions they don't want to is criminal, Young Miss."
"I have not done anything," Xingyu stated, puzzled.
Yihui eyed her carefully. "Have you?"
Something wasn't right.
Not memory alteration. Not timeline divergence. Manipulation of causation. This is the removal of unwanted variables. Spatial erasure. Fragment your memories. Tap three times. Tapthreetimes. TAPTHREETI
Xingyu hummed. Her fingers tapped the edge of the table.
Tap. Tap. Tap. For some reason, the hair at the back of Yihui's neck stood, and the Doctor's attention instantly sharpened.
Yihui leaned back against her chair and studied the Young Miss again. Third Realm, Second Step. An impressive standing for someone of her age — not even fifteen winters old — yet someone like that should not be able to make her feel threatened.
Yihui looked at her eyes. Orbs of hellish steel stared back, promising only swords and blades and heaven-honed edges that graft endlessly together to form a person! — mundane sapphires stared back. They were pretty, perhaps, but possessed little else interesting there for her to study.
All she saw was a SWORDBLADEEDGE pretty, mundane cultivator. Nothing wrong at all.
Nothing… at all…
…
Yihui shot to her feet and launched the table towards the Thing.
The powerful kick propelled the object forth like a missile, distracting the creature while the Doctor threw herself desperately to the side into a roll. By the time she righted herself, the table was cleaved in two, their halves neatly parted and flying past the Thing without ever touching her.
The plush chair she had been sitting on was similarly severed in two by an invisible blade. The Thing had a single sword finger raised before her face.
From her kneeling position, Yihui's left hand dug deeply into the skin of her right arm, wrenching back hard to peel back a grand length of squirming flesh bloodily off her forearm.
Murals of torture and suffering unveiled themselves from beneath the folds of her skin, wiggling within their bloody canvas with depictions of grand Agony.
Yihui stretched her right arm forth, blood and pain flourishing forth in whorls of crimson as more flesh unfurled like a flower in bloom. Still kneeling, she leaned her weight forward, using her left hand to brace as her right fingers formed the shape of a finger gun.
The Chirurgeon armed the shot, loading the munitions of countless past tortures she had absorbed. The Painter took aim, reciting the works of her great Master.
[Art of the Painted Agony, Blooming Whorls of Wounds]
The Thing brought a single finger to its lips, kissed it, then cut downwards.
Yihui was too lat—
~~~
Yihui frowned as she leaned back against her… chair?
— leaned back against her SEVERED intact chair and studied the THING Young Miss again. She was NOT HUMAN perfectly mundane, with SWORDS FOR ARMS, SWORDS FOR FINGERS, ITS BODY WAS SWORDS two eyes, two ears, and four limbs. No trace of any COSMIC MUTATIONS abnormalities or observable features that could indicate it to be a threat.
The Doctor Chirurgeon woman saw a pretty, mundane cultivator and nothing more.
BUT THE PAINTER SAW THE TRUTH.
…
Yihui spat out a lump of hardened blood. "Christ on a fucking Cross, just what in God's blackened name are you?"
"Interesting. You are able to resist my Dao." The Thing tilted its head. "That's a curious insult. It sounds familiar, but I don't think I have ever heard that phrase uttered before."
"I would be far more worried if you did," the Doctor replied, uncaring of the blood dripping from her nose. "It's not something the denizens of this land should know or say. But the fact that you heard it before is of no surprise, Demon."
"I don't really think that is the correct definition," the Thing confessed. "Though I will admit it is not unlikely that some parts of me came from… wherever you did."
The Doctor clicked her teeth. She tasted iron. "You severed causality, then seal them again. Like parting water with a sword, you create the cut, but the rushing edges of reality fix the wound before your blade even leaves the surface."
Effect without cause… That was one hell of a trick. Yihui began to panic, though she hid it well. Her abilities were useless against a creature that could manipulate the 5th Dimension as easily as she breathed.
"You made others acknowledge your existence without seeing what you really are," the Doctor continued. "But judging by the fact I'm sitting in this chair like before, you can clearly inflict a reversal of your effects if you so wish it."
"I do not fully understand your words, foreign seer," the Thing said, amused. "What I do know is that I've been increasing the effects of my Domain ever since you started talking, and you haven't so much as blinked."
"I have faced worse," Yihui stated flatly. "Killed worse, too. So if you don't cut that shit out soon, I'm going to add another Star Spawn to my eldritch headcount."
"You are far less eloquent when you are afraid." The Thing tilted its head. "More than that, you begin to lie. You've never killed one of my kind, have you? Yet you are someone who came from beyond the Ridge… I wonder, how much more of this you can take before your mind parts like silk?"
The Doctor tried to mock it, but all that came out of her mouth was a thick wad of blood. Its texture was unnaturally viscous, as if void of the usual sanguine rush associated with bleed. A drop of it fell from Yihui's lips… and fell… and fell…
Until it stopped entirely — suspended in the air, trapped by the hold of supernatural torpidity.
Or rather, by the Severance of Blood's natural vivacity.
Yihui dimly realised her circulatory flow was slowing to a crawl. With trembling fingers, the Chirurgeon pulled forth several hollow bone darts — their structure anything but mundane — stabbing their drug-laced tips into her thigh. Stimulants flooded her system, giving her a moment's breath from Death, and no more.
But a moment was enough when time was being stretched to its utmost.
"You severed Continuity," Yihui accused, her voice clear and strong. "Then bound the individual moments of perception into each other. A lack of movement; artificial stagnancy. But it is not the same as temporal permanence. Any change I make to the status quo is prolonged to near-infinity. You cannot defeat me with these parlour tricks, abomination. I fought your kind before."
A bald-faced lie. Yihui had seen 5th-dimensional entities before, but she had never fought one. She wasn't even certain such Demons could properly die.
The Thing was quiet. Though it tried to remain impassive, there was a subtle appreciation in its expression. "I remember when even the Immortals and Divines of a bygone era fell despairingly at my might. Arrogant and cruel, those creatures of such monstrous elegance… So unlike the hideous angels of the world you came from. I kill them. They were weak."
The Painter looked up, and the Thing looked down, smiling at her. "But not you. You are not weak."
Yihui finally saw it for what it was. It had no human face. A human face was a thing of curves, of features, of a thousand minute creases and shades painted onto an oval canvas.
What she saw instead was a creature of the Edge. A Thing of straights, of limits, of right angles overlapping a thousand times to form a singular Sword. A blade to Sever. An Executioner's Edge.
The Painter finally understood what she was looking at. This was no Demon. Yihui laughed, a touch mad.
"I greet you, Wayward Executioner. You are very, very far from your home indeed."
The Thing who called herself Hei Xingyu smiled. "I propose a truce, Chirurgeon. Let us speak of Tyrants, Gods, and Dragons. There is much for us to discuss."
A fellow ally from the other world. Now, Yihui's true work could properly begin.