Reforged from Ruin [Eldritch Xianxia Cultivation]

Returned to a fully-healed physique, Shin Ren accompanies Yula as she hops across the battlefield, leaping from one desolated part of the battlefield to another.

A fortress city is effectively a city-state of its own, putting to shame what most others consider the word "city". Without even taking into account the horizon-wide expanse of labyrinthian city-trenches behind each of them, the city itself makes up a good four-hundred ish miles of landscape, enough to house whole populations of people who are born, live, and die behind its fortifications. The Wall itself might "only" be two or three miles thick, but each fortress city is an island extending right up to the very edge of it, and building both up and out from there.

The breach is all this, but reversed.

A desolate wasteland, elevated above the ground into a sort of faux-plateau up from the trenches behind it, spanning enough space that mortal eyes could stand in the center and not see its end in any direction. There are small mountains of ruins, places where the architecture of what once was managed to hold itself upright even past the death all around it, many of them tall enough to scrape the sky and surpass the height of the Wall from this side. There are valleys where enemy factions and Imperial troops alike have dug out debris to find isolated vaults, create tunneling operations or just secure bunkers for the next push.

Everything rings with the drumming of gunfire. Everything echoes the sounds of screams. Ash covers the world, and to walk on the surface of this alien wasteland is to know what it means when war rears its ugly head.

And apparently, it's not that big a deal.

Yula stumbles, almost slipping on some torn-up concrete and the fallen remnants of a roof, before righting herself and giving him an awkward smile. She hops off again, still headed back away from the central fields of the war, and he follows along behind.

She's slow. She's weak. Frankly, she's also kind of stupid. It's a weirdly endearing mixture, in spite of how it makes the black tar in his mind stir at the reality of it.

She claims she is the weakest of the Blades. Frankly, she's pretty weak for a Nascent Soul realm cultivator too. He's an exception, able to punch up to the bottom of the Warrior Realm's barrel, but even still she seems weak. Case in point- she's hopping along, not even using a movement technique, rather than flying or teleporting or warping space to arrive at her destination.

There is no possible way that she doesn't have access to the Empire's best techniques, best resources, best everything. She is one of only five Blades in all the world, and he's seen what happens when she swings the simple steel sword on her waist.

He looks behind himself, back to the place where he fought the Oni Ape. Its tornados tore apart the sky as its clubs did the ground, sending debris up high enough that some of it is still raining down minutes later, like a rainfall of dust. The clouds it gathered blackened the sky for miles.

There is a perfect line cut vertically through them. All the way through them.

The sky is divided in two.

He knows that if he tells her this, she'll wave him off and roll her eyes good-naturedly. "It ain't all that," she'd say, meaning every word.

Every time he's commented before, she's always appeared ashamed. Embarrassed, maybe. Like she really considers the Cuts he's seen her inflict upon the world as barely worth the name.

And yet, she doesn't even have a movement technique. Or any defensive techniques, or any offensive abilities at all beyond her sword, at least as far as he's seen. She just hops around, barely past mortality, like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's insane.

Then again, maybe that's what it takes to be a Blade.

He can't help but look up for a moment at the slightest glimpse of red floating high above the battlefield. A palanquin that has hovered there for months in perfect inaction.

He looks down. Best not to antagonize something like that. For now. He would hate to spoil the surprise by letting his Killing Intent get out of hand and be noticed, even from this far away.

"You ok?"

He blinks, coming up from his focus. The smile comes to his face easily, polite and casual, crafted to perfection by the liar in the heart of him.

"Just fine since you gave me that pill, young mistress."

She rolls her eyes, blushing slightly. "Ugh. Yula! Call me Yula! I get enough of all that fancy talk from everybody else. You're the Flame on the Wall- you've done way too much cool stuff to be so stuffy!"

She snorts at her own joke, and Shin Ren can't help but chuckle alongside her, taken off guard by the sincerity. "That… Yula, that was barely even a joke. The lowest of puns would have to look down to see it."

"Barely is like almost- only counts in horseshoes and dung bombs!"

"I… don't know what that means."

She shrugs, hopping a few hundred feet to her next perch as Shin Ren's steps grant propulsion to his own movements. "Just something my pa used to say. Think it has to do with random chance kind of stuff? Like, if you're blaming chance, most of the time it's just cause you could have done better."

He goes to respond, but a shift from his Souls stops him. His senses extend far, spiritual organs capable of detecting fluctuations in Qi from past his line of sight, but the Corpse Aflame needs no such crutches.

Ruin approaches, and she tastes it for him, and warns him with her enthusiasm for the coming harm.

He turns, and Yula follows his gaze to the horizon.

Nothing. Well, nothing outside the normal, anyways. A fresh wave of artillery pounding into the furthest front lines, a centipedal spirit beast crawling through the rubble a few miles away, a small squadron of undead patrolling by one of the leaning towers of infrastructure-

Yula's blade leaves its sheath with a sound like the ringing of a bell.

The battlefield is silent for a moment, save for that one all-consuming note- and as it fades, Shin Ren feels the after-effects of something being gone from the world.

Two splinters fall to the floor, their momentum carved away moments away from Shin Ren's flesh. Each is no larger than a needle, thinner than a human hair, and without their velocity to disguise them, both ooze with Killing Intent worse than many real creatures he's fought. He can taste the poisons and toxins they carry even through the air, forced to cycle his cultivation and his Flame to burn them away just from being in proximity.

They're untouched. Not a drop of their violence has left the needles, because there's not a single mark on them.

Focus.

He moves before Yula has a chance to do anything but prepare for another Cut. His movement technique pulls on his cultivation, launching him like a rocket and allowing him to cut through obstacles and around obstructions like a lightning bolt. His defensive artifacts come alight at his command, and three more needles impact against them, not quite as dangerous now that he knows they're coming; even still, he feels as much as sees veins of purple and rot pulse through the shielding at their touch.

It doesn't matter. They can't stop him in time, which means he's won.

His Souls stir. His Guandao strikes. His Flame burns the world.

Yula arrives a few seconds later, hopping up and looking worriedly at Shin Ren's currently severed arm and the field of glass around him.

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He smiles at her, the Smiling Noble casually crafting the perfectly relaxed expression on his face.

"Sorry for the interruption, Yula. And thank you for saving my life- I doubt I could have intercepted such subtle weapons in time."

"Wha- you noticed them first! It was no big deal! I…"

She pauses. Looks at the charred remains around him..

"Were they undead again?"

He shakes his head. "Only partially. A duo of assassins, one wielding corpse puppets, one wielding toxins. I was lucky- my Truth and Dao made me more than a match for that particular setup."

She nods, but hesitates. Doesn't say anything.

"Do you… think they maybe would have surrendered? If I'd been faster, I could have… I don't know. You won pretty quick."

He thinks of shrugging- stops. No. Wrong decision.

Remember the mission. Past the pain. Past the tar-black disgust. Reach for the calm.

He could just tell her they're the enemy. That he had no choice, that the slightest mistake would have cost him his life against such specialized toxins. They were below his Realm, barely past the first step of Nascent Soul Realm, but their weapons were deadly enough that even with the Corpse Aflame's warning, he didn't see them in time to stop them.

That's not the mission, though. Helping her feel better about this, about her place in the Empire and the righteousness of its war, isn't going to help him in the long run.

"I don't know," he says instead. "Perhaps they might have. Perhaps not. But… that's war. Kill or be killed. Righteousness and common sense aren't what war is about."

She blinks at that, looking at him in confusion. "I- senior, it has to be righteous! They're invading! They tried to kill us, like, just now!"

He shrugs. "And if we had noticed them first, we might have tried it first."

She looks positively affronted at the thought. "Wha- they're not beasts! We could have given them the chance to surrender! We could talk to them! People shouldn't kill people unless they really have to."

"I'm glad you feel that way," he says, and he really means it. Even if part of him curdles at the naivety of it, the way it stings like acid against his wounds. Even if she, of all people, should have no right to be so gentle and so stupid. "But beasts usually kill less often than humans, Yula. If this were their home, and we were attacking, I can guarantee that we would make tornados of our own."

She sighs. "I know, but they invaded!"

He goes to answer, but she throws her head back with a groan, interrupting him. "Whatever. You know I hate thinking about this kind of stuff."

Don't let her see it. Don't let it show on your face. Keep the tar down, where it can bubble quietly.

He holds his severed arm against the stump, superheating the tissue and swallowing a quick pill to aid the healing.

"It's just another day, young Blade," he tells her. We should hurry, or we're liable to attract more attempts against us. My reputation paints a pretty target, and… with respect to your abilities, you look like a farm girl in nice robes, and that's easy pickings out here."

She snorts. "I am a farm girl in nice robes, Ren. I just happen to be ok with a sword."

Still, she doesn't protest as they take off, heading back towards friendlier lines.

He still doesn't like it when they bow.

He remembers a time, back in the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect, where he thought it was proper. He was being given his due as someone better, as a distinct talent that carried the future of the sect, and it was only right that it be recognized by those he passes.

Maybe he could convince himself of the same here, but… no. It doesn't fit.

As they pass by checkpoints, scanned by mechanical apparatus and arcane arrays, the technicians and soldiers manning the trenches and the rear line of defence bow to them both. To them both, despite the Blade he walks beside. It stirs the tar.

He's not better than them. He is worth more here, at war, sure- but he's not better than them. He's just better at killing.

There is no honor on the killing floor. Not really. For them to honor him like this feels wrong.

Idly, he wonders if he's making another heart demon.

"You would be," whispers a Smiling Noble in his ear, "if we weren't with you. Hard to digest, but cheaper than having you kill yourself over another psychotic break."

He makes no sign that he's heard, and does his best to ignore the way he feels as the soldiers bow to him for surviving the hell they're in.

And then they've reached one of the larger bunkers, hopped up to its upper rooms and the private quarters reserved for the Blade (she had to fight to get them to give her just a few rooms rather than the whole bunker and the district around it).

The doors close behind them, privacy and defensive arrays flaring to life, and the ongoing chaos of the outside goes quiet.

Yula slumps into a chair, summoning a gourd from her storage treasure. "Whoof! Hate all that stuffiness. They're worse than you."

He scoffs. "Says the one drinking."

She smiles at him, feigning affront. "It's water! Get your brain out of the gutter, Ren. Gotta hydrate when you're working, and the sun ain't down yet!"

"More farm wisdom I assume?"

She shrugs. "Better than all this huffiness. Why spend a million fancy words when you can say it in like, ten normal ones?"

"Perhaps there's wisdom to be found in finding just the right words for each instance. For example, if people hear you referring to me so informally, they might get the wrong impression."

She frowns, confusion evident. "Wha? That's stupid. If I met someone named Zin Ren and wanted to talk to just you, then I'd use it, but if not, why bother? Plus, this way is easier! We're practically family already, bro Ren. You've helped me so much the last few weeks!"

"And you've saved my life… twice now?"

"Three times if you count the- well. I mean, you've saved my life too! The battlefield is a chaotic place! It's great to have someone who can watch my back!"

"I'm glad to hear I'm useful to one of the Blades, young mistress. Now, if you don't mind- why the hell did you pull me back?"

She pauses, the gourd halfway to her lips. With a sigh, she puts it down, sitting upright.

"Just… well, I mean, someone had to deal with that Warrior Realm, and I was closest. And since you've been fighting so much-"

"Your medicinal pill was more than enough for this lowly-"

"I- just… don't. I know you can go through worse than that. I don't know how, but all cultivators seem to have their secrets, I just know that I can feel it when someone's holding back. I don't know why, but that doesn't matter- just because you can keep fighting doesn't mean you should. You've been on the front for days. As… as an official assistant to a Blade, you gotta be at my side, right? So just… take a break."

The bubbling of the tar feels more like boiling. Popping and spitting and burning, oozing out of the very center of him.

She's being kind. She's… what, twenty now? Less? He's not sure, just that she's young. She's being kind to him.

Nevermind that she's a peer to the one who stole his master, the one who saved him, who helped him be someone he actually likes, who can be the person he yearns to be.

Nevermind that she has more power than anyone on the battlefield, that one word from her could get the forces assigned necessary to end the breach in a heartbeat, that she could sever and slice and Cut apart anything that comes to face her, or else she wouldn't be worthy of the name Blade.

Nevermind that she's his ticket to the Fourth Blade. That she's a tool to be recruited and pointed back the way they come. That her affection for him, if that is what this is, comes from lies on lies on lies designed to manipulate and turn her.

She thinks she's being kind.

She could end the war.

He could end the war. He could tell her who to talk to, what to say, and she'd probably do it.

But it's not time for the plan yet. And she's still too fucking naive, still too busy not even thinking about the war or what it means for anything outside the reach of her hands.

The Empire wants the war to continue. Taurus and those working with and for him and wrapped in whatever machinations he has want the war to continue.

So he doesn't tell her.

And this idiot fucking child extends him kindness.

He should kill her. That would get him closer to the fourth blade. Close enough to try something. A stupid plan, an impulsive hunger, but it's so appealing. An end to things. Call down the madman and let everyone here just fucking die.

Let it all end and get some fucking rest and-

He should kill himsel-

The thought cuts off.

Focus. Work to be done. Lives to save. Plans to keep spinning. "Allies" to trust.

He smiles instead, a soft and rueful thing woven by an unseen hand. "I suppose, if it's for the young mistress of the Blades, I could take a moment. This one is honored by your regard, and humbly requests a discussion on the finer points of the Cut and the workings of the world."

Again, she snorts. "Still so fancy about it, bro Ren. I'd love to spend some time chatting- but only if we play more of that game you showed me! I'm going to beat you this time, I swear!"

He smiles, the genuine warmth in the moment adding to something inside him. "I guess I could be bothered to whup your ass a few more times." With a flourish, he presents the checkered board, summoning the black and white stones for the game out of his storage treasure. "I'll play white this time."