Tales of the Teal Mountain Sect

Year 663 of the Stable Era,

Fifteenth day of the eleventh month

Just before the 8th Inner Hour

As it turned out, Oma really shouldn't have expected much from her seniors.

Seniors Zhan and Senior Mei were both wearing the same robes she had seen them in when she left, the two of them having decided to spend their time practicing rather than preparing. The only thing that had changed was their belts, which now sported the same small decoration—a tiny sword carved from light green jade. Two inches on its longest side, their smooth edges were simplified in a way that could only be described as 'oddly chunky'. The characters for 'Sword Intent' were carved into the blade of each stone with simple strokes and inlaid with polished copper.

It was a familiar sight to Oma, who knew from experience that they were something her seniors always wore when they ventured out of the Sword Intent Club. Her working assumption was that it was a sign of rank or acceptance within the club, which she'd been trying to figure it out on her own without asking her Seniors about it.

It had the feeling of something that she was supposed to wait to earn in time, once they considered her a true member, so she imagined that asking if she was worthy for one would likely set her back quite a bit.

In contrast to the others, Senior Ruan Chen had at least made some effort to dress for the occasion, even if Oma found herself staring at her attire. She had taken the expression 'dressed to the hilt' to an extreme, and while Oma wasn't quite sure where the expression had originated, she was entirely certain that this was not what it was meant to describe.

Three swords adorned each of her hips, their scabbards' wildly different shapes crafted from exotic materials that Oma knew she'd need a library to identify. Four longer blades hung on her back, where their length wouldn't jostle into each other with each step. A curved dagger was worked into the buckle of her thick leather belt alongside her jade sword, matched by a straighter pair sheathed conspicuously on the sides of each of her dark leather boots. A final knife glittered amongst her bright red mane, its golden hilt sticking jauntily from the band of a russet headband embroidered with a pattern of quails and peonies.

All in all, it made Oma feel incredibly out of place, as she was the only one not dressed in disciple green. She had been confident in her dress, which was made of a simple peach-colored silk embroidered with a pattern of some fancy flower that she didn't recognize. It was the result of months of careful saving, and she already felt out of place wearing it alongside her companions.

What are you wearing?" Oma asked, as Senior Chen absently polished the pommel of one of her swords.

"Well, I heard you mention that this was a fancy occasion, so I figured that I should bring my best blades to it," Senior Chen replied casually. "I've got my jian, my duanjian, my longsword from the Eastern Continent, my five-branched wave splitter, my Zhangranian cleaver blade, my fire gold claymore, my hook swords, my jade thickblade, my black iron whip sword, and a few daggers. For small talk."

"But why?" Oma almost asked, barely holding the question back as she reined herself in. Instead, she opted for a more diplomatic reply.

"Senior, I don't know if they're going to let you in with that many weapons."

"Why wouldn't they?" Senior Chen asked, cocking her head. "It's called the Blade Banquet, right? How can it be a banquet about blades if you aren't allowed to bring blades to it?"

"I…think it's supposed to be more of a discussion of swordsmanship than a tournament," Oma said, hesitantly. "I'm not quite sure if there's going to be any sort of demonstrations."

Once again, she slightly cursed herself for doing as little research as she had. Instructor Minzhe had spoken about the banquet in such glowing terms that she hadn't been able to find the window to ask him for details or an itinerary. What she did know was from rumors. She knew that there would be a special guest of some sort, that swords were involved, and that was about it.

She was also mostly certain that it would have food. It would be really bad if it didn't, as she had held off on eating dinner with the expectation that she would have the rare opportunity to enjoy some high-quality spirit cuisine.

"It is better to be prepared than not," Senior Zhan said.

"I suppose," Oma said. He was probably right about that. In the worst-case scenario, the Sword Division would probably just hold Senior Chen's swords at the door.

"We should start heading over," Senior Mei said, looking at the last light of the sinking sun. "It's almost time for it to start. I don't want to miss any of the fights."

"It's a banquet!" Oma repeated.

"So? You never know when a fight might happen. The only certainty is that one isn't going to be happening here any time soon," Mei replied, setting off at a brisk stride. Oma had to start jogging to keep up with her companions, hiking up the hem of her dress to avoid staining it.

"I'm-I really don't think that you should hope for that sort of thing," she said, taking a deep breath of qi to help keep pace. Her Seniors' cultivation was quite a bit above her own, which meant that the pace they considered to be a quick walk was close to a run for Oma. In a crowd they usually slowed themselves to its pace (unless Senior Feng felt they were running late), but at this hour there was barely any foot traffic in this part of the sect.

"Then why are we even going?" Mei asked, looking over her shoulder at Oma.

"To talk about the blade!" Oma exclaimed. "Don't you want to learn more about the origins of different schools of swordsmanship from across the continent, firsthand from their practitioners? To converse amongst others that walk the path of the blade?"

The others exchanged glances as they hmmed and nodded at this.

"I suppose," Senior Chen eventually agreed, pulling her belt dagger out for one last polish as they turned onto the main flight of stairs that led from the club district to the Division headquarters. "I just hope that we can see some interesting swords."

The entire group agreed with her on that, and a rousing conversation about the different sorts of blades they were each hoping to see at the banquet began as they wove through the half-formed crowds that began to clutter the stairs.

It took them just over three sticks to reach the Sword Division. Enough time for Oma to lose herself in the discussion of different exotic sword types before a faint twinge ran through her at the sight of the looming pagoda. Festive lanterns were hung from each tier in commemoration of the event, casting a red light over the structure. Oma knew that it probably appeared normal to her companions, but to her it felt more ominous than inviting.

Faintly, she felt the familiar twinge of her former heart demon. A reminder of the burden that had used to weigh so heavily on her.

After all, this was the place where it had first been born.

Where she had faced myriad rejections, turned away at every turn for her lack of skill. Where she had been deemed unworthy, told to go polish her skills properly before she returned again. Feebly, her heart demon tried to goad her with a barb. Some whisper about her unworthiness, but she parried its feeble attempt with ease, running it through with her rebuttal.

Yes, she still might not belong here, at the Sword Division, but that didn't mean that she was unworthy.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

She was a part of the Sword Intent Club now. Her Seniors had acknowledged her skill, and while it was still a far-cry from their expertise, she was still here as an honored guest, rather than that same disheartened disciple she was all those years ago.

The path of cultivation was long, but her progress was inevitable. Each day she improved, further honing her skill. She was far, far from her goal, yes. But she was further still her former self, as each step she took left it further and further in the unreachable past.

She didn't need to force herself to feel miserable, she'd take this evening for everything it was worth!

She'd talk with visiting disciples and learn about places that she'd have only dreamed of seeing when she was a mortal. She'd trade tips about swordsmanship with her fellow cultivators and learn from the different styles they practiced. And eat as much delicious food as she could stomach, even if it made her feel sick in the morning.

The pair of disciples at the door to the pagoda gave their invitations a cursory glance before allowing them to pass, and Oma headed for the stairs, preparing to meet her Seniors on the 12th floor. However, to her surprise they followed her in, joining her on foot. It took her a moment to realize why, and she hurriedly reached into her spatial pouch as she apologized.

"Ah, Seniors, I'm sorry," she said, handing them a trio of invitations. "Here. So you don't have to wait for me." She turned to make her way up the steps, only for them to continue behind her.

"Seniors, you really don't need to stay with me," she said sheepishly. "I'll meet you there."

"What do you mean?" Mei asked puzzledly.

"Well, you can just fly on up your swords without me, right?" Oma asked, as confused by her question as she was.

"Fly?" Mei asked.

"On a sword?" Li Zhan added, his voice as close to affronted as Oma had ever heard it. "It's a disgrace to use a blade in such an undignified manner. To treat a weapon as... livestock."

"I actually have an antique riding sword," Chen offered, "but I left it behind because I didn't think anyone would be interested in talking about it."

"That thing is no sword," Li Zhan said. "It has no balance and it's as dull as an ingot."

"Well, it's meant to cut through air rather than flesh," Ruan Chen protested. "A rounded edge and the array on its underbelly allow it to reach greater speeds than simply pumping qi into a regular sword. There were even footholds, to allow for easier channeling."

"You can hardly call it a sword if it can't cut anything," Mei said, siding with Li Zhan.

"It cuts through air!" Ruan Chen said, her cheeks turning a shade closer to her headband. "And some fruit. If you don't care bout precision. Or eating it in the form of big chunks."

"I would sooner use a dagger than resort to that," Li Zhan grimaced, visibly shuddering at the thought as Mei laughed at his reaction.

"The day I see you use a dagger," she cackled, clutching her side as she doubled over, "is the day the moon falls out of the sky." Ruan Chen joined in with her at that, and it took everything Oma had to not let a chuckle slip out as Li Zhan narrowed his eyes at them.

"I've used one before," he said defensively. "I forged one 45,836 days ago."

"Was that what that was supposed to be?" Ruan Chen exclaimed. "I thought you just shaved your jian down too far."

"It was a dagger," Li Zhan replied.

"It was longer than my forearm!" she laughed. "It's hardly a dagger at that size."

"It was a dagger," Li Zhan repeated, his usual firmness almost seeming to waver.

"Mei, settle this," Ruan Chen said, turning to her. "It was a jian, right?"

"Hmm, 45,836 days ago, right?" she confirmed, blinking her eyes a few times in rapid succession. Her fingers twitched, like she was running through an abacus, before she nodded, twirling her hand around as she formed a series of quick hand seals. Sparks of light coalesced above her fingers, spinning apart from each other into a sphere before dissolving into the form of Li Zhan in miniature. He had a small blade in hand, almost 20 inches long by Oma's reckoning, assuming she was reading the scale right.

"That's a jian," Mei said matter-of-factly, looking over to Oma for a confirmation.

"Well, given the length, and the shape of the hilt, I would have to say that it is, in fact, a jian, Senior," she said slowly, after taking a long moment to inspect the image. "Sorry." Li Zhan's head slumped forwards a degree and a half dejectedly, and he remained silent for the last floor of the climb.

Another pair of disciples were waiting at the top of the floor, in finer robes and at much firmer attention than their counterparts on the bottom floor. They watched the group curiously as they approached, their odd attire already moving them up a notch or two on the scale of whether or not they would need to kick out another batch of would-be party crashers.

"Your business?" the older of the two asked, the ends of his long salt and pepper mustache twitching with each syllable. His voice was neutral, a careful balance of imminent anger and placidity. It was a trait that he, like many other cultivators, had developed over the centuries as a result of the imprecise art that was judging prestige and cultivation at a glance.

In fact, it was his expertise in that very art that had led to him being placed in charge of the banquet door tonight, as he was one of the most adept at it in the Sword Division. It was a laudable title, despite what many would say, as gaining the experience to be as good as he was at his level of cultivation was a testament to his adaptability.

It was oh-so-easy to die from misevaluating a cultivator, especially when they chose to conceal their abilities for whatever reason they had happened to have had that day.

Perhaps they were attending a tournament undercover. Or attempting to discretely evaluate their disciples. Or even just attempting to goad some poor idiot into picking a fight with someone far beyond their ability to ever hope to crease the clothing of.

The slightest slight could easily lead to disproportionate anger, which often meant a very quick end to one's eternal journey of cultivation. That said, the Sword Division still needed a firm hand keeping the riffraff out, which meant that they needed a guard that could properly dissuade undesirables without spending a month in the hospital for mistaking Elder Chai Angran in his human guise.

The group in front of him were poorly dressed, but that was hardly reason enough to turn them away.

Plenty of genius talents cared little for fashion. The aged robe of the male of the group also didn't tell enough to lend weight to either possibility. Some considered wearing their old robes a form of formal attire, as it paid respect to their origin in the Teal Mountain Sect. But such garments could just as easily be borrowed or imitated, and even on their original wearer they spoke little of their cultivation.

Their posture told him that, for the most part, they were adept in body cultivation. Not in the way they held their heads or angled their shoulders, but in the way that every movement they made was controlled. Aside from the youngest of the four, who was the only one dressed in something that even made an effort at approaching formal attire, each of the possible intruders wasted almost nothing with their every movement, which spoke to a high degree of skill.

At least third stage cultivators, then, in either body or mind. Nothing him and his partner couldn't handle if they got disorderly, but problematic if they were all closer to the higher end of the stage.

His eyes caught the small totem at their hips, and his eyes narrowed. That was the symbol that Instructor Minzhe had warned them to be on the lookout for. For the guests that were supposed to receive special attention. In this case extra consideration, to avoid offending them.

Which either meant that he did need to be on his best behavior, or that these were still party crashers, who were attempting to use the news of the special guests to sneak in without having to have their invitations checked. Instructor Minzhe had made his announcement as close to the start as possible to avoid information leaking, but anyone who knew anything knew that there were plenty of ways of getting a message out.

The guard had already turned away two other groups and Ying Chao, who had spent far too long bemoaning the cruelty of his fate before he had chased the ruffian away. It was an invitation or nothing, and as the disciple in the cheap pink dress fumbled around a spatial pouch that didn't match her outfit, he repeated himself.

"Your invitations?"

"Um, ah, here," the disciple stammered, finally procuring a set of tokens. The guard gestured with his hand, and the tokens flew over to him, hovering in place inches before his face.

Methodically, he checked them for over. There was the right count and arrangement of leaves on the willow tree. The curves on the cloud were all properly placed, and the crossed swords were each of the proper angle and thickness. The signature on the back of the invitation was also in order, Instructor Minzhe's blade engraving filled with a lingering trace of his sword intent.

These were indeed the special guests, which meant that his next course of action was clear. The guard snatched the four invitations out of the air, presenting them back to their owners with a bow as he signaled to his partner behind his back.

"Welcome, honored guests, to the Blade Banquet," he said, his voice smooth and welcoming. His partner tapped the door twice and it opened, revealing the final flourish of the sword dance. As the dancers took their bows, the young disciple stammered a thanks as her companions brushed past her. A moment later she followed after them, and the entrance was once again quiet.

The guard looked over his shoulder, carefully watching the door close before he drew the messaging dagger from his side. He held the thin blade up to his mouth and flicked it. The blade rang out with a crisp note as it vibrated with infused qi, and he quickly spoke his message into it.

"The lurking lizards have arrived. Four, including the invited one."

The blade stilled as he sealed his message, and with a breath he threw it, his technique sending it after its familiar target.

A younger man might have been intrigued by the secrecy of what he was doing, but Chou Da had spent centuries at this post. He knew far better than to repeat such a foolish mistake. If discretion was asked for, then discretion would be given, even if he could have made some quick spirit stones selling the news to a rumormonger.

He'd leave such speculation to his young companion, who seemed be bursting with curiosity about the nature of those oddly familiar guests of honor.