The Jade Shadows Must Die [Cultivation LitRPG]

As Rix raced back through the prison, he realised he wasn't exactly upset at the disruption. As much as he was eager to get into the Fractured Realm, he remembered the Quartermaster's lecture on not being below his best. Right now, that was how he felt.

Luna split off in the yard and headed to cell block B. "I still expect that training session," she called as she walked away.

Rix shrugged. "Sorry, but as you've pointed out, I've got a type and I'm not sure they'd approve of me cutting off your arms."

"I'd take you anyway," she said with a grin, and then was gone.

In truth, there was some appeal to the idea of training with someone skilled. He'd worked with some other members of the Porcelain Knives when he'd been a member, and it had always been better than practising alone. At the same time, he didn't know anything about Luna beyond that she was dangerous with a blade. He didn't need to go making friends. He'd embroiled himself in enough trouble already.

Hurrying down the corridor, he joined a steady stream of other prisoners headed for cell block C, and soon enough he was standing outside his cell while the guards conducted another count. The mood was sombre, and there was a sense of apprehension in the air.

Rix caught the eye of the nearest prisoner, a towering man with wild hair and a tightly knit brow. "Is it really that bad?"

The man gave a humourless laugh. "You'll see."

When everybody was accounted for, the guards directed them to their cells and a moment later Rix was locked inside. He spent a few moments studying the space. While he'd already slept here once, that was when he was wounded and weakened and he'd passed out almost instantly. In the light of day, seeing the door close behind him to seal him in that sparse little box really drove home the price of his machinations. In that moment, he was utterly without options. He now existed at the prison's behest, and had to do as he was told.

He'd known prison would be this way, of course, but it had always been abstract, a problem for future Rix. Now that it was his reality, it was a difficult pill to swallow.

He put it from his mind. He'd adjust. He had to cede power to gain it.

Once sitting on the bed, he examined his [Heartstone Creation] technique. Like all the others, it had a distinctive pattern, like a glyph he could see only in his mind's eye. However, unlike the combat techniques, this wasn't a case of simply needing to shape his mana correctly. Rather, the shape felt like a container that could take a vast quantity of mana. The Quartermaster had said they'd be locked up for six hours, and that he could theoretically produce multiple heartstones in that time. That meant meeting the minimum requirement of one should be perfectly achievable.

He sat on his bed and gathered his thoughts. The question was simple — one heartstone or two? As much as it bothered him to bow to Yutaro, he felt like if he could smooth things over with the man, that was the right course of action. To risk the larger mission just to put a petty tyrant in his place was childish. He'd try to make one heartstone, and then, if he felt up to it, he'd do another.

When his mind felt still, he reached for the technique and began to channel his mana into it. He'd half expected the result to be some kind of backlash, akin to when he was punished with the tether, but initially he felt almost nothing at all. The technique shape hovered in his chest just above his dantian, drinking in what he fed it. The mana at that locus felt infinitely denser than what moved through his meridians. It radiated like an ember within him.

Rix experimented, trying to push more mana into the shape, but it would take only the same steady flow, which seemed to be a bit over 6 mana per minute. Apparently it wasn't a process that could be brute-forced. With his regeneration rate at 5 mana per minute, he could go for several hours before running dry. He assumed he was capable of making a heartstone before that happened.

As he became comfortable with the sensation, he began to become aware that something more than just mana was flowing into the nascent stone too. Something vital and intangible and more directly him. It was tiny, the barest whisper, but he could feel it nonetheless.

Just when he began to think the others may have been exaggerating the pain, he began to feel the heat. In truth, heat wasn't quite the right word, but he had nothing better. The sensation existed purely on a spiritual level, something thrumming and electric that pulsed outward from the nascent heartstone at his core. The longer he fed the technique, the sharper the sensation grew, until he could feel it in the very edges of his extremities. He gritted his teeth and refocused on emptying his mind. This wouldn't break him.

Time ticked on, and still the pain grew. After an hour it was all-encompassing. It felt like there were nails trying to break through his skin from the inside. By that point, he'd pumped over 350 mana into the technique. Feeling a sense of desperation, he reached for it with his mind, trying to work out how much more it required.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

This was a mistake.

The distraction broke his concentration, and in the blink of an eye, the entire technique collapsed. That burning ball of mana inside him simply winked out, leaving him empty and panting on the bed.

Hells, they weren't exaggerating.

He took a breather to refocus and give his mana time to fully regenerate. He could do his. He'd beaten a fadeborn; he could make a bleeding ball of mana.

When his pool was full, he went again. The pain arrived more quickly this time, but he knew what to expect now and he was ready for it. Rather than trying to empty his mind, this time he focused all his attention on the technique's shape itself. Its whorls and tessellations became his whole world. In the background, he was dimly aware that the pain continued to spike, but it was distant, like it was happening to someone else.

He lost track of time, but at some point he became aware that the flow of mana into the technique began to diminish, until it would take no more. The pain, too, had dimmed. Carefully, he pulled his attention back inward, to find the ball of mana had condensed into something about the size of a marble. His first heartstone. It still hurt, but it was a manageable pain, like being too close to a hot coal.

Much like with his combat techniques, his mind knew what to do next. He braced himself and began pushing the newly formed heartstone through his meridians and out towards his hand. This was a whole different type of agony, a tearing sensation that left spiritual gouges in its wake. He didn't know what would happen if his concentration failed now, but he didn't want to find out. He clenched his fists and pushed harder. Pain was a test of willpower, and he would not buckle nor break.

As the stone crawled down his arm and breached his palm with a glowing light, he realised his face was plastered with a rictus grin. Though it appeared to be puncturing his flesh, it left no wound in its wake. With a final great cry and a monumental push, the stone popped free to land on his skin.

He let out a great heaving sigh and collapsed onto his back.

For a few minutes, it was all he could do not to fall asleep. Every part of him felt scoured. Raw.

When he felt recovered, he looked at the heartstone. It was a tiny thing, about the size of a coin. To think something like that had caused so much pain! Now that it had passed through his skin, there was a tangibility to it, a weight in his palm. It cast the room in a strange off-white glow. He could feel a sense of power radiating from it, like a more potent version of the mana that imbued the walls around him.

A glance at the window told him it was still daytime. Judging by his mana pool, it had taken about two hours.

Now that he'd done it, he understood what the Quartermaster had been talking about regarding the toll of the procedure. If he'd had to fight a fadeborn right now, it would have eaten him alive.

But there was a difference between battle and sitting in a room. As much as he wanted to be done there, he had more time, and the truth was he did feel capable of at least trying to make another. To give in now would be weakness, and weakness didn't kill monsters.

So, he settled in to begin round two.

The second was both harder and easier than the first. He had a strategy that worked now, and he knew exactly what to expect from start to finish. But there was no denying that the pain was worse this time, like applying heat to already burnt skin. Digging into reserves of willpower he didn't know he had, somehow he held onto the technique as it bucked and boiled inside him.

By the time the second heartstone fully emerged from his skin and dropped onto his palm, he felt ready to pass out. Stashing it with the first stone in the pocket of his prison robe, he lay down on his bed and slept.

***

He was jolted awake some time later by the sound of his door grinding open. Outside, the light was fading. The effects of creating the heartstones had dimmed a little, but there was still a lingering ache and a sense of spiritual exhaustion unlike anything he'd felt before. It was awful, but he'd live. The Quartermaster had said making multiple stones was a sort of cumulative damage, so it would only get worse from here.

He stumbled out into the corridor to be confronted by the sight of the other prisoners, their faces red, their brows painted with sweat. Haggard was the first word that came to mind.

A guard wandered down the row of inmates with a carved wooden box in his hand. As he passed, each inmate handed over their afternoon's work. Rix kept an eye on the number each person contributed. Most gave just one, but there were a few fellow masochists present. A tall man with lank shoulder-length hair grimaced as he let two stones fall from his grip. There was a hollowness to his eyes and a stoop to his posture that spoke of what producing them had cost him.

When Rix's turn came, he dropped his single stone into the box, his fist wrapped tightly around the other in his pocket. There was something vaguely uncomfortable about handing even one over. His mind wandered back to the sensation of making them, the way the technique had pulled something vital from within him. It really did feel like handing over a piece of himself.

And he was about to give another one to a man who effectively worked for Han. That tasted extra bitter.

Once all the heartstones had been harvested, the prisoners began filing out of the cell area. The rumble of Rix's stomach told him it was likely dinner time. If anything, he was hungrier than yesterday. He felt like he could devour whatever was put in front of him.

There was a smattering of conversation on the walk, but most people seemed content to be alone with their thoughts. All routes from the cell blocks led through the yard, so Rix waited on the stone steps. In the interests of keeping a low profile, he really didn't want to have this discussion in the mess hall, where he assumed Xu Han would be. Tolson had said Han didn't technically sanction Yutaro's little shakedown. In an ideal world, Rix could pay his tax and Han would never even know he existed until the time was right.

Soon, Yutaro emerged from a nearby corridor. Rix sucked in a calming breath.

"Yutaro, a moment?"