The Jade Shadows Must Die [Cultivation LitRPG]

The Iron Hand member stopped, his eyes narrowing as they found Rix. Kenzo, ever present, materialised at his shoulder. Yutaro's usual smirk was absent, replaced by a tight set to his jaw. The memory of Rix's headbutt, and the subsequent public humiliation, clearly still burned.

"What do you want, dreg?" Yutaro's voice was flat, carrying none of its usual taunting lilt.

Rix took another steadying breath, trying to project a meekness he didn't feel. "Listen, about yesterday in the yard… I was out of line. I'm new. I didn't understand how things worked around here. I'm sorry for the disrespect." He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the second heartstone. "You said there was a tax. I'm happy to pay it. To make things right." He held out the stone.

Yutaro stared at the offering, then at Rix, a flicker of something — surprise, perhaps, or calculation — in his eyes. Kenzo shifted beside him, a low grunt escaping his lips.

For a beat, Yutaro didn't move. Then, slowly, a thin, unpleasant smile stretched his lips. "Well, well. Looks like the little lamb finally learned a lesson." He plucked the heartstone from Rix's palm, weighing it with an exaggerated flourish. "Good of you to understand your place. It's important, in here, to know who's in charge." He tossed the stone lightly in the air and caught it. "And, as it happens, the Iron Hand is in charge. We keep things orderly. We make sure little shits like you don't get too big for their boots."

Rix kept his expression neutral, though he struggled to contain his rising bitterness. "I understand."

Yutaro pocketed the stone. "Good. Because the price of our order, the price of your… education, let's call it, has gone up."

Rix frowned. "Gone up? But you said—"

"I said," Yutaro cut him off, his voice hardening again, "that we needed a cut of what you make. I never specified how much. You disrespected me. You disrespected the Hand. That kind of insult doesn't come cheap." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried a sneer. "From now on, the tax is two stones a week. Every week. Consider it interest on your stupidity."

Rix's stomach clenched. "Yutaro, you know making one extra is bad enough. Making two…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "That's not possible."

Yutaro's smile widened into a predatory grin. He clearly knew the demand was unreasonable. That was the point. "Is it not?" he said, feigning surprise. "Well, that's a shame for you, isn't it? Because that's the price now. Pay it, or find out what happens when you don't. And trust me," his eyes glinted with malice, "that's a debt you really don't want to default on."

He clapped Rix on the shoulder, a gesture that was more threat than camaraderie. "See you around, lamb. Don't be late with my payment." With a final smirk, he turned and strode off, Kenzo falling into step beside him.

Rix watched them go, the aftereffects of the second heartstone he'd produced — the one Yutaro now owned — feeling stronger than ever. He'd tried to buy peace, but all he'd done was give the man an excuse to keep pushing him.

***

The next morning, he woke feeling better, but far from perfect. There was a lingering sluggishness, and a ghost of yesterday's pain still echoed in his soul. Did this qualify as 'below his best'? There was little he could do about it, if so. He felt like he could fight if he had to, so he would.

The good news was that the cut he'd sustained in yesterday's fade trial had already mostly healed. He'd read much about Martial Soul constitutions, but witnessing it firsthand was amazing.

He still didn't know what he was going to do about Yutaro. The man had made it clear he wouldn't be satisfied with a simple pay-off. His pride was too wounded. But Rix had a week to come up with something. For now, he pushed it from his mind. Today was a big day. For the first time, he'd get to see the Fractured Realm for himself. Unstable or not, that was exciting. That was the life of a Martial Soul, to embrace danger and use it as fuel to further themselves.

The first order of business, however, was to try and sort out his style.

The moment the morning count was over, he headed straight to the training area. Skipping a single breakfast was no big deal to him, and he didn't want to waste even a second. At that hour, the training cells stood mostly empty. But the Weaponmaster — Zhen, the Quartermaster had called him — was at his post, munching on an apple.

The man scowled as he approached. "Good morning, elder," Rix said.

The man spat out a small black seed and levelled a hard look at Rix. "Is it? Wish someone would have told me. I might have spent it some place else."

Though he was prickly, Rix didn't quite get the same sense of disdain from him that he did from many of the other prison officials. The man reminded him of the old uncle who used to run the coffee house where he sometimes scrounged for scraps of bread. His bark was worse than his bite.

He decided to take a gamble. "Elder, would you be able to answer a question for me?"

"Able? Almost certainly. But I often find my ability and my desire out of alignment these days."

That seemed permission enough to continue. "Can you tell me about the different attributes?"

The elder scoffed. "I'm not a nursery maid, boy. Go and bother someone else if you want to know how to lace your first doublet."

Well, it had been worth a shot. Time to try the Quartermaster's suggestion. "Fair enough. In that case, I would formally like to ask for my hour of weapons training."

The man nearly choked on his mouthful of apple. When he'd recovered, he studied Rix for a beat, his eyes narrow. "She put you up to this, didn't she?"

Rix maintained an expression of pure innocence. "I don't know what you mean, elder. I could simply sense you have much wisdom to impart."

Master Zhen chewed this over for a second, then pointedly spat out another seed. "Very well."

Rix grinned. "Great. How do we start?"

"We already have. You're down to fifty-eight minutes."

So that was how it was going to be. Rix cleared his throat. "Then let me get my weapon."

"I will wait with bated breath."

Once he'd retrieved a quarterstaff, the man followed him to the nearest training cell.

"I have a specific problem, Elder, that I was hoping you could help with."

Master Zhen looked him up and down. "While becoming a Martial Soul will help a little, unfortunately that's the face you're stuck with. There's nothing I can do for you." He spread his hands in apology.

Rix ignored him. "My style says 'Null' next to it."

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The amusement bled from the man's expression. "Well, that is a problem."

"What does it mean?"

"It means your style hasn't set properly. Probably because you have a homegrown approach that is too at odds with your chosen style. In layman's terms, your foundation is rotten. This is why most Martial Souls train with elements of their style well before getting their System Seed. It helps prepare the mind."

"I didn't have that option," Rix replied.

This time, the man didn't have a quip in return.

"So what do I do about it?"

Master Zhen considered this. "I need to see you fight. Hit the dummy — the one up the far end, not the one talking to me."

Rix didn't take the bait. Instead, he stepped up and began to attack. He kept it simple, ignoring his techniques, wielding the staff the way he would have on the street. Though it only gave him an opportunity to demonstrate his offence, he felt good about the display, moving through a series of strikes to the head, chest, and legs.

"You move like a scarecrow caught in a windstorm," the elder said, when he was done. "If I was your style, I wouldn't want anything to do with you either."

Rix felt his cheeks flush. "I can't be that bad. I've been using a staff all my life!"

"And I have robes older than you, boy."

Rix jammed his eyes closed and sucked in a deep breath. He wasn't going to get anywhere if he couldn't reign in his temper.

"What should I do to improve, elder?" he said, through gritted teeth.

The man grimaced. "Given we only have fifty-one minutes left, I'm not sure I have time to read you the full list." He stepped forward, taking the staff from Rix's hands and placing it against the side fence. "For now, we're going to go back to basics. Show me a simple punch."

Uncertain, Rix stepped up and hit the dummy, a solid blow to its centre mass that caused it to rock back in the sand. He noticed his mantle didn't fire. Perhaps the System could sense when he was attacking as opposed to being attacked.

"Again."

Rix did as he was bid.

"You look like a drunk trying to swat flies with a broom handle."

Rix opened his mouth to object, but was silenced as the man struck out against the dummy three times in quick succession. Though the blows were short and compact, the sound they made on contact was night and day compared to his, a terrifying whip-crack of flesh striking wood.

"You are simultaneously doing too much and not enough, which is almost impressive." He gestured at his body. "Strength comes from the ground up. Just because you're a Martial Soul doesn't mean you can ignore basic physiology."

"I don't know basic physiology," Rix replied.

The elder snorted. "It shows. And before you ask, no, I am not your physiker either."

He threw an exaggerated punch, cocking his arm back and swinging in a wide arc. It looked nothing like the clean, economical blow he'd demonstrated a moment ago. Was that really how Rix punched? "You swing with your arms alone. This means not only do you generate no power, but people all the way back in Cloudpiercer can see your attacks coming. You will strike the dummy like this," he demonstrated his punch again more slowly, "one thousand times, while driving up with your legs, and we will see if there is any hope for your improvement."

"A thousand?" Rix said.

"For today."

Rix really did consider leaving at that point. That was the simplest attack you could make — the stuff of childhood scraps — and it had nothing to do with staff combat at all. What fadeborn was going to let him punch it? He was starting to doubt the man was being fair. Rix had always been a competent fighter. Self-taught though he was, when the chips were down he usually came out on top. Perhaps Rix had been wrong and this was just another opportunity for a prison official to taunt an inmate.

But with nowhere else to go and nothing else to fill his time until today's dive, he decided to humour the man. If it was a joke, Rix wouldn't be broken by something so simple.

The first few hundred strikes felt surprisingly ungainly. He'd assumed the adjustment would be easy, but driving up with his legs threw Rix's rhythm completely off, and the more compact motion felt like it generated no power at all. He attempted to copy his teacher's stance, dropping slightly lower and keeping his legs loose, but no matter what he did, he couldn't get close to replicating the crispness of the man's blow. Periodically, Master Zhen would make a correction, adjusting the placement of his feet or reminding him to keep his elbows tucked close to his body, but Rix couldn't tell if it was making any difference.

"This is a waste of time," he hissed, after completing four hundred attacks. Despite his enhanced martial body, his knuckles were already worn bloody in several places and the muscles in his back were beginning to ache. To make matters worse, the attack still felt terrible. "I'm not even using my weapon."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Please forgive me. I didn't realise the fundamentals were so beneath you. In that case, I will leave you to your training. I'm sure you'll eventually find a way to work with this…unconventional foundation you've built yourself." He began heading toward the training cell exit.

Rix grimaced. He hadn't known the problem with his style, but he definitely didn't expect it to be this. Like any child, he'd had his share of hand-to-hand brawls in his youth. While he'd had no formal training, he usually held his own against much bigger children and always considered himself a passable unarmed fighter. The idea that he was so deficient in combat that he had to relearn how to throw a simple punch was galling.

But to let his ego block his path was foolish. If he had to go back to square one, then so be it.

"Wait," he called. "I apologise, elder. I welcome any further feedback you have."

The Weaponmaster made a show of it, but eventually he turned and resumed his watch. "You need to stop focusing on the outcome. A perfect punch isn't born from picturing fallen foes, but from embracing the nuances of the movement. Concentrate on the feeling of the punch. You'll know when you've landed one properly."

Rix resumed. He narrowed his focus, honing in on the sensation of pushing up from the sand below, letting that momentum flow through his body. The world became just the steady percussion of blows, the flex of his muscles, the snap when he made contact. It could have been his imagination, but was there a subtle improvement there? Were his strikes a little crisper?

"One thousand," said the Weaponmaster, as Rix drew back for another strike. Such was his concentration, he hadn't even realised he'd hit the milestone.

Rix shook his head, bringing the rest of the world back into focus. He had to admit it felt good to lose himself in the exercise, even if it was utterly trivial.

"So, is there any 'hope for my improvement'?" Rix asked.

The Weaponmaster considered him. "Hope is such a delicate word." He nodded to the dummy. "If this were a duel, at this point I'd have him pegged as the winner."

Rix scoffed. "I literally just hit him a thousand times in a row."

The elder shrugged. "In a martial duel with no clear knockout, the winner is often judged on style."

"How could—" Rix began, but the Weaponmaster cut him off with a raised finger.

"That is one hour. You may find me again next week. In the interim, repeat this exercise every day. One thousand punches."

Rix opened his mouth to argue, but Master Zhen was already walking off. Rix could have sworn he heard him laughing.

What an infuriating man.

"You know there's something rather inspiring about watching someone build themselves up from nothing. Though I confess, it does look like a lot of work." The new voice came from behind him, and Rix spun to find an audience of one about fifty feet away, on the Cauldron side of the training area. It was the man Rix had seen fighting the previous day, the one who wielded his jian like a dancer. He held his practice sword in his hands while another inmate — probably his training partner — was leaving through the door. Rix had been so focused he hadn't even heard them duelling.

Somehow, despite being a prisoner like everybody else, the man had none of the rough edges of the other inmates. Everything about him, from his hair to his glowing skin to his creaseless prison robes, was immaculate.

Rix frowned. Was he being mocked? It was hard to tell. The man's voice carried no derision or predatory intent.

Rix remembered seeing him fight the previous day. He'd been a force. He'd had such an easy confidence about him, like his weapon was an extension of his body. There were probably worse people to ask for advice.

"You didn't train thousands of punches a day when you were preparing to start your Path?"

The man looked genuinely shocked. "Me? Thousands? Oh goodness, no. My parents said my first punch was heard by the heavens themselves, but we can't all be singularly gifted, now can we?" He shot Rix a brilliant smile. "The elder there isn't wrong about the value of a solid foundation, though. I myself am a master of several types of hand-to-hand combat, including one I invented."

Rix furrowed his brow. He'd encountered more than his share of braggarts in his life, and this man had much the same air. Then again, Rix had seen him train…

He decided respect was the best course of action. "Forgive my ignorance, but how does that help, seeing as the whole point of being a Martial Soul is armed combat?"

"Oh, my old trainer would love that I'm about to quote him." He held up his training sword and cleared his throat, his voice taking on the tone of someone much older. "'The mistake is thinking of this as the weapon. The goal of the Martial Path is that you become the weapon.'"

"That…actually sounds quite wise."

The man smiled. "I try," he replied, like he hadn't literally just been quoting somebody else. "Hand-to-hand combat may seem lesser than the glory of armed battle, but the movements of the body are surprisingly similar."

Rix eyed the dummy again, then sighed. "I guess there are a lot more punches in my future."

The man nodded in affirmation. "That's the spirit! You're well on your way to greatness. Before you know it, you'll be almost as good as I was when I first started. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with some fadeborn."

With that, he sauntered off towards the exit. Rix had no idea what to make of the encounter, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. He, too, had the same obligation.

It was time to dive the Fractured Realm for the first time.