Unseen Cultivator

"To one of extreme age, novelty is the currency of greatest value." Bloody Roam recalled that saying, and the immortal who'd said it, quite clearly. He also remembered the ragged ashes left behind when that man, seemingly wise and capable beyond measure, was reduced to ashes by Heavenly Lightning. Suspicion had accompanied his exposure to novelties, no matter how amusing, thereafter.

Events in the distant east had certainly been novel, but they were equally suspicious. It was not that this was the first time that a demon horde had been dispersed by a natural disaster. There had been fires on several occasions, a massive avalanche, two volcanic eruptions, and even a genuine tsunami. A catastrophic flood, the outcome that he had pieced together from the way the plague essence scattered and flowed a great distance at unreasonable speeds, was certainly possible.

Had a different hidden land been at the center of this event he might well have accepted the outcome as natural. The Twelve Sisters though, they were cunning. They also possessed resources others did not. The flood had not been any sort of grand construct formed of qi He knew this with certainty. The plague would have reacted to such a thing.

Such a disaster could, potentially, be arranged without qi, purely using dams and levees. He'd seen it long ago. Whole provinces drained; vast rivers confined only to be breached later. It was possible, even through the effort of mortals.

Doing such things underneath the hungry eyes of Snow Feast, that was something else entirely. The quantity of concealment artifacts, formations, and rituals necessary to conduct such work was beyond what he'd believed any hidden land, no matter its size, could produce.

Yet it had been done. The eyes he'd placed above that land had caught the shadows of swift motions, stretched over years. Nothing actionable of course, but convincing.

It seemed that the Twelve Sisters had made some sort of breakthrough. That was certainly possible. He knew, better than anyone else, the capacity for the arts of cultivation to advance in grand leaps as well as tiny steps.

Still, that was not a completely satisfactory explanation. He wondered, leaning back on his throne of rubble, if treachery had been involved. Scoria Scorn was playing a most dangerous game. She had not built any dams herself, he would have felt that, but perhaps she might have clouded Snow Feast's eyes. It was not lost on him how rapidly she'd taken advantage of the flood.

Treachery. He'd expected it. The attempt by anyone who'd managed to survive a spectacular failure to move against him, to seek out his destruction, it was tiresomely inevitable. He had faced mutiny from within the ranks since before the war ended, and even then, demonic cultivators were not innovating upon the treason of earlier eras.

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Scoria Scorn's approach was a new one though, at least in how patient she had proven to be so far. Connecting to the four others, and since she was now in their company and not simultaneously a piece of icy statuary they must have concluded some manner of alliance, was quite the feat.

She must have promised them power, some untapped source of lives and cultivators. He was genuinely curious as to what that might be. The gaps in the plague's coverage, the few remaining places not yet infected, he knew them all. The spaces where his senses could not reach were few and scattered. Underground reserves were among them, certainly, but Scoria Scorn had depleted that stock immensely in regaining immortality. Above or below, there were no other significant gaps.

Only hidden lands remained.

The group's motions offered a critical insight. They had drifted out over the vast ocean. That was unexpected. Hidden lands in the ocean? It made sense. They must be numerous there, given the immense volume, but the idea that they harbored any significant numbers of humans was one that lay far, far outside his expectations. Despite this, he realized it traced the contours of the plot quite nicely.

Raise four to the seventh layer and then launch a strike, four on one. Dangerous, in a sense. Those were odds he could not dismiss outright. He would have to take measures.

Nothing too aggressive of course. The icy four had not moved against him yet. He could, if he wished, punish them for colluding with Scoria Scorn, but to do so would mean revealing secrets he intended to keep forever. As such, he could not simply attack. That would trigger a rebellion, and he was not yet ready to exterminate the remaining demonic cultivators.

They were far too entertaining to kill off early.

Instead, he would take other precautions. For now, a few messages would suffice. His new icy enemies had foes of their own, and they had left rather large territories unguarded that others would seek to seize. A small accusation, just the suspicion that they'd struck an accord with the orthodox, that they'd arranged the flood themselves, would serve for the moment. He would have to see how matters developed from there.

Perhaps the hidden lands of the seas would deliver the strength those four desired, or not. If they were empty, he knew this alliance would not endure long. The plague informed him of their growth. He would not be taken by surprise. It was likely that, should the gains be uneven, they would turn on each other thinking that two would be enough.

That thought offered up an interesting question. Which pair would be the most fun to fight? He placed the possibility, the variable scenarios, through countless iterations in his head. A joyous exercise, imagining out the endless possibilities it offered.

Such speculation was not merely idle speculation. He knew the four traitors exhaustively. The plague revealed their abilities, their fighting styles, even much of their motion patterns. Scoria Scorn could manipulate the quartet into attacking him but once, while he could fight them ten thousand times.

In many ways, he enjoyed the period of anticipation the most. He could have his enemies fight at their very best, the greatest challenge. Reality was rarely so accommodating, and easy slaughters were boring. Still, he hoped Scoria Scorn would continue to impress.