Waterstrider

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS

“Your muscles are a bit tense. You must be fully relaxed if you wish to harness formless miasma,” I said.

“Yes, Master.”

I was watching Lin practice the forms I had taught her. Sometimes I went through the motions along with the disciples, while at other times, like now, I would watch them and correct any deficiencies that I saw.

“Our arts,” I continued to explain, “are based upon the movement of water. Your movements are closer to that of ice. Melt yourself a bit more, and feel for the natural flow of your body.”

She bit her lip, but made no sound. Her movements continued, but there was still some stiffness. Perhaps, I thought, I could find some drugs that would help to loosen up her movement.

“I don’t think anybody would consider what you just said to be useful, meaningful advice,” said Rachel, her words a quiet whisper in my ear.

“This was how my own Master taught me,” I replied.

“I don’t believe that necessarily makes it effective.”

I brushed her off, as I doubted an alien machine would be able to understand the intricacies of martial arts.

“Has something happened?”

Despite her unique personality, Rachel was usually kind enough not to interrupt training sessions with my disciples.

“There has been bad news from Otan. Also, a messenger from the Hadal Clan will be arriving soon.”

I narrowed my vision. If the Hadal Clan was sensing a message in person, that meant that they wanted something from me. My intuition was telling me that it would not be a simple matter.

“What happened in Otan?” I asked, stepping to the side of the room. Several of my disciples glanced up from their practice, but I waved them back to it. “Were there casualties?”

Rachel laughed in response.

“There was a casualty, all right. A big one. Queen Iskrise committed suicide rather than submit to us.”

“I… see,” I said. “Has the Justice Office reacted yet?”

“Not yet, but I suspect they will formulate their response very soon.”

I sighed.

“Let’s take our squad out of Otan for now and see how matters shift. There were no issues with egress, right?”

“No. My guess would be that either the Celans were too shocked to act or they still wish to mend ties with us.”

“I suppose we should leave that matter as it is. Do you know what the Hadal Clan is wanting?”

“I’m afraid not. Your people’s low level of technology can make you very difficult to monitor, do you know that?” she asked sarcastically.

“This strikes me as a positive.”

“Not in my books,” she laughed.

“Is that everything?” I asked. “The delay made me think that she was saving another news item. She had a habit of collecting information and revealing it to me all at once.

“Oh,” she said. “There actually is one more piece of news, now that you ask.”

She smiled softly at me.

“It seems that Kein has finally woken up.”

I glanced back at her, my brow furrowing. He had been in a coma for almost two weeks. I had started to believe that he would never revive.

“How is he?” I asked.

“He’s… been quiet. I’m not sure how well he will deal with… you know.”

“Being crippled?”

Rachel sighed.

“Mhm. How do you think you would handle it?”

I considered the idea. How would I react to having my martial arts stripped from me, left to rot as a mortal for the rest of my greatly shortened life?

I couldn’t help but chuckle, remembering that my current lifespan was no more than that of a mortal who shared by apparent age.

“I would handle it poorly, of course. We all would. That is simply the nature of a martial artist. To have it slip like sand though your fingers… perhaps death would be preferable.”

Rachel’s amber eyes peered at me. Their color was still shifted as part of her disguise, but my mind could not help but envision the piercing blue eyes that she claimed were part of her natural appearance.

“Do you wish for him to die?” she asked softly, as if she feared to hear the answer.

“Of course not!”

I couldn’t help but snap at her, my biting words drawing the attention of my disciples.

“Of course not,” I repeated, my words returning to a whisper. “He is still of use to me.

“Then I recommend that you give him something to do. Something to occupy his mind.”

I laughed darkly.

“He’s still a Palace Leader. Perhaps we should send him right back to work. I’ll speak with him when he returns here.”

“You’re a harsh taskmaster, Cyrus,” she teased.

“It is my duty to be one. When will the messenger arrive?”

Rachel faked checking her wrist.

“Roughly four minutes from now. He has to take several more flights of stairs to make it down here.”

“Gen, Shadowblade,” I called, drawing the attention of my disciples back to myself. “I need you to escort a guest to the visiting room. The rest of you continue practicing until I return.”

“Yes, Master!” called my disciples.

I couldn’t help but let the corner of my mouth curl upwards as I watched them.

“Lin, remember to focus on smoothness of motion. Han, restrain yourself a bit more. You have the raging of a storm down, but the calmness of a pond is just as true an aspect of these arts.

The two nodded at my words, and I turned to leave. As I left, the two disciples I had called out followed behind, looking almost like baby ducks following their mother. I had chosen the two of them both because I felt they wouldn’t injure the image of the sect, as well as because neither was at a vital point in their training. The two of them were very well prepared to acquire miasma, and a wasted hour would not hurt them.

Gen was the charismatic sort, and Shadowblade, despite my initial expectations of a youth with such a name, had turned out to be quite sociable and self controlled himself. Both were extremely capable of exuding the right air for meeting with dignitaries, unlike Blake and Qian.

The two split off from me as they made their way to the sect’s entrance, while I placed myself in the formal meeting room we had finally prepared for such situations. The room was finely furnished with paintings and a faux-wooden floor, and featured two couches facing one another across a small table. I sat down on the couch which faced towards the door, and relaxed into position, with Rachel placing herself into a respectful position behind me. It wasn’t long before the messenger arrived, flanked by my disciples.

My disciples opened the door, and the messenger confidently walked in, bowing respectfully towards me. He wore the traditional robes of his clan, and at a guess I would place him as a meridian refiner.

“I, a messenger of the Hadal Clan,” he said, “offer my greetings to the Illustrious Leader of the Redwater Sect.”

I gestured towards the couch that faced me on the other end of the short table. The messenger smiled.

“There’s no need. I’m merely a messenger, delivering what the clan has requested of me.”

He referred to himself humbly, but we were both aware that a messenger bearing a letter from the Matriarch was considered a legitimate representative of the clan, and to mistreat him would be similar to doing the same to Sirena Hadal herself. It was easy to be courteous, and at the moment I had no desire to stoke flames between us.

“Please, sit, enjoy the tea. We insist,” said Rachel.

While the Sect Leader could not lower himself to serve a mere courier, the presence of Rachel and my disciples allowed me to show him courtesy while expressing my stance. We were not subordinates of the Hadal Clan.

The messenger let off a silent smile, reading my intentions, and sat on the couch that had been prepared.

“You’re too kind. Shall I deliver the message?”

“If you would.”

He reached into his robe, emerging with an elegantly folded letter with quality calligraphy marking its surface. He daintily placed it onto the table between us, and lifted the teacup that had been poured from it. Taking a sip, he explained.

“This is a message directly from the Matriarch herself. She requested that I deliver your response to her once you had made a decision.”

I glanced at Rachel, and then back at the messenger, and then lifted the paper with an outstretched arm. As expected from the Hadal Clan, it seemed to be made of legitimate paper. Drawing my arm back to myself, I carefully unfolded the note and rest the content inscribed within.

The language was formal, but the content was quite simple. It was a personal invitation for myself and Rachel to visit the Clan’s headquarters to take dinner the day after next.

For a moment I had to consider the possibilities, but ultimately my decision was simple. To refuse would cause unnecessary friction between our forces, and could cause massive damage to the sect. To accept would do nothing but signal to other forces a possible accord between us. The choices were clear. My eyes met with those of the messenger.

“Tell the Matriarch that we accept.”

He smiled, taking a final sip of tea and then setting his cup back down on the table. He then stood and bowed.

“It was pleasant meeting with you, Sect Leader Yu. I hope our organizations experience a long partnership.”

“You as well.”

Martial Robes: [The robes a martial artist wears dictates their identity, marking both the force that they originate from, as well as their position within that force. Many martial artists exclusively wear such clothing. Some claim that these traditional robes are inferior in combat to advanced equipment, but it is extremely rare for a sect or clan to ‘upgrade’. Explanations for why traditional robes are better usually relate to how they are much easier to move in than armor would be. That said, many mercenary practitioners choose to spurn tradition. Some martial artists like to wear blank or ‘unaffiliated’ robes, and these are generally looked down upon compared to those who display their affiliation.]