29th of Season of Water, 57th year of the 32nd cycle
Harvesting eldenroot took slightly longer than Newt and his team had expected, but they still had plenty of time to spare for a visit to the Blazing Salamander clan.
The group stuck to the lower portion of the mountain, never challenging the velociraptors nesting near the top. Their careful approach was rewarded with one slightly more serious attack before the dinosaurs cut their losses. And with the chore-like mission completed, Newt looked forward to his homecoming.
“Are you nervous?” Rose asked as they emerged from the jungle onto a cultivated field dotted with cabbages.
“A bit. But I think I’m looking forward to returning home and seeing everyone.” What Newt looked forward to the most was Magmin’s secret realm, the challenge it represented, the next portion of Magmin’s evolutionary story, and the reward for clearing it.
He wondered whether Magmin had regained its senses. Whether the serpent would talk to him, or attack on sight, and whether Magmin had finally overcome his fear of pterodactyluses. Whenever he thought about it, the fact that a mythical dragon had a phobia of common flying pests amused Newt beyond words. It was a testament to how ridiculous heart demons were, how a cultivator’s perception of something mattered more than the object itself, and finally, that a chance existed that dragons would fear him more than he feared them.
“You’re smiling.” Rose said.
“Just glad I’m home. We should slow down around these cabbage fields. The guy owning it might have eight or nine children, you never know.”
That comment earned Newt three weird looks, but he knew what he was talking about. The group crossed the field, making sure not to damage anything, then picked up speed again when they reached an earthen road.
The third realmers’ full speed sprint scared the life out of four gastonias grazing near the road, further cementing Newt’s guess about who owned the large patch of cabbages. There were plenty of farmers growing cabbages, some probably owned gastonias, but Newt hoped his guess was right.
He tried to recall the fortunate father’s name, but he had forgotten it. An irrelevant side character in his life, one he would forever remember as the cabbage-baby guy.
The clanhold came into view soon after. The walls, the roads, and the mountain range, everything was as he remembered it. Newt slowed to a respectful speed, which was still a breakneck pace for mortals. His friends did the same, before they all stopped before the closed gate. The two guards flanking it took a moment before going down on one knee.
“Patriarch,” they murmured in unison.
Newt could feel Jasmine’s gaze burn holes in the back of his head.
“Patriarch? Really?” the woman whispered, her brother snickering.
“Get up,” Newt commanded the guards. “Are the elders home?”
“Yes, Lord Patriarch. Do you wish an escort?”
Newt thanked Blackstone, the older of the two guards, for his offer and entered. The place was just as he had left it.
No, not quite. He heard the sound of men and women training in the walled courtyard, which had been used for his uncle’s exorbitantly expensive carriages the last time Newt saw it.
It was mid-morning and the street was mostly empty, everyone doing what they were supposed to be doing. He jumped up a handful of yards, warm air propelling him to hover, and observed the training yard where Elder Marrow oversaw the younger generation train with the spear.
Newt’s lips stretched into an ugly smile close to tears. His clan was rebuilding. All his pain and suffering and indignity had led to the moment where Blazing Salamander stopped its plummet and started rising once more.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
His father was at the fourth realm, a feat which nobody had achieved in several prior generations. His mother was also in that realm, and Newt planned to reach it too before moving on to greater heights. Unfortunately, Newt had no way to tell the talent of the others. The entire clan might have been heavenly geniuses, but without resources, without spiritual energy and cores, there was no cultivation. The infinite potential was wasted.
Newt touched down on the black stones generations of his ancestors treaded upon and evaporated the tears of joy forming in the corners of his eyes. The clan had focused on the mine for too long. That obsession had destroyed whole generations, but that no longer mattered. They had a path forward. Success lay in fighting for one’s fortune in the wider world and returning home, sharing what knowledge and bounty you had gathered.
Newt recalled his mother’s letter. His father would probably think his approach blasphemous, their ancestral techniques ultimate, but faced with reality, Newt knew better. Old knowledge needed to be built upon, not revered; traditions needed to be honored, not allowed to dictate the way of life and harm those upholding them.
Nothing but decay and the inevitable decline followed blind obedience and rote learning. Newt had witnessed that truth first hand.
He expected Jasmine to poke fun at him, but the snarky woman remained respectfully silent.
“Follow me.” Newt motioned with his hand. “I want you to meet my teacher, and I have never introduced my friends to him, so I’m looking forward to it.”
Newt’s smile was genuine, full of mixed emotions he did not yet understand, but his friends responded with silent encouragement, and he led the way. Instead of heading to the main audience hall, he took a turn, walking towards Elder Stronggrow’s residence.
He had no way of knowing whether his teacher would be home, but in Newt’s imagination, Elder Stronggrow was not the type of person who sat in the throne all day just because he could.
Newt knocked softly on the door, and a familiar voice beckoned.
“Yes, what is it? Did those fools send another letter threatening us with their new backers?”
“Which fools? Newt asked.
“Newstar?” The old man’s exasperated voice grew higher, as if someone had pinched him. “You’re home, my boy?”
The door immediately opened, revealing the barefooted Elder Stronggrow wearing a comfortable, fluffy robe.
“Is someone bullying the clan?” Newt had come in a great, albeit sentimental mood, yet suddenly he was smoldering.
“It’s not important right now,” Elder Stronggrow started, but yielded under Newt’s glare. “Brave and the rest of the incompetent lot got involved with some shady people. Now those shady people claim the clan owes them money, and will come to collect it, and if we’re unable to pay, they will take away our ancestral home as compensation.”
Newt frowned. “Didn’t you tell the creditors that we have expelled Brave and the rest from the clan?”
“I have,” Elder Stronggrow said patiently, “but they wouldn’t listen. I’m certain the whole debt thing is made up; just a pretext for them to snatch our holdings.”
Newt nodded. “Do you know how strong they are?”
“Five third realm wandering cultivators. They have taken residence in the town, taking advantage of your former fiance’s family.”
The moment Elder Stronggrow uttered those three final words, Newt felt the back of his head burning again. A part of him wished to turn around and see who was smirking at him, but another was too busy with the preposterous situation.
“And how much do they claim we owe them?”
“Three fourth realm spirit stones.”
As soon as those words left Elder Stronggrow’s lips, Obsidian rolled up his sleeves, turning around to find the rogues. “You wait here, I’ll go kill the greedy bastards myself.”
“Wait, Obi, it’s my family’s matter, and I’ll handle it.”
“The bastards are crazy, fourth realm spirit stones? Have they lost their mind?”
Elder Stronggrow’s eyes widened with surprise when he saw Newt had brought company. “Who are these ladies and gentleman, Newstar?”
“My friends and teammates from my sect.”
Elder Stronggrow gave a polite half-bow. “Thank you, friends of my patriarch, for taking care of him and ensuring he doesn’t get sidetracked. I apologize for receiving you dressed like this. If you don’t mind, give me ten minutes, and I’ll entertain you properly.”
Stronggrow then turned towards Newt, reproach clearly visible in his eyes.
“Patriarch Newstar.” Elder Stronggrow stressed the title so hard, it felt like an assault on Newt’s ears. “Please entertain your guests while I and the servants organize a modest feast to celebrate your safe return.”
Newt opened his mouth to protest. He had no idea what he should do, nor how to entertain the guests he had brought to the clan.
Suddenly, in a moment of brilliance, he had a great solution for the problem of finding entertainment in a destitute clan.
“How about we go and find those scammers? We can beat them up for practice.”
Elder Stronggrow, standing at the door of his modest residence, wearing what could pass for a house gown or a bathrobe, stared at his patriarch in disbelief. The wise old man used every last ounce of his will to stop himself from slapping his forehead and rolling his eyes.
