29th of Season of Water, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

  After conscripting the terrified locals to help carry the unconscious Blood Cult victims to his clanhold, Newt and his friends went back up the slopes of the Dragon’s Rest volcano.

  So, could you guys not tell Elder Stronggrow about what happened? The thought passed through Newt’s mind half a dozen times in less than five minutes it took to climb the mountain. He knew it was silly and unrealistic, and that the townsfolk would bring fifteen unconscious people, whose presence he would have to explain eventually. Not to mention that he and Obi were drenched in blood.

  “I guess the feast is ready.” Newt said instead, faking a cheery voice. “But maybe a bath is in order first? I’m sorry that the visit to my clan turned out like this.”

  Blood stained Newt’s and Obsidian’s robes. Rose was better, a mere splatter or two on the hem of her sleeves, but as a good host, Newt should arrange for servants to wash their clothes and provide suitable replacements.

  When they reached the gate, Elder Stronggrow was already waiting.

  “Honored guests,” he started in what must have been a practiced speech only for his calm tone to take on a higher pitch. “Why are you bloody? What happened? Is anyone wounded?”

  The old man went through a rainbow of emotions, he started calm and polite, moving through shock and fear, and resting in the realm of confused worry. All four of his guests appeared fine, but Newt and Obi were covered in too much blood for men wearing undamaged robes.

  “Teacher, we will discuss this later. The Steelwheels were hurting and abusing people. I have arranged for several of their victims to arrive in an hour or two. As for what happened, we should discuss it behind closed doors.”

  Newt glanced back.

  “And could you have some servants draw baths for us, maybe find replacement robes while they wash ours?”

  An hour later, Newt was done soaking, his smooth, crimson robe caressing his skin. Even though it made no sense, the destitute clan’s young master’s robe proved much more comfortable than a large sect’s disciple robe.

  The sect can’t be too poor to afford nicer uniforms, there must be a reason behind it.

  Newt snapped his sleeves straight with well-measured tugs, fastened his sword to his waist, and strapped his spear to his back before heading out of his private bathroom to see how his friends were doing. As expected, Obi was done. The girls were not.

  “When—”

  “About this time tomorrow.” Obi chuckled. “You know how women are. I bet their robes will be dry before they are.”

  A slipper-smacked Obsidian in the back of the head. “Who’s gonna stay in the bath an entire day, you dumb kidney stone?”

  Jasmine was walking over, slapping her palm with the other shoe, which was ready to serve as a second improvised missile. Roselilly followed two steps behind, her lips hidden behind the back of her hand, but her snicker loud enough for Newt to hear.

  The red and orange robes suited the girls well. Obsidian was not as fortunate. He was too tall even for the biggest robe Elder Stronggrow managed to obtain in a hurry, and cultivator-style capri pants and a top with three-quarter length bracelet sleeves was ridiculous.

  “Let’s go enjoy that feast!” Newt hurried to say before Jasmine could make further fun of her slipper-smacked brother. “We’ve earned some rest.”

  ***

  Stronggrow Blazing Salamander tried to be a good host. He tried to be a proper role model, one his budding patriarch could look up to. Obviously, he did a poor job of it. Newstar came back home, unannounced. The young patriarch had brought three fellow sect-members of the third realm to their home, with no preparation, no thought of what they should do, and worse, he took them to drive away some villains trying to scam their clan out of their property.

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  Then it turned out those scammers were, in fact, demonic cultivators sacrificing people in their clan’s territory and that the heresy hunters would pay the clan a visit to explore the extent of the corruption and possibly upturn the entire region.

  The only pieces of good news were that Newstar and his friends had suffered no harm, and that the Blazing Salamander clan had nothing to do with demonic cultivators.

  Both of those were important, but did not make the thought of heresy hunters swarming the area any less unpleasant.

  He’s happy. That thought pushed away his worries.

  Instead of sitting in an elevated position, overseeing the feast, Newstar was sharing the table with his friends. They seemed like equals at first, but there were tiny signs. The three more senior cultivators walked half a step behind Stronggrow’s student and young patriarch. They respected his opinion and listened to his words with interest.

  Yes, they respect him. They aren’t subservient, nor are they seeking his good graces like sycophants, they genuinely care about him.

  Stronggrow smiled, the corners of his eyes growing moist. I need to thank them later.

  The old man raised his cup in a toast, happy and relieved that the troubled boy he taught was growing into a fine man.

  ***

  “I’m going to stroll around for a while,” Newt’s face was hard and determined as he said the words. “There are some places I’d like to visit alone.”

  Rose and the others nodded solemnly. She guessed he was going to check on his parent’s graves or something.

  Newt kept his family matters private. She never expected their roommate had an arranged marriage that fell through before he even turned twenty. And when he said he wanted to go back home, she guessed the young man had wished to see his parents, but upon reaching the clan, she learned Newt was a seventeen-year-old clan head, while his old teacher was the only person he seemed to have a close relationship with.

  The logical conclusion was that his parents were dead, and that he had inherited the clan and its burdens even before he turned seventeen. And as if all the boy’s troubles were not enough, the Blood Cult suddenly appeared, spreading mayhem just as he returned to visit.

  “Thank you for taking care of Newstar.” Newt’s teacher approached their group as soon as Newt had departed. “Ever since he was a child, he lacked friends. The only one he was close with was his former fiance, but that also turned into a disaster, and now with everything that has happened with her family…”

  The man stopped talking and looked into the distance. Rose followed his gaze. The view from the clanhold extended for hundreds of miles. She could see the Savage Wood, its green expanse, and equally green mountains framed by the setting sun’s orange clouds.

  “I hope our young patriarch hasn’t caused too much trouble.” The elder’s smile was carefree, his words a mere formality, yet uninvited thoughts flashed through Rose’s mind.

  He exploded his internal organs, nearly killing himself. A concentrated ray of sunfire baked him, destroying the sect’s defensive wards along with his body. He got lost in a danger zone, wandering into an area beyond his realm, but he somehow survived, and now he found one of the infamous demonic cults we’re not even supposed to know about making a base in his hometown.

  If she framed things like that, Newt was a source of trouble, a major source, in fact.

  “Not much trouble,” she said at the same time as the Deeproot twins. Too fast, too eager to reply.

  Elder Stronggrow’s eyes went wide. “What did he do?”

  There was a moment of silence, then all three spoke at the same time.

  “He got hurt.”

  “He got burned.”

  “He got lost.”

  They exchanged guilty glances, but the elder nervously smiled.

  “Which one was it?”

  “All three?” he continued awkwardly after nobody answered his question.

  “Newt rarely talks about home,” Rose said, before the old man badgered them into snitching on Newt and what he had been doing at the Explorer’s Gate. “Did he go to visit his parents?”

  “No, they are gone.” Stronggrow said, confirming Rose’s fears before continuing. “Madam sent us a letter some moons ago to tell us she was doing fine and that she has joined a sect.”

  Rose’s eyes went wide, and she was not the only one.

  “She did what?” Jasmine said, glaring at the confused elder.

  “Madam sent us a letter to tell us she was doing fine and asked whether things were in order with the clan. She also told us the former patriarch, Newstar’s father, was also doing fine, it’s a little shameful to admit, but he is a renowned gladiator in some imperial city far away. She didn’t mention which for some reason.”

  The man shrank back under Jasmine’s gaze, and Rose was just as angry.

  What’s wrong with this entire family? Newt lets us think his parents are dead, his father is off being a gladiator someplace, his mother is in a distant sect. What kind of parents are they? They abandoned him to be the patriarch while cultists gather at their doorstep.

  “Then, where the hell did Newt go just now?” Jasmine demanded, while Obi struggled for breath, a step from rolling on the floor from laughter.

  “I think he went to the abandoned mines,” the old man said hesitantly. “Whenever Newstar wants to meditate in peace or think about something, he goes there. The shafts are so twisted it’s next to impossible to find him until he leaves on his own.”