The spirit-beasts fell upon us quickly and quietly.

  There was so little qi in the world and so little qi inside of them that they almost snuck up on me. I felt them in the last moment before their arrival; their spirits were like the static of a dust storm on the wind, making my hair standing on end. Their eyes lit up the night like a hundred glowing jewels. I was already standing with my spear at the ready.

  They were a hundred shapes in the night of fur and fang, and they charged me in a sweeping tide. Not just at me, but also unto Jian Yi. I swung my spear incessantly, each swing of the spear’s blade cleaving at least one of the beasts in half, each reversal of its haft crushing a skull and flinging bodies away.

  It had been years since I had brushed up in my training in the spear. Still, something about this illusory formation seemed to make recalling my skills easier. With each swing, I remembered the drills I had practiced for months on end. I fell into a state of flow as I carved a tide of monsters apart.

  The creatures were all misshapen; bent, broken spirit-beasts, starved of qi and left in the wilderness. It was like a spirit-beast horde made entirely of pests. Jian Yi was long since awake; he cried out, but I had no time to pay him any heed. My every action brought death to the little monsters. They were like miniature wolves, like rabid rats and rotting, featherless birds.

  My muscles burned and sweat accumulated on my skin by the time the last of them fell.

  “Are you unhurt?” I asked Jian Yi, turning to him with my entire body. He flinched backward at the motion.

  I paused and collected myself. The relationship between mortals and cultivators was always tense outside of my own city. I had forgotten so easily. I tried again.

  “Are you alright, friend?” I asked, giving my best smile.

  “There’s blood on your face, my lord.”

  I reached up to wipe my face. I smeared blood across it instead. My hands were covered.

  “My lord…” Jian Yi said, pulling free a rag and passing it to me.

  “Ah, thank you.” I said, taking it with a smile before wiping clean my face and hands.

  “You’re uninjured?” Jian Yi asked. He was still shook.

  “Of course.” I said, turning back to stare at the carnage. There was nothing else left that I saw, just the piles and piles of tiny, malformed spirit-beasts. I sat back down by the dying fire and continued to wait out the night.

  Jian Yi slept no more. He clung to wakefulness with an unrested and shaky paranoia. When the sun rose, it revealed the corpses of a hundred starving, corrupted monsters. I frowned at them.

  There was something deeply wrong with this place. They weren’t just small and misshapen — they looked starved. But not of food. Of qi. They looked like they had taken in aspects incompatible with their cores, corrupting them. I squinted down at the bodies. The spirit-beasts in this place were corrupting themselves, consuming power that warped them.

  “The sun is rising. Are you able to control the wagon?” I turned to Jian Yi. The world flickered. Instead of Jian Yi sitting, I saw him splayed across the ground, covered in the corpses of monsters and blood. A pounding head emerged behind my eyes. Then the vision was gone.

  Jian Yi looked back up at me. He blinked away apparent confusion.

  “Yes, my lord. We still have another few days travel before we arrive.”

  “Okay.” I said, staring at him for a few moments longer. Nothing else strange happened. Jian Yi stood with a huff, shouldering past me and preparing the horse and wagon. I extinguished the fire.

  [Warning: Scenario integrity degraded 7%. Additional Change has been harvested to restablize. Scenario altered.]

  [Level 15 Scenario]

  [Objective: Defend]

  [You are a cultivator guarding a caravan from threats. Prove your worthiness by defending the caravan from all threats without the use of [Skills.] Deliver the caravan back to Windhewn Peak. Attributes have been suppressed for the duration of the scenario.]

  I froze, rereading the prompts several time. They absolutely hadn’t changed — the scenario remained the same. I turned to look at Jian Yi, putting together what was happening.

  In this scenario, Jian Yi was supposed to die. A normal cultivator wouldn’t have been focused on protecting him. I turned to the wagon. Almost none of the monster corpses had died at the ground around it. But a normal cultivator would have defended the wagon. Even the scenario’s description matched that — defend the caravan.

  Not Jian Yi.

  We were back on the road without any abnormalities within the hour. Maybe the lack of sleep made me paranoid, or maybe it was the lack of feedback in the air. We continued down the road until it sunk into the earth, a trough carved into the wet dirt from years of caravans crossing this very road. The foliage and trees grew thick around us.

  The road curved around boulders. The calls of birds grew more and more incessant in the thick foliage.

  “Stop the cart.” I told Jian Yi, readying my spear.

  Just around a bend in the road, there was an upturned wagon. I squinted at it.

  There was no horse to pull it. Two men stood outside of it, arguing. They hadn’t noticed us yet. Shabby swords hung at their waists, but their spirits were so weak in my senses that they barely registered. They definitely weren’t a threat.

  I leapt from the wagon, books squelching in the mud. The two of them turned to look at me, anger still on their faces. One of them went pale as a ghost. The other turned tense.

  “Greetings.” I said, offering a closed fist salute. My palm touched the fist holding the spear, and my eyes stayed fixed on the tense man. They didn’t have a horse with them. “Can I help you two?”

  “Yes. Our wagon fell. Could you help us right it, my lord?” The tense man asked. His tone was biting. I squinted at him.

  The tense man turned to the pale man, who started walking off the road.

  “Where are you going?” I asked. “Where’s your horse?”

  The nervous looking man turned back to me, eyes wide.

  “He ran off, my lord!” The nervous man said. His eyes kept glancing to the woods. “I should go look for him. He can’t have gone far.”

  I nodded. “Go. I’ll help you upturn the wagon.”

  The more assured of the two men walked to the wagon’s edge, grabbing hold of the turned over carriage as if to flip it over.

  “On three, my lord?”

  “You can leave it to me.” I said, waving the man back with the spear in my hand.

  I circled qi through my left arm, grabbed the edge of the wagon, and pulled it upright with the sound of groaning wood. Its wheels hit the mud with a wet plop.

  “That’s done.” I said, turning back to the man. “Now we wait for your horse to return.”

  “I should help him look.” The sharp man said. He was eyeing the treeline nervously.

  I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay here with us, brother.” I smiled at him.

  The demeanor of the two men made me wary. So did their eagerness to leave. I was feeling fears that they were here to rob passerbys. The tiny spirit-beasts that I had slaughtered should have left behind corpses — infact, it wouldn’t surprise me if a mortal could kill a few before being overwhelmed. They wouldn’t align with the story that Jian Yi told me — that they never found remnants from the caravans.

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  Monsters didn’t leave no trace behind. Men did.

  “I really should go help him…” The man said. “You see, he’s really no good with animals!”

  “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

  We waited for a few minutes. The sharp man grew increasingly nervous and agitated.

  I turned to Jian Yi. He had a calm smile on his face. He knew I would protect him.

  This illusion was so real that it felt like someone else’s memory. Was there a real Jian Yi? One that didn’t make it home to a wife and daughter that he worked so hard to care for?

  The image of Jian Yi dead at the horde of spirit-beasts flitted through my mind again.

  “Jian Yi…” I said. I was going to ask him something. I wasn’t sure what.

  Then I heard the first of the arrows. They must have fired a dozen at once. I grabbed the stranger and pushed him between myself and the noise — just in time.

  The wet thumps of a half dozen arrows answered every suspicion I had been harboring. One of them even grazed me, the sharp edge of an arrow cutting the skin of my arm. I winced.

  Few cultivators were even aware that a mortal bow, strung to enough pounds of weight, could pierce the skin of lower realm cultivators. We looked down on them so much that the only times they saw combat were as fodder, pressed into lines at the walls of cities to repel spirit-beast hordes.

  The complete lack of qi inside of them, and the lack of qi in the air, made them all but invisible to my spirit-senses. It was like trying to peer into a blizzard.

  A second round of arrows came, this time from the other direction. My skin may not have been able to resist them, but I could hear the sound of bows being drawn and tensioned, shifting my human shield in time to absorb all of the blows. I rushed forward into the treeline, still carrying the man as a shield.

  I broke the line of brush and foliage with a shout, throwing the corpse of the man into the rough half circle of bow wielding mortals.

  “Run!” One of the men shouted.

  I was far too fast. My spear pierced through the chest of the first man. He coughed, thick red spilling up his throat.

  He snarled at me even as he died, hands gripping the spear’s shaft, teeth coated with his own blood. I turned to the second man, cutting him down just as easily as I had the spirit-beast horde. All six of them tried to scatter in different directions. It made no difference. I was far too fast, and they were far too slow.

  I killed them before they managed to cross fifty paces away, then turned back toward the road, crossing to the other side. I only spare a moment to glance at Jian Yi — he cowered behind cover, face pressed into the side of the wagon. That was good.

  The other six mortals fell just as easily. Without the element of surprise, it was easy to move too fast for them to track. They weren’t skilled archers, even if they had practice, it wasn’t against targets who moved as I did. Each one fell with the simple swing of a spear, their unreinforced bodies too weak to resist me.

  The anxious looking man from before was among the second set of ambushers. I attacked him last, disarming him and pinning him to the ground after the other five were dead.

  “Are you responsible for the missing caravans along this trail?” I asked him.

  The tip of my spear rested against his chin. He closed his eyes. The fear on his face disappeared. He looked up at me with resolution in his eyes.

  “Go to hell, cultivator scum.”

  My eyes widened. But I didn’t move.

  “Not going to execute me? Just going to wait for all of us to starve? The dread-hordes ravage our farmland and massacre towns, and what are you doing? Protecting a cart of treasures. You value them so much more than human lives?”

  “You’re not a bandit.” I said, my eyes wide. “You’re a rebel.”

  He also wasn’t real. This was just an illusory formation — a training tool. Maybe it was built out of a cultivator’s real memories — but my actions wouldn’t change the past. A rebel was a traitor to his men, to his country, and the punishment for treason was always the same.

  My own father had taught me that lesson.

  The first time I killed another man, I was eleven.

  The sword in my hands was too large. It was unwieldy. Qi I could barely control pumped through my meridians from daily practice. My arms buzzed with power I had only ever gathered for training. The tip of the sword in my hands cut the wooden platform below us. Around us, blood stained sand filled an arena in the center of rising seats. So many mortals talking at once made the air buzz, the weight of a thousand stares heavy on my shoulders.

  “Dad… do I have to?” I asked, staring up at the Patriarch.

  His robes flowed to the floor. His hands were behind his back, and his eyes were dark as stared down at me. The mid day sun burned above us. No clouds blocked the sky, but in that moment I stood in my father’s shadow.

  The sound of the crowd around us dulled. I felt my father’s aura at work — a solid wall. Reliable and unfaltering.

  “A Patriarch must always do what is best for the clan. Sometimes, that involves sacrifice.”

  “So we have to kill him?” I asked. “Can’t we do something else? Can’t you do it?”

  “The sacrifice we make is a sacrifice of ourselves. We make the hard choices so that our people don’t have to.” He stared out over the gathered crowd of mortals in the high seats. In the low seats, dozens of nobles gathered. None of them cheered or talked. Instead, they wore heavy, solemn expressions. “If you do not learn today, when will you learn?”

  I stared at the ground.

  “Chin up. Stand proud. You must represent the clan.”

  Wen stood behind my father, staring down at me. His eyes were soft, though. Regretful.

  “Yes, Patriarch.” I said, straightening my back.

  I followed in father’s shadow as we approached the execution stand. His aura retreated. The and terrible roar of the crowd fell on us, the mortals now cheering rather than talking. A handful of cultivators watched, the qi in the air disturbed by their presence, while the mortals on the seats around them roared and called for death.

  The main show was over. All that was left was the execution.

  “Governor Song has failed the nation.” The Patriarch’s voice boomed.

  I walked to my rehearsed position.

  Governor song was a fit man, body covered in muscles and scars. Long disheveled blond hair hung from his head, blocking his face. Dried blood clung to it.

  “He stole from the Blood Stained Peak, embezzled wealth owed in tithe to the Grim Tempest, and in doing so, endangered the nation.” The Patriarch boomed again. The crowd quieted. “Governor Song secretly exported a number of mined spirit-stones, failing to report the wealth to the clan. In doing so, he endangered all of us!”

  The crowd booed.

  “He risked the life of each and every one of you.”

  The Patriarch stepped to the side, looking at me and nodding.

  I swallowed hard, whispering.

  “I’m sorry.” I told the Governor.

  He laughed, whipping his head up. The hair fell away, revealing a bruised face. He smiled at me, but there was no mirth in his eyes. That moment stretched. He stared at me with pity, not anger. Then his eyes turned to my father’s back and hardened.

  “Hurry up and do it boy.” He said. “I would kill you gladly if the tables turned. And your bastard father.”

  I didn’t want to. I had political instructors. They taught me about social manipulation.

  Song was trying to convince me to kill him. To make it easy for me. I could hear that he didn’t mean it.

  He was trapped in a pillory that restricted his qi, his head forward, neck exposed, unable to move or resist.

  The Patriarch turned his head slightly, focusing on me. His qi weighed me down like a mountain. Solid. Reliable. I swallowed again. My mouth was dry.

  I raised my voice.

  “Governor Song, as is my right by the blood of the Feng Family, I sentence you to death for the crime of treason.”

  I raised the blade and swung it.

  The blade struck. Song grunted. I panicked, hands trembling raising it and swinging it again. Even without his qi, a cultivator’s body was strong. I stared in horror at my dad.

  “Swing again, boy.” He said.

  I did.

  Again, and again, and again. The entire time, my father stared down at me.

  His aura never left my shoulders.

  When it was done, my arms ached.

  Governor Song’s head laid on the ground.

  They burned his body with the stage. Then we sat in the stands as musicians came out and played for the crowd. We ate dinner. Governor Song’s blood stains marred my boots.

  I left all thirteen bodies in the woods and returned to the caravan.

  “Jian Yi!” I said. “It’s safe now. You can come out.”

  I walked casually to where I last saw him cowering against the wagon. He was still there. With a frown, I leaned down and touched his shoulder. He slumped as I pulled him free.

  He wasn’t cowering. He was dead. An arrow was embedded in his neck, leaking blood to the ground.

  “Jian Yi…”

  If this illusion matched reality, then Jian Yi had never made it back to his family; to his unborn son or wife and daughter.

  “Is it over?” I asked, looking up. “I killed the spirit-beasts. I killed the rebels. The scenario isn’t over?”

  Another system prompt appeared in answer.

  [You are a cultivator guarding a caravan from threats. Prove your worthiness by defending the caravan from all threats without the use of [Skills.] Deliver the caravan back to Windhewn Peak. Attributes have been suppressed for the duration of the scenario.]

  I reread it three times.

  It wasn’t done until I delivered the caravan.

  I rifled through the goods we were transporting, ultimately pulling free bandages — emergency medical supplies — and wrapping Jian Yi in them. I rested him at the top of the caravan. And then I drove him back.

  It took another day and a half before we reached our destination. I followed the road blindly, hoping that taking the more traveled path would keep me on the correct route. It did.

  There were no more threats. No more attacks.

  The guard at the gate — an aging cultivator stuck in the First Realm — greeted me with a dour expression.

  “What’s this?” He asked as I carried Jian Yi’s body down from the loaded wagon. He had a look of disgust on his face.

  “The caravan driver perished. We were attacked by rebels hiding in the forest two days back.”

  “Leave it outside the gates. I’ll send someone to dispose of it.”

  I carried his body forward numbly. The guard seemed unmoved.

  “I’d like to arrange to have the body buried.” I said. “To see his soul to the afterlife.”

  [Warning: Scenario integrity degraded 15%. Additional Change has been harvested to restablize.]

  Reality buzzed. Everything froze. The guard in front of me disappeared. Jian Yi disappeared from my arms.

  I stared at my empty hands. His body was gone. The cultivator in the memory hadn’t brought it home. He had left it behind.

  The guard at the gate slapped a palm on my shoulder with a happy smile.

  “Don’t worry senior brother. I’m sure the governer will raze the forests of the Western Reach to the ground. No rebel will remain.”

  “I… thank you.” I said, catching up. The memory had glitched again, Jian Yi was gone, and the secenario continued.

  It continued into the night as they celebrated me. The governor hosted a banquet with me as a guest of honor, sharing a position with him at the head of the table.

  Sickness roiled in my stomach as noble guest after guest greeted and paid their respects to the cultivator who had descended the Windhewn Peak to aid them in their time of need. Not in helping with their fields and defending them so that their peasants wouldn’t starve, but in protecting a single caravan of goods.

  I recounted briskly how I had met and killed the rebels over a dozen times that night.

  The scenario was mocking me. It was unending. I had thought that maybe it had lost so much integrity that it had broken entirely when it finally ended. The world ground to a horrifying halt, the people around me seeming to buzz and melt away.

  [Scenario complete!]

  [Generating rewards…]