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

  “They’ll kill me.” The flabby mortal squealed, hanging upside down.

  Elder Flameax had heard plenty of inane things in his long life, but despite that he had trouble believing his ears.

  “You can’t be that dumb, saying something like that to a man who has a choice between roasting you slowly, piece by piece, or handing you over to the heresy hunters. Now, I know you’re a mortal and know next to nothing about the order of heresy hunters, but I’ll enlighten you. Me roasting you is the preferable of the two options before you.”

  Elder Flameax waited, observing as realization dawned on the merchant’s face.

  “What?” he asked. “You thought orthodox means we are nice? You are at least half a demonic cultist, an outlaw. Whatever I do to you is justified and up to my discretion. Now start talking.”

  A flame danced, making a thin band around the patriarch Steelwheel’s toe. “Or start melting.”

  “Wait! They made me do it! All of it!”

  All of it? There was more?

  Elder Flameax remained silent, his scorching glare intensifying while the upside down demonic cultist, or cult collaborator, gulped.

  “They approached me six years ago, offering great wealth and an opportunity to take over the Blazing Salamander clan’s territory in exchange for my help. They wanted to destroy the family, to buy or enslave them, and I was to accommodate that plan.”

  The man’s face grew flushed as blood slowly flowed down towards his head.

  “I knew Victor was weak-willed. He often came to drink and talk with me. I have earned his trust and used his hatred for cultivation and his elder brother. With a handful of coin, fine wine, and fine women, I tempted him into rebelling against his brother. The task was simple enough. My mysterious patron provided me with shackles which could bind cultivators and suppress their cultivation, which I forwarded to him. In exchange, Victor was supposed to give us his brother and sister-in-law, but he somehow found a wandering slaver, who offered him more, so he paid me out with spirit gems.”

  The traitorous merchant had trouble breathing, and Elder Flameax flipped him over, smacking his butt against the thick branch. Steelwheel grunted, but kept talking, terrified of the Explorer’s Gate elder.

  “My supporters were furious, but forgave the loss of two hostages. Instead, they funneled wealth through me into the Blazing Salamander clan. They bought their spirit gems for lavish, high quality wines, women, and mundane wealth. Victor bought all of his wives through me, pushing himself into a crippling debt.”

  Patriarch Steelwheel paused, looking down.

  “Then things fell apart. My good-for-nothing son-in-law suddenly became a cultivator, killed his uncle, and exiled the elders, somehow leaving enough wealth with his clan to pay off their debts to me. When my mysterious supporters learned of this, they told me they would come in person to handle the matter.”

  The flabby man choked, barely finding his breath.

  “I didn’t know what they would do. The Blazing Salamander clan’s elders were my guests, they suspected nothing, and neither did I. The madmen came three weeks ago. They captured the elders and forced them to sign fake receipts, creating a fictional debt. Then, Blazing Salamander clan’s elders disappeared. I knew they had taken them to the basement. I—” The Blood Cult collaborator stammered. “I had no idea they were being sacrificed. Then they asked me for pretty girls, just to have fun with, but once I sent one she would never return. It happened again and again—”

  “Stop lying,” Elder Flameax said flatly. “Has nobody ever told you that those beyond the fifth realm can read lies? You knew exactly who your mysterious patrons were, what they were planning, and you fed them humans without mercy.”

  The man paled beneath the simmering Elder Flameax, holding his hands up to shield himself from the heat.

  “You’re a thrall, a fool hoping what? That they would share their techniques and make you a member of their cult? That they would make you immortal? Make your declining body young again?”

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  Flameax scoffed. “You’re a wretch. Even demonic cultists require some sort of talent, and had you possessed it, they would have recruited you straight away. As for everything else they could have offered, it was all a sham. Once you outlived your use, they would have bled you out to feed one of their spell formations.”

  Flameax’s fury boiled, but he kept calm, the haze around him the only clue of his emotions.

  “You know, the Blood Cult, and all other cults, are only possible because of scum like you. Mortals spreading their influence like cancer, searching for victims and potential members to warp into their insane teachings.”

  Flameax wanted to incinerate the petty, disgusting fool, but did not.

  “I’ll turn you in to the heresy hunters.”

  They will do far worse things to you than I ever could.

  ***

  “Newt, what’s going on?” Rose asked the long-awaited question.

  The moment Newt dreaded had finally come. Once more, he had to decide what to tell his friends. He would, no, could not lie to them. So he could either tell them they should not know yet, or he could tell them the truth.

  “You shouldn’t know about this kind of cultivators.” Newt uttered the words, then realized he should let his friends decide. “So we could drop this matter and say you only know of the name Blood Cult, and that they are no good; nothing else, or I could give you the few details I know, but you will risk the wrath of our sect’s elders.”

  As the saying goes, curiosity killed the velociraptor. The three took barely a moment, exchanging glances, before reaching a decision.

  “We want to know,” they said in unison.

  “All right, so you know of the basic division into orthodox, unorthodox, and demonic. Right?”

  They nodded.

  “Well, if I understand things correctly, there are different types of demonic cultivators. One of the main branches is the Blood Cult. I’m guessing their members are mostly water cultivators, but instead of water, their chosen element is blood. They use blood of others to cultivate, to fight, and to heal themselves.”

  Newt paused.

  “I’m also guessing that other demonic cults all have specific base elements, twisted into a demonic form. Maybe air for ghosts and earth for bones, but that’s my speculation.” What would the fire deviants cultivate? Body heat?

  “There are various orders hunting these cultists all over the empire, and you probably know of heresy hunters, which are an imperial organization created with the purpose of hunting demonic cultivators.” Newt considered what else he could tell his friends. “At the sect, they told me that talking about demonic cults is forbidden, and that I would be informed of everything once I reached the fifth realm and somehow joined in on the demon hunting, I guess? I can tell you that the old librarian glared murder at me when I asked about her about books on the Blood Cult. She really seemed to be considering killing me outright.”

  Newt bit his lip, thinking about everything else he knew while gazing at the sleeping victims. The girl he saved was breathing evenly, her cheeks still pale. She was alive though. A life he snatched from the jaws of death. A life he protected.

  He realized he was silently staring at an unconscious woman and raised his head to meet his friend’s gazes.

  What else?

  His dream or vision was a personal experience, one about which neither his master, nor the sect master, had interrogated him about beyond the most basic questions.

  In fact, it was his master’s slip of the tongue that introduced him to the concept of the Blood Cult.

  “And you know this, how?” Rose said, while Obi had a much more practical question.

  “Why is the Blood Cult in your hometown?”

  “I don’t know why they are here. Based on what my clan’s former elder said, they captured the ones I banished and used their blood, but I have no idea what their purpose was.”

  Newt had an inkling of an idea, though. Maybe they were looking for Magmin’s realm? Maybe there was something special in the Blazing Salamander bloodline or in their territory?

  “And how do you know about them?” Rose repeated her question.

  “Master had a slip of the tongue after I ended up in the Chamber of Healing. Then I asked around until the librarian threatened to dismember me. The rest are my guesses and deductions.”

  Rose nodded, but Jasmine had more to say.

  “What did you realize when you forgot to answer Rose’s question?”

  “Nothing.” Newt shrugged. “I was thinking of potential reasons why the Blood Cult would be here. What I came up with was that something was special with my family’s blood, or there might be some treasure or something similar they want to claim in our territory.”

  Newt smiled. It was an awkward, but honest smile.

  “I really want to be frank with you, to confess everything, but on this subject, I just don’t know all that much. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more about the Valley of the Lost, the disciplinary venerable forbade me from talking about it with anyone, including my own master.”

  “Yeah, you told us already. It’s fine, really. You said you’d tell us when you get the permission, right?”

  Newt nodded, thinking Roselilly was probably the only one of his friends who was ever going to learn his secret, and he was uncertain even about her. She was the healing venerable’s direct disciple, that probably meant she had the potential to rise really high, but how far she could go depended on her and her alone.

  “What now?” Jasmine gestured towards the slumbering Blood Cult victims, derailing Newt’s train of thought.

  “We can take them back to the clan. Most of these people were Steelwheel family’s slaves, and given the way they treated them, I think they would have much better lives serving my clan.”