The Downpour, Canvas, Frontier Territory, Early Winter, 1596 PTS
It had been over a month since he had joined the sect, and Jin had finally settled into his new life. The winter had been long and cold, and the stone walls and endless tracts of mud was an image that Jin had grown far too accustomed to witnessing. The sect’s interior was drab, and the occasional tapestry or carving did little to shift that image. Awash with the pale glow of the cave-stars, it was as if colors were drained from the world, trapping him in a monochrome existence. It was a far cry from the constant bombardment of vibrant colors he had experienced in Crucible’s Edge.
Still, despite its flaws, nowhere had ever felt more appealing to him. Master Yuenan had accepted him, had brought him here and was training him to become a martial master.
A disciple’s life was a mixture of training, exercise, and labor, however. He had become accustomed to his training, and to all of the other work a disciple was expected to perform. Some days, his Master would also teach him seemingly random lessons, unrelated to martial arts. They ranged from tea preparation, the history of the continent, basic science, and the geography of the surrounding regions. Such topics did not particularly interest him, but as his master wished to teach them, Jin was certain that it must all be important, and he did his best to learn.
But beyond the training, Jin was constantly kept busy with his duties. The disciples were the blood of the sect, and performed all the small tasks that kept it all up and running. Every day, Jin would speak to the aides of Palace Leader Wuyan, who would assign the daily tasks to all of the disciples. Today, Jin had been told to sort the contents of the most recent delivery.
As far as tasks went, Jin had been informed that this was a privileged task, and he was only receiving it due to consideration for his master’s identity. Apparently, this was due to the risks that a disciple might swipe some of the goods. For that reason, receiving this task was a symbol that one was trusted, and so it came with some social perks.
Not that Jin had any use for such unspoken perks. He had spoken little with the other disciples during his time in the sect, unsure how to interact with them. He had introduced himself to a few disciples here and there such as on other tasks, or in the dining hall, but he would not claim to be close with anyone except for his master. He simply did not know how to deal with the others.
Getting to the storage room took Jin longer than he had anticipated, as he had never been to that part of the sect before. It was located at the end of a corridor near the kitchens, at the very base of the structure. As he walked, Jin idly wondered if this was where those two disciples he had first met had dragged the sledge all those weeks ago.
When Jin finally arrived, he noticed that he wasn’t alone in the room. An older disciple seemed to be waiting for his arrival, having noticed him already. Jin had yet to get into the habit of extending his soul sense into a room before entering it. Now that he saw the other boy, Jin did so, and was able to discern that he was a pinnacle foundation refiner.
Jin had seen the boy around the sect, of course, but up until this point, the two had never before spoken to one another. He was a bit older than Jin, and the sides of his head had been shaved short, while the upper portion hung long, slicked back by rainwater. His body was strong, bulkier than Jin’s own. While he wasn’t fat, the boy had certainly had plenty to eat as a youth. In many ways, Jin guessed, this disciple was his opposite. Jin did not know his name.
“So you’re that new lineage disciple I heard about,” the boy said, a questioning look in his eyes. “Elder Ding’s student, right?”
Jin nodded, feeling slightly intimidated.
“My name is Jin Luo,” he said.
The boy nodded with a smile.
“It is nice to meet you, Jin. I’m Cyrus Aodi.”
Jin found himself unsure how to respond. He had interacted with other street children his age in the past, but he was unsure just how relevant that experience would apply to other disciples in the sect.
“It- it’s nice to meet you,” he finally said, after a lengthy pause. Without skipping a beat, Cyrus responded to him.
“You’re nearing the peak of the first refinement realm, right? I can sense it. You’ve only been learning martial arts since the fall, right? I’ve heard about you. The street kid the Elder found.”
Jin nodded in response, shocked by the older boy’s endless chatter. Cyrus squinted, as if he was intently analyzing Jin.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Rumor is that you’re a fourth grade talent,” he said, “and they’re planning on making you the next generation’s sect leader.”
Jin’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t heard anything about that. Though the idea was flattering, it must just be some unfounded rumor.
“I- I’m not- the sect leader thing. I am a fourth grade talent.”
Despite his unease, Jin couldn’t help but puff his chest out slightly as he admitted to his talent. He still did not fully understand just what that meant, but he had been told it was something very special and rare.
Something gleamed in Cyrus’ golden eyes.
“Is that so? I’m only a third grade talent, so I imagine you’ll surpass me soon enough. Still, I’m not sure if someone with your education deserves the position.” He glanced around, his eyes flagging on the stacked piles of supplies, still strapped down to the sledges they had been hauled in on. “I suppose we should get to work,” he said, as if Cyrus had not paid any attention to the rude words he had just spouted. Jin nodded, choosing not to say anything. It was not as if the other boy’s words were incorrect, after all. He was a runaway, and had grown up on the streets. Even Jin himself knew that nothing could change that truth.
Diving into their task, Cyrus lifted a large package, one sizable enough that Jin couldn’t imagine even attempting to lift it. He noticed Jin’s impressed glance and flexed his muscles, clearly proud of their development.
“I’ve been told my muscles are much stronger than average for a formless practitioner,” he bragged. “I’ve been training in the Ten Rivers Form a Sea Muscle Development Technique.”
If Jin were being honest, he would have to admit that he was jealous. Despite developing considerably in his physical strength in the weeks since he had joined the sect, his body still looked the same. Like a short, skinny street rat. No matter how much he ate or exercised, the changes had only been minor. A part of him had wished to remake himself entirely, but it seemed reality was not quite so kind.
“Master Yuenan says that it is better for me to focus on my movement for now,” Jin explained, leaving his inner feelings unsaid.
Cyrus nodded sagely.
“That makes sense. Most people in the sect focus on that, and you’re very skinny. You should eat more.”
Jin scowled, hearing this.
“Not everyone eats the portions of a mule,” he said, instinctively lashing out. There had only been so much he could take..
Cyrus’ brow twitched, but through force of will his smile did not disappear. After a pause he chuckled, glancing down at the shorter boy.
“Someone’s a bit jealous. Maybe you should be proud of what you have, Jin, and not take your anger out on me?”
“Maybe if you tried not looking and speaking like a farm animal you wouldn’t be making people angry,” Jin replied. He had tried to bite back the words, but couldn’t help himself. Jin regretted them mere moments after speaking. He was unused to acting polite, and the habits built up on the streets were not so easily unlearned.
Cyrus’ facade dropped, and his face contorted into a scowl.
“You seem to be a bit out of sorts, Jin. If you have a problem with me, why don’t we resolve it in the ring?”
The ring, Jin knew, was a raised circle of stone in one of the sect’s training rooms. It was used for sparring, but also to settle disputes between disciples by way of combat. He sneered. This was more the sort of conversation he was equipped to handle.
“Half a realm higher, and you’re challenging me to a spar. How charitable of you.”
Cyrus shrugged smugly.
“If you’re scared, that’s none of my business.”
Jin gritted his teeth, but did not want to back down. He was a different man than he had been in Crucible’s Edge. As a martial artist, he would not be a coward. He would be someone that his master could take pride in.
“I’m not scared. Once we’re done with this, I’ll knock you out of the ring.”
This time, Cyrus was the one to sneer, his veneer removed.
“We’ll see, then. Just remember that you started this, Jin Luo. Your master won’t complain when I beat you bloody.”
Following the exchange, the two boys continued to unload the sledges in silence, each one with slightly gritted teeth. Jin knew that he was the one in the wrong, but he refused to apologize for his comment. His pride would not allow it. He swallowed his dread, and continued to unload the boxes. He wondered what Master Yuenan would think when he found out about this. He would probably be disappointed, Jin thought.
Muscle Development Techniques: [A rare form of body-alteration technique, a muscle development technique must be kept active for many months in order to fully take effect, as they slowly alter one’s body to be much stronger than it would normally be, and ultimately culminating in a unique form of miasmic physique upon reaching the spirit refinement realm. The less severe of these techniques will slowly fade back to the body’s standard over time if not practiced, and only become permanent if used as the foundational technique of one of the martial artist’s cores. More extreme techniques might result in the martial artist’s death if they are no longer practiced, or if the martial artist is crippled. Despite being classified under the same term, the differences between muscle development techniques of the different miasmas are fundamental. Formless variants often focus more on muscle movements, while manifest techniques might expand the muscles, and genesis ones on energy storage.]
