The Downpour, Canvas, Frontier Territory, Early Winter, 1596 PTS

  “He’s an idiot,” huffed Yuenan, exasperated at his disciple’s actions.

  Riese shrugged.

  “He’s young. I feel this sort of thing was to be expected. Besides, I imagine this could be a good lesson for him.”

  “We’ll see,” Yuenan muttered.

  They stood at the edge of a covered balcony, one which jutted out from one of the room’s covers. This was a place for the Elders of the sect to watch disciples from a concealed location. Though observant disciples might notice the presence of their souls, the balcony itself and its occupants could not be visually observed from below.

  “What do you know about this Cyrus?” Yuenan suddenly asked, breaking the silence. Though the rain pouring down right before their eyes was loud, it could be considered white noise to the ears of any long-term Downpour Resident. For himself and Riese, both of whom had lived here for over an average mortal life-time, the noise might as well have been nonexistent.

  Riese shrugged.

  “He’s been one of the more talented of the most recent generation’s disciples, and is trusted by Idri’s aides. Raised as the descendant of an influential merchant clan, I believe. He was sent to us because he’s the third son.”

  Yuenan nodded, receiving all of the details.

  “I can see why they might not have gotten along. Do we know what happened between them?” he asked.

  Riese shook her head, pausing to take a sip of her tea. The scent was different from that emanating from Yuenan’s own cup, a fact which did not spark any surprise from the man.

  “Neither of them are giving the proper details of what happened between them to cause the fight,” she explained. “According to those I asked, at least.”

  Yuenan took another sip of his tea.

  “They’re probably both at fault, then.”

  Riese nodded in agreement. Regardless, at this stage either one of the boys could have backed out long ago. Reaching this stage was foolish and immature on both their accounts.

  “Who do you think is going to win?”

  “Does it matter?” Yuenan asked.

  “I suppose not,” she replied. “But he is your disciple.”

  Yuenan shrugged, but did not respond. Jin had brought himself here on his own two feet, and what would happen, would happen. Internally, he could not help but feel annoyed about the affair. It seemed that the boy remained immature. He did not decry a martial artist the right to defend themselves, but Jin had to learn the rule of the martial world. To accept a duel request from someone so clearly more powerful…

  He took another sip of his tea, eyes still locked on the tiny figure of his disciple below. He wondered just what was running through the boy’s mind.

  Jin breathed slowly in and out as he stood before the ring. He wrung his hands, feeling the sweat as it formed beneath his skin. His martial training, short as it was, had already begun to take effect within his body, changing the way that Jin experienced the world. He was stronger than ever, and much faster. The world seemed clearer, and he was able to notice details that might have been impossible before. It was difficult for him to discern just how significant the changes were, but Jin was certain that they existed.

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  Idly, Jin glanced across the arena, where Cyrus stood. The larger boy gave a tentative swing of his blade, a large and unwieldy weapon that at first glance looked to be the opposite of something a formless artist would use. Practitioners with muscle development techniques truly were something else, he thought. Still, Cyrus using such a technique would make the fight easier for Jin. He had fought with enemies who were stronger and faster in the past, and despite the unfairness of such a matchup, it still seemed better than one with a more mysterious technique at use. If Jin’s opponent could use the Water-Striding Steps as well as his master could… it would have been best for him to simply submit in advance, pride be damned.

  But in the current scenario… a deep, heavily shrouded part of himself felt that he could do it. He was a martial artist now, someone miles above the person he had been before. Jin did not need to stomach the dismissive eyes of the passersby. Eyes such as those Cyrus was glancing at him with even now. The other disciple had been looking down on him because he came from the streets. But Master Yuenan had said that a martial artist’s origin did not indicate their potential. Even a genius from the most illustrious of families might falter and die on the path.

  This was Jin’s opportunity to prove that truth to the rest of the sect.

  This training room was located in one of the upper areas of the sect, and was exposed to the elements. Constant rainfall fell on the room, crashing into the stone circle and cascading off into channels carved into the floor, to pour off the side of the sect’s walls. Mere moments after stepping out from the corridor, Jin had found himself entirely drenched, slick with water under the pounding gale around him. The room was filled with the watchful gazes of other disciples, excited to watch a duel. Such events only happened every other week, and Jin had already taken the time to watch two of them before. It was certainly an interesting diversion from the monotony of sect life.

  As he stepped onto the raised circle, Jin gripped the wooden sword tighter in his hands, feeling the fabric cord which bound its grip shift under the pressure. His eyes roamed to the far end of the room, where an occluded balcony rested. Here, he could sense two souls blazing brightly. Both bore the strength of a soul undergoing refinement. As Cyrus did not seem to have a particular master, Jin was almost certain that they belonged to Master Yuenan and Elder Hukari. The fact that his master was watching sent a shiver down Jin’s spine, and he straightened himself up, his motivation growing. He would need to win, or risk staining his master’s image.

  Cyrus smiled, rising to follow his opponent onto the raised arena.

  “I admire your boldness,” he said. “For that, I will allow you to concede, if you publicly apologize for insulting me.”

  Jin had calmed down since their meeting, and he was not unwilling.

  “I will do so, if you also apologize for your slights.”

  Hearing this, Cyrus frowned, as if he had no recollection of being so rude and dismissive. Perhaps he truly did not remember. Jin’s group tightened further on his blade, and he raised it, pointing the tip towards the other boy’s throat. Cyrus suddenly grinned, a dark look in his eyes.

  “I have nothing to apologize for,” he insisted. “Fine, then, let us begin. I will graciously allow you to take the first move, junior.”

  Jin glared up at him, the resentment rising once more. At this point, it did not matter how small the slight, or any feeling that his attitude might have been unjustified. Once more, Cyrus was looking down on him. Nobody could look at him like that, never again. He had left that life behind.

  “I thank the senior for his graciousness,” Jin practically snarled, leaving no illusions about the meaning of his words.

  “I’m not sure why you’re acting like this,” frowned Cyrus, who then shrugged. “No matter. Perhaps this lesson was one you desperately needed to learn.”

  “I’ll begin,” Jin said, before darting towards the larger boy, and slashing towards his legs. It was a good, strong swing, but one that was emblematic of Jin’s training to this point. He had only been training in the way of the sword for a few weeks, and his accomplishments remained insubstantial.

  Cyrus ignored the blow, stepping into it and letting it slam into his thigh. Jin saw him wince, but the interrupted swing was unable to receive his full force. As if he were a rampaging beast, he slammed shoulder first into Jin, forcing him to take a step backwards.

  Cyrus took another heavy step, driving his blade towards Jin’s head. Jin guarded, using his wooden sword to protect his face, but the blow landed, and Jin’s defense was only able to partially guard against it. He was pushed away, slammed to the stone of the ground in an ungainly fashion. The world spun, wobbling and fading in presence as Jin’s eyes watched the sky.

  The dark masses of clouds truly were beautiful, he thought.

  Ascetic and Secular Forces of Canvas: [Despite the term ascetic being used, ascetic martial sects are rarely truly ascetic, not dedicated to the loss of all comforts. Instead, they are merely sects which focus on the practice of martial arts above all else. Despite this, there is no noticeable difference in the odds of an ascetic force or a secular force’s member achieving immortality, whether false or true. Ascetic forces are generally located in rural areas, far away from towns and cities, while secular forces tend to be located within populated areas, though this is not always the case. Both forces often own businesses and merchant groups to assist with sect funding. Some secular forces are even run similarly to businesses, however, and focus on profit generation.]