Synthia sighs as she steps off the carriage, both personal guards helping her with her footing. Today was a lot, her father’s been giving her greater responsibilities lately, as though to spite her ambitions, but that’s fine, this is just another opportunity to prove him wrong and rise in her station.

  “Come, let us go to the training grounds, I could use some entertainment for the day,” Synthia says

  “Funny, my lady” Tantra says, “I didn’t know you found me getting beat into the dirt entertaining.”

  “You’ve gotten better,” Ezra chimes, “though only marginally.”

  “Thanks,”

  “No problem,”

  “Are you two quite done?” Synthia raises a brow.

  They both roll their eyes, “yes my lady.”

  Synthia just nods and moves towards the mansion, it is a grandiose thing shaped like a square, with the training field in the centre where all the cultivators, hunters, and guards in their employ fight and train.

  Well, only the cultivators truly fight, being capable of taking as much tremendous damage as they are, but it is entertaining. A guilty pleasure of hers one might say, she doesn’t know the intricacies of combat but she does enjoy the visceral nature of it.

  So Tantra isn’t entirely wrong.

  She does enjoy watching her get beat into the dirt.

  Not that she’ll ever admit that.

  It simply isn’t ladylike.

  As she walks down the halls of her home she contemplates the paintings, her father has an obsession with foci that might classify him as mad if he weren’t the marquis. By proxy he’s a big fan of cultivators. It’s the only reason he approved Tantra, in spite of her reputation even, which has only grown wonderfully venomous as time passes in Synthia’s employ.

  So many delicious rumors.

  All of which will only heighten her mystique further.

  Tantra grumbles behind her.

  “What is it?” Synthia asks.

  “Rimi’s in the training area,” Tantra growls, “can we postpone this to another time?”

  Synthia raises a brow, “absolutely not, your distaste for that woman is juvenile.”

  “She’s unpleasant,” Tantra says.

  “Oh? It’s not at all related to the sect she hails from?”

  “Synthia, please, I really don’t want to deal with her today.”

  Synthia doesn’t muster the indignity to huff, but it is a close thing, “fine, but I’m telling Domar you want to challenge her in recompense, on a day of your choosing.”

  Tantra sighs, “fine”

  -

  Goruk watches as his favorite little customer devours her third bowl of noodles with practiced efficiency, being both quick and proper as a man of long black hair delicately sips from his spoon.

  Well, Tantra isn’t so little anymore, but he’ll always remember the brat that demanded he personally make her noodles when she got a taste of splendor, he takes full credit for it being her favorite food.

  “How you eat so quickly and yet maintain decorum will never cease to surprise,” Zon says, “where did you even learn to do that”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Tantra takes a napkin and wipes at the corners of her mouth.

  “Practice,” She says succinctly.

  Zon chuckles along with Goruk.

  “Girl, your appetite will never cease to impress me,” Goruk says, “where do you fit all that food?”

  Tantra raises a brow, “in my stomach”

  “How?”

  “Well,” Zon says as he sets down his soup spoon, “you know how Qi enhances things, makes the heart better at beating, lungs better at breathing, and muscles better at moving?”

  “Yes?”

  “As a consequence of being saturated in Qi,” Zon points to his stomach, “this wonderful little organ gets better at storing, and digesting.”

  “I thought cultivation made it so you need to eat less.”

  “It does, but who would deprive themselves of these delicacies?”

  “Exactly,” Tantra nods, “I couldn't have put it into better words myself.”

  “Oh I'm sure you could have, given time.”

  “That would’ve broken the flow of conversation which is downright disrespectful.”

  “True,” Zon rubs at his chin

  “Wait, do cultivators get fat?” Goruk says.

  “Nope!” Tantra says, “which is great, means I don’t have to watch my figure, that was annoying”

  Zon chuckles a soft melody of harmonized steel.

  “We still can get fat, it’s just a lot harder,” he says, “though this one might be taking on the challenge.”

  “It’s my birthday, I can do what I want,” Tantra pouts.

  Goruk laughs, “your too old to be pouting now Tantra,”

  “I’m only nineteen!”

  “Which is old enough,”

  “Your no fun,” Tantra accuses

  Goruk raises his hands in surrender, “apologies oh mighty one, this one meant no offense to your delicate ego.”

  “I appreciate every part of that statement except the last portion.”

  “Unfortunate,” Zon shakes his head, “you cannot take the statement without the ending.”

  “Watch me old man.”

  “I’m only eighty.”

  -

  It seems as though the gods are pissy today, if the whipping of the wind is any indication. He’s made this climb plenty of times, but never with a gale as strong as this hampering his progress. It almost makes him want to turn back and wait, but that part of him is a coward, and this is a worthy challenge!

  Nature always proves to be the one obstacle cultivators cannot surpass, but that doesn’t deter Ghomak as he digs his fingers into the cliff face, he has to infuse some Qi into his fingers to dig deep enough for a proper hold, dangling as he is over a drop that could very well kill him, and he still has so far to go.

  That’s okay!

  He’ll survive and tell nature to suck a fat one, it’ll be glorious!

  Okay maybe he won't do that, no need to accidentally incur the wrath of Temis’forgoth, then he’ll be royally fucked. Funny that, the thought of royalty, only a single the country on Testhim has a proper monarchy. Rikidan does a weird mix of the empirical method while sprinkling in noble classes, and the barbarian lands aren’t really ruled by one king. Sure Zanzibar is respected, but he isn’t followed.

  Then there's the Triumvirate of Salphora .

  The Sultan is just a monarch with a different name.

  There used to be more kingdoms than could be counted, according to the records at least, and the man he’s going to visit. But apparently Roguth’Karr convinced humanity as a whole that banding together is the better option, in case of another calamity as it were.

  Hasn’t happened in millenia, but the scars are still there, fresh as the day they were made.

  Ghomak’s always found that admirable, the concept of strength in numbers. Sure numbers always prevail against things like cultivators and even divine beasts, but you have to be a certain kind of crazy to be willing to rush to death as one of the first.

  The kind of crazy he can share a drink with!

  Ah, he can’t wait for this climb to be over, he’s got a fresh barrel of pure alcohol in his storage ring that’s just waiting to be opened.

  As he climbs suddenly a weight presses down onto his shoulders.

  “Ghomak,” says the falling of delicate snow into pools of magma, “I have told you so many times that visiting is not necessary, and yet here you are, climbing my mountain again.”

  “Yes well, what can I say, I like your company, now can you get off my shoulders? I think I’m going to slip.”

  “Then both our lives lie in your hands,” the man intones wisely.

  “Fuck you! You’ll just reform,”

  “It will take many centuries for one of my strength, so it’s basically like dying,”

  “More like an extended nap,” Ghomak grumbles as he continues to climb, “why are you here anyway, aren’t you supposed to be all sage like on the top of the mountain?”

  “I sensed your presence.”

  Ghomak looks up at the man with a wide smile, “awww, you missed me!”

  “I said no such thing,” the man huffs, “but it is nice to see you.”

  “Nice to see you too, old man.”