When combatting a [Demon], there is little to note.

If you wish to best their [Might].

You will not.

If you wish to best their [Resilience].

You will not.

If you think your [Dao] of better standing.

It is not.

If you take pride in your Martial [Prowess].

Discard that notion.

If [Mind] is your path.

Then be diligent when listing where your personal effects might be sent.

“On Gu,” - A Primer of the Western Demon Front

“A mark. As the others have spread word of,” said Zhu, a thumb indicating the location of what it was he spoke of. “The reasons behind it I can’t say.”

The picked skin upon Fu’s finger now ran from nail to joint. Raw. “Is this all? Has nothing else been said?” He stared up at his companion, his hands leafing through each of the tomes that Yunhan had gifted him some age ago. The collection was nearing its end, and nothing yet had contained musings on [Demons].

“Collaboration has yet to set in. The crowd is varied, and acts as to be expected. That Wei fellow spoke righteously, but as I’ve said - we stand in a sea of tigers.” There was a reticent look in Zhu’s eyes then, and it lingered. “I’d like to complete this [Trial].”

One, previously unread tome emerged in Fu’s hand. “On Gu,” he muttered, only then hearing what his companion had said. “The [Trial]. You would see it complete?”

“I’d see it won. Why, wouldn’t you?”

“I am still at the [Foundation Realm], and this-” Fu tapped the tome. “-is all that I might know of what we face.”

“Ah, Gao Fu. That’s a terrible lie,” scowled Zhu. “There are myriad things we do not know. Those [Dao] conjurations, the rankings, the [Hegemon’s Pillars]. [Demons] are the simplest of those unknowns. If you’ve apprehension, tell me.”

Stowing all else in his spatial ring, Fu clutched the tome. There was reassurance in how he clutched the spine, and a solidity that he searched for- despite the as-of-yet to be read contents.

The unknown fear grips me, and this is no sensible thing.

Zhu granted him the moments he needed to breathe, which Fu poorly masked beneath a pensive finger upon his lip. “Rankings,” he finally said, sidestepping the query. “To win, this is to reach the first spot. To claim more pillars and increase your standing.”

“You’re a vexation,” Zhu scowled. “But yes, assumedly. We’d not only war with the [Demons], but the cultivators here. No new thing, as we’ve already done this when we first arrived. At a guess, I’d say the link to each pillar would be removed upon death. Or this [Trial] would not have us clash as we do.”

Fu nodded, patting Hushi as he descended to his chest. “There is our instigator to consider.”

“The ghostly woman’s disciple. Yes. Her reasons, however, won’t aid in our survival. We’ll put those thoughts to the Sect for musing, and focus on what might do now.”

“A report may not suffice for our return. The Silver Loom incident was a calamity, and caused in no small part by our hand,” noted Fu.

Zhu shared a rare laugh. “Assassinating our squad member during a mission will not be looked favourably upon, but if you’re to lie on one account then I foresee no trouble on the whole. This encounter is irregular, and speaks for itself.”

If the man held any opinion on Ding’s death, he hid it, saying little else. As such they fell to silence, each considering their approach. Since the appearance of the bronze [Dao] titans some minutes ago the entire [Mystic Realm] was in a similar state. Despite their fading, and reduction to nothing.

All that might be noted were the cultivators that shared this space, splintered into groupings no more than a handful each. Conversation, or alliances though, Fu could not say from this distance. With the nature of the [Hegemon’s Pillars] and their attribute increases, sense dictated that there was small benefit in sharing them amongst the masses.

However, regardless of number, the closest gully’s edge held the most council, and those on the higher slopes were readily flocking to join.

“At least we seem unified in humanity,” noted Fu, gesturing.

“Against [Demons?], not a novel concept. I’ve two brothers on the Northern Demon Front, more, perhaps. As incongruous together as flame and water, yet the cultivators there have named them Twins- to some effect. Black Star Twins, no. A name of similar pedigree regardless, the point I’m making does not require it. [Demons] are the antithesis of all, and grudges are easily forgotten when such foes are before you.”

Thousands of sisters, and just as many brothers. It seems he does not lie.

“Enough for two ghosts, I would wonder?” asked Fu.

At this, Tanshuai emerged from the folds of Zhu’s collar, and fluttered in Fu’s direction. “So you’d admit you keep me at arm’s length?”

“Apologies, Zhu, I was about to suggest joining forces with others.”

The man weighed this answer. “Put in your eyes, Fu. Our allegiance may be unclear, but our methods will soon come to light. If you’ve such faith in your martial [Prowess] that you may rely on it solely, masquerading as a sun-walking cultivator I’d agree. But you’re lacking, and still remain in the [Initiate] stage.”

Sharp pain trembled up Fu’s finger as more skin was torn. Yet he knew his comrade spoke without intended insult. “Against [Demons], would our vocation not be overlooked?”

“By righteous warriors? I’d wager your initiation to the Sect didn’t last all of your thirty something moons, and you’re no fool. Does your pretence of fearlessness have you reject common sense… no.” Zhu paused. “This occasion isn’t the first you’ve lacked in knowledge.”

Fu gestured on. “My duty has hidden much,” he cut. “But if identity might be our downfall, let us have none guess it.” His reply was quick, and his feet, quicker, heading in the direction of the mass ahead.

🀧

The conversation lacked any breadth beyond theories, treading a line between the outlandish and the reasonable. Those on the path of [Spirit], and whose vocation put them to more scholarly pursuits than the martial path, leant towards the latter. A compilation of accounts, and comparisons from tomes leading their guesses.

Fu immersed himself in all he could, and traded pleasantries with those he could not. His mask, of a common cultivator. “Gratitude,” he said, granting a nod of thanks where his spine tried to bend on well-developed instinct. It was a worn phrase, now, having repeated it for the better part of another hour.

Easy, with how no soul had moved beyond the gully’s edge into the potential battlefield beyond. Each dilapidated trunk, branch and cracked pit a fitting portent of what was to come. If only either side would dare to step upon it.

And a bellow soon came.

[Intent] jerked from a dozen spots within the crowd. Sudden releases birthed by fright, or deviating thoughts. Fu’s [Clouded Ghost Arts] secured his own, and his heart had returned to quiet since his talks with Zhu. Though the force of these [Core Formation] experts proved frightening.

A low clatter followed the bellow, and there, on the edge of his [Senses] his first [Demon] wandered.

Purposeful steps.

A measured gait.

Three of which had its weapon drum. A length of metal, a club of twice Fu’s length at its arm. Beating in continuum.

“But one approaches,” growled a woman to his right, her voice loud above the silent hundreds.

The dry earth cracked with a closer, tumultuous boom.

“The Prairie Spear Sect will stand against it!” roared a second voice some few strides away, joined in support by a cadre of cheers.

Boom.

“I, Bai Mulin of Thundercloud Hall will answer this challenge!”

Boom.

“I-”

Boom.

“It is the Soaring-”

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Boom.

Disparate from these shouting fools, these paper tigers, a woman swept forth. She bore a club of her own, named by whispers as a bian. Odd, for it bandied with her step as though made from supple reed.

Or from the spine of her bright-scarlet [Spirit Serpent].

The booming ceased as both figures met, standing twenty strides distant at what might be marked as the center of this withered arena. If the pair traded words, or if an exchange of that sort was even possible, Fu could not say. He could barely place the [Demon’s] features at this distance, save for its enormity and distinct, purplish hue.

Such things mattered little as the clash began.

A flash of opposing steps, a silent blur from the serpent’s cultivator that met a stampede of [Might] toting bounds. What followed was an exchange of thunder. The air displaced, pushing out to visible effect. The earth cracked further, splitting amidst the angered cries of their meeting metal.

Swift.

Until the enemies drew back again, creating the same distance as before.

Fu marked their rotation. Paces, etching a hemisphere in the ground where they stole. Three steps and a clash. A return. A clash, and so it went on, as if the rules of a dance were observed by either party.

But where is her Qi? Is formality enforced when fighting these devils? Do I see only a duel between martial experts?

Many questions rose, and his better judgement burned within.

Zhu would reveal all; could

, reveal all, if Fu were only to admit his ignorance. But this scene… He drew his eyes from the contest ahead, and put them upon the wonders about him. The pillars, the crimson sky, the hundreds of cultivators at his side.

This [Trial], with a reward that may be nothing less than a cousin to his [Hundred Immunities Fruit]. A secondary addition to his [Primordial Constellation Gate].

“I’d see it won.” These were Zhu’s words.

A man not unlike Long.

An almighty thump resounded from the arena ahead, and Fu readied his hook. Dust was clouding, and formed an effective screen on both sides. He heard the cries from afar, and how a line opposite to the massed cultivators’ own now jostled. The specifics, however, still too distant to decipher.

Their cries matched his expectation. Bestial, and enraged, brought louder by the scene left in settling dust.

The serpent’s cultivator, her arm raised victorious above the bisected [Demon’s] corpse. A set of legs all that remained, as what was above was torn and missing. It incensed the gully’s far side, where each cry joined in a chorus of blood-curdling bellows.

Only to simmer when the [Demon’s] torso splashed down a breath of time later.

“What [Might[ does this Senior possess to do such a thing?” gasped a man to Fu’s rear.

But it brought only a laugh. “I cannot say, brother. Only that the Heavens have smiled on us today. To trap those beasts in here with a Cloudy Serpent, it is almost cruel.”

“Truly?” repeated the gasp.

Truly?

“The Cloudy Serpent Sect,” joined Fu. “We should offer our support.”

“Support?” laughed the second. Though this trailed off in short order as every gaze roamed to the lights overhead. White, oscillating cords spawned from the opposing [Demonic] side. For a total of ten.

With a half-swivel, Fu traced their destination to the original bronze pillar, and put his observations in order.

“Felling the beasts awards us their claimed pillars,” said another, giving voice to the conclusion that no doubt rang through all.

Similar sentiments emerged, soon to be drowned out by a cacophony of blades. Emptied scabbards, qiangs unwrapped, fists raised, a sea of weapons unearthed in myriad ways - in myriad forms.

Yet so too did their foes mirror the action, going further in their unified leaps. Not a charge, but a [Might]-led step that crashed a great row of them upon the battlefield. Dozens, with long paces between them, but in step with the next.

The Cloudy Serpent cultivator remained where she was, ringing a cloth down her bian to rid it of the felled [Demon’s] viscera before it was levelled at the horde. The tide, as Fu had oft heard such ill fables referred to, and alone against it.

Zhu came to stand by Fu’s shoulder. “An equal number of [Demons] stand there, if what’s discussed further up is to be believed,” he absently gestured. “The fools seem to believe that’ll afford them an equal opportunity.”

Several cultivators around the pair scowled.

“The senior from the Cloudy Serpent Sect looks to be staying,” noted Fu, earning a look from his companion that clearly shared his opinion on such blatant insight. “Whatever opportunities might be gained will be squandered by her presence. None would readily share these gains were they able to.”

“Others will move under the pretence of aiding her.”

Fu was hesitant to nod under the glares at their side. For this reason, he led Zhu to the line’s far edge where they might not be as readily heard. “Zhu, your words will damn us, and make more than [Demons] our foe. Who is to say that claiming another’s life will not work as it just has? Awarding more pillars to the slighted.”

“And reduce the fodder? No, I’d say that comes later.” He nodded sidelong, showing the score of cultivators that now strode out to meet their foes. “We’re safe until such time, they’d not be rid of us until the numbers are culled. If at all- righteous men do exist.”

There… there is truth in this.

“A fire at the city gates is also a disaster to fish in the pond.”

Tanshuai shook upon Zhu’s shoulder, and her cultivator arched a brow. “Was your duty as a daoist, Fu?” he asked.

“I find your priorities to be ill-aligned since our arrival, Zhu. Please, if you have any plan I would hear it.”

The man muttered something reminiscent of ‘vexation’ before speaking again. “Act as the [Trial] demands, no? Combat our share of [Demons].”

“You speak of this so idly. Once again, I am in the [Foundation Realm]. What aid I can offer is little, and my chances, slimmer.” Fu held his mood level, despite a rare irritation rising. “Yet nothing will be gained without first trying.”

Zhu seemed to contemplate this. “Are you under the illusion that I’d be a match for them? If solitary, and with an advantage in [Tyranny], yes. When I’d named you as lacking in [Prowess] it was not to raise my own path higher. We are not so far apart.”

“Apologies. I had assume-”

“Yes. I’d say you do that often,” Zhu interrupted. “Yet by some twist of fate this panders to my own desires. I’ll speak plain- Here, we are but toads lusting after swan meat. I don’t suggest we join the fray as equal, honourable combatants. No, we’ll strike as fits our station.”

He would use me to shore up what he wonts in.

“In a shadowless, sun-drenched expanse? The land itself is a [Tyranny] on us in this regard. A trouble before the experts here end us for stealing their bounty. If our usual methods are what you suggest?”

The lines of demarcation on the battlefield did not last long, and the air soon filled once more with the clash of combat. A formal affair, or so it appeared, and one that evoked a certain memory of his Placement in the [Green Blight Valley].

They are not as I had expected. To keep to tradition, or on a basis of honor.

“They’ve held to this format a second time,” gestured Zhu. “But another loss will sway this. Interference is a given, from either side. If we’re to gain from this, it’s best done before this.”

“Not after, when all devolves into chaos?”

“Yes,” Zhu nodded, jostling the head-mounted Tanshuai. “Merit’s held in both paths. But these bouts will spend them, we’ve only to move as vultures whe-” He surged from the embankment as fitting punctuation to this statement.

To Fu, whose own swiftness was chief among strengths, it was barely trackable.

The man descended, and subsequently crossed the battlefield in large bounds to arrive at the still-fresh corpse of a cultivator. He was first among a number that Fu saw jostle for the chance, and who now returned to the line in defeat.

“The tong fa,” remarked one. “Unusual weapons, is he of the Iron Mountain Sect?”

“An inheritor of the [Mantra of Heavenly Plums]? In the Iron Mountain Sect,” snorted another, only remembering where he stood after the fact. “I- I would…”

“Do not dig your ditch lower, brother,” said a third. “But, an inheritor? I did not see the mark upon him.”

Zhu is known. Or, his [Bloodline] is, as I guess it to be. A [Mantra of Heavenly Plums]- it sounds storied.

Fu put an ear to the conversation, keen on discovering what he could about his companion if only to bolster the impression that he truly belonged in the world of cultivation. Though nothing else of note was said.

For the best, he eventually mused. As he had to keep his focus on the combat ahead.

🀧

If the initial bout was marked in rounds, Fu chose the final moments of the third to make his move.

A [Demon] three places from the battlefield’s eastern edge, its cruel zhanmadao still embedded in the body before it. The cultivator in question, flailing as her chest suffered a further impalement with a lift of its arms.

Then it slung the body free, bellowing in victory.

The [Dao of Wayward Breeze] had Fu best his comrades, and deliver him to the site of impact no sooner than a breath later.

Where he held back from freezing into inaction.

To plunge towards danger like this was most unlike him, he knew, yet a necessary step if he was to succeed here in any fashion.

With his hook held firm, and the whitened knuckles that clutch it beginning to smart, he bowed towards his opponent. “I greet you, [Demon],” he said. Though for whose benefit he did this, Fu could not say.

Remarks on the edge had placed this… monstrosity’s cultivation at an equivalent stage to early [Core Formation]. Easing the odds he took here, no matter how little he knew of why it was marked as such.

The [Demon] regarded him with curiosity, and he, it.

Fu took in its stature, placing it a head above his own. The cyan hue to its impressive musculature, and the darker shade of the mane at its back. Each tusk that protruded from its bulging jaw. Yet he purposely set its face aside after a single glance, for the perversion of features there would set him mad - and deigned to mark each gristly wound it had taken instead.

Three seconds passed, and the zhanmadao screamed towards his head in a chop. Savage in its speed.

Deftly, Fu sidestepped the blade, rounding the [Demon] before it had struck the ground.

Yet the blade gave chase at the moment of his arrival, showing that their [Might], or swiftness, was not so disparate.

He tried again, weaving into a set from the [Wind Phantom Strides] that planted his foot against the steel mass that was its physique. Two kicks landed, and two were rebuffed, pushing him well off trajectory.

Fu recovered with a twist, sweeping so low that he was able to burst between the [Demon’s] next swing and gouge a line into the existing wounds upon its chest. Blood drenched the space to his rear, seen as he dodged further chops.

Another pass, and another strip was torn. A criss-cross of ravaged flesh where his hook had torn deeper.

But the [Demon] readily grew wise to this, sealing its guard with a leap backwards. With the reach of its weapon, it cordoned off all within its range. Predictive swings, or sporadic directions that changed mid-motion.

A beast of great martial skill.

In a span of several minutes, Fu’s tactics had changed no less than five times. Nimble strikes. Aerial strikes. Low-sweeps. Blurring steps. A distant barrage from the [Wind Phantom Strides]. All in coordination with his foundational martial style, and all with the goal of attrition.

Death, by a thousand cuts.

The [Demon] was littered in grooves, yet showed no weakness for it. A remarkable fortitude had it continue with the same fervour of arm, slowing not by one mite.

They cannot be deathless, as I have watched them fall.

[Half Clo-

Fu’s [Dantian] shrieked in agony.

A half-instant and all of his Qi was gone. Vanished, and his strength atrophied as though he was a mortal of a thousand moons.

The ground met him sharply. Dust. Harsh earth. The warmth of slickened blood that had yet to clot either.

Hu…shi… Qi…

His head drummed, beating aside any semblance of vision he might muster from his weakened heap. But the [Demon] held no love for him. It would not, did not wait. For what he saw next was a weathered rictus, taught with disapproval.