52 Rumored Calamity

Tycon had finally collected enough information about his System's hostility detection.

Young Master Hisato began with a red tag, the color of outright, open hostility. With a red tag, an enemy would actively seek to harm him physically or socially. Outward and targeted aggression was incredibly rare... He'd only seen red on the Shadowdark Wolves (minus Barza), on the guardsman he had Barza show his kindness to, and the warriors of the Muto family.

Once he had shown his abilities, Hisato's tag changed to yellow, signifying that he would only attack if the situation proved advantageous to him. The Shadowdark Wolves (again, minus Barza) had turned from green to yellow when they'd decided to try ambushing him.

Tycon wanted to see how much effort it took to turn Hisato's tag green.

Spellcasters were terrifying existences to the general populace. A single witch's curse could ruin a man's life or tear apart his family. A single corps of mages could equal an entire army with magical shields or magical barrages of flame and frost. A single wizard, armed with an armory of scrolls could prove more agile, more accurate, and more physically powerful than a Sword Saint.

Spellcasters had different ways of casting... They used tools, like talismans. They used verbal chants. And most often, they formed series of arcane gestures with their hands.

And they were nothing without them.

Tycon began by ordering Barza to break Hisato's fingers: When he hesitated. When he struggled. When he grew complacent.

The man was beaten. The man was made to count the body parts of his comrade, again and again, (there were 33.) The man was told the sweetest lies and the most painful truths.

When all of his fingers were broken, Tycon opted to using a skinning knife to sever his fingers.

It only took 2 fingers and Mister Barza thoroughly vomiting his morning meal for Hisato's tag to turn the loveliest bright-green of severe post-traumatic stress disorder.

...Tycon was prepared to spend weeks and far more.

He didn't remember why he knew torture so intimately. That he did know, slightly worried him.

And for all his expertise, he keenly understood how useless torture was.

Most laymen turned to torture for obtaining information. It didn't work.

The torturee merely wants the physical pain or the social pressure to be alleviated. The torturee will say whatever they believe will appease their torturer.

Torture's true usage was in brainwashing. Pain breaks the defenses of the mind-- what keeps a person a normal, rational, and functional creature becomes secondary to pain and the mind's logical pattern recognition, seeking to find ways to alleviate it.

With pain, instinct takes over.

Tycon cracked his whip, the miniature sonic boom startling his propulsion system to increase its speed.

"Have mercy, Sir Tycon!" Barza cried as he pulled on the ropes, dragging the log forward. He was still covered in bandages, but they were all soaked through with sweat.

"Mister Barza, do look alive. While your junior is out, the log is your responsibility."

"But Sir! Do you have to sit on it?!"

"Do you really wish for me to answer that question?" Tycon asked threateningly.

"AaaaaAAAARGHHHH!!" Barza yelled, charging forward.

Tycon crossed his arms.

...

Muto Shun wasn't part of the main family, but the news had spread quickly and thoroughly. The Kimura brother and sister pair had departed from the sect two suns prior. If the rumors were to be believed, Kimura Taree, the genius girl of the Kimura family had returned one sun prior... and that she had brought a young outsider with her.

Muto Hisato, the genius of the Muto family and the shining exemplar of the entire sect had been ordered by the Muto family to capture her. If he didn't return soon... With all the resources placed in him and bodyguards sent to support him, the family would lose the greatest investment in its history.

"Lady Shun! Reporting!"

Shun was seated in the barracks adjacent to the sect gates. She didn't have the connections, martial ability, or technical skill to be noticed by the main branch.

Because of her name, she held the special status of being expected to succeed as an honorable sect guardian and be expected to be more forgiving towards her namesake.

...Unable to really do both, she had always been loyal to the sect than to the Muto family, a decision that destroyed her social standing with her parents and close relatives.

Shun bid the scout towards her, and they come around her desk to face her, "Lady, news on the small party of Outsiders..."

She furrowed her brows, "You hesitate?"

"Y-yes," the young scout replied. "It seems they're being led by Kimura Tamaki."

"Kimura Tamaki... The unfortunate boy, overshadowed by his younger sister." Shun placed her fingers below her neck in concern, "You're certain?"

The scout nodded, "Yes, Lady... What... should we do?"

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Shun rapped her fingers upon the wooden desk in thought. She glanced at the opposite wall, covered in blades and longbows. In a moment, she could call two dozen or more guards to arm themselves. That would be more than enough to deal with any normal group of 5.

But if Kimura Taree was alive... And Kimura Tamaki was alive... Something must have happened to Muto Hisato.

"Standard procedures. Take names, identify any Spirit Weapons... Do NOT seek trouble with the Outsiders," Shun ordered.

"But... Lady?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. The Muto family may guilt her over this. She might even lose her position. At worst, she'd be transferred away.

"The Outsiders aren't simple," Shun conceded. "Tell the others. I'll take full responsibility."

She had no wish to risk her life or the lives of her subordinates. A rumor was sweeping through the Ivory Judge sect that a Calamity was about to occur. They needed every Cultivator they had to combat whatever threat approached. It wasn't the time for petty squabbles...

She closed her eyes and tried not to worry about the future.

The scout left the barracks as ordered, leaving Shun alone... Or so she thought.

She thought she felt herself slipping... Falling.. Up? Her legs had lifted off of her seat and her feet had lost touch of the floor. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw a hand reaching out for her, which she grabbed reflexively.

"Don't worry, I got'cha."

A beautiful fair-featured man, with eyes like a deep river stream, his hair like the eternal sky, was sitting in her chair. He wore white underneath his silvery breastplate and... was the only reason she hadn't fallen up towards the ceiling.

"Wh-what's going on?" Shun asked in a panic, trying to make sense of the situation. If she were to fall so many fulms towards the roof, she might hurt herself.

The man smiled at her, a gentle smile that almost put her heart at ease, "I just wanted to drop by, to see if I could lend a helping hand."

Shun laughed nervously. Was she blushing? She was a few years older than the young man, but she'd never taken a husband.

The man pulled her up gently, allowing her to grab onto her desk and place her feet upon the ground... Thankfully she stayed grounded. Even still, she continued to hold his hand in case she "fell" again.

"Th-thank you."

"Not a problem. My name is Tarquin. And you are...?"