Chapter 94

Chapter 94

Sitting in quiet cultivation, the Heavenly Energy circles within me, funneling into my core where it is refined into chi, my body feels light and buoyant, as if suspended in nothingness, an easy warmth enveloping around me, ever-moving yet never felt. In a steady rhythm, every second, or minute, or hour, I can't tell, a wave crashes against me, but it does nothing to shake me from Balance, simply breaking against me, an unmovable object within the void. Each time the energy crashes against me, a surge pushes through my body and forces its way into my core, the energy stored away without sensation, my mind empty and without thought, clear as a mirror's surface.

This is fucking bullshit.

Breaking out of my meditative state, my eyebrows crease in concentration as I scan my thoughts for new knowledge. After long minutes of frantic searching, I finally let out a frustrated groan, cradling my head in my arms to muffle it. Throwing myself back to sprawl out in the grass, my head crashes against the tree trunk, leaving me once again cradling my head, this time emitting groans of pain.

Right. I decided to sit closer to the tree today. Fuck.

After dealing with the rapidly materializing bruise, I scoot down a safe distance and check behind me for protruding roots, tossing aside a few pebbles before once again throwing myself back, arms and legs akimbo. Lamenting my fate as the eternal underdog, I curse whatever it was I did to deserve this, wallowing in my one man pity party. As I lay in the shady grass, a flock of birds fly by in the distance, and the sounds of the bubbling river makes me wish I could just go down and float in the water, letting all my troubles wash away.

I can't, of course, because of the mother fucking man-eating fish and worse, all hiding beneath the surface, waiting for a taste of my flesh. This world is just chock full of beasties, all of them terrifyingly strong and me woefully under equipped to deal with them. I just want a weapon where I can point and kill. Bang bang, you're dead.

Why is nothing ever easy?

The more I practice, the more I realize just how weak I really am. I was feeling pretty good about myself, a bad-ass warrior, killing Defiled and Ursagon's like chopping wood, even surviving a round with a Demon, which is better than most can say. I thought I was on track to reach the peak, be counted among the greats, a rising star of my generation, figuring Mila was just a statistical outlier. Even if I wasn't the very best, I thought I could make it into the top five percent or something, but no, Akanai comes along with her mystic mumbo jumbo, raising the bar once again, the summit no longer in sight, barely even a dream anymore. Fucking power creep.

She told me that I had Awakened, received a Divine Blessing, meaning I had the bare minimum qualifications to manipulate an element. My former dreams surged to the forefront of my mind, of raining fire and lighting down upon my enemies while I cackle with glee, or commanding the earth to split apart and consume my enemies, crushing them with the bodies of their allies. All while I watch from an appropriately safe distance, of course.

Life, however, is a massive bitch, raising my expectations only to let me fall farther down into the pits of despair as once again, it seemed that I was an exception to the case, thoroughly confusing Akanai after all of her hard work. There should have been an instinctive knowledge of how to use my chi to manipulate my element, but I got nothing, a whole blank space in my brain, not even a hint of knowing something and having forgotten. It was as if all the knowledge had just melted out of my brain, eradicating all traces of it ever being there. All of her advice amounted to 'meditate on it', with little more to go on but it's not her fault. It would seem that I am uniquely incompetent.

Hooray, I'm unique!

...

In five days since, I have made exactly zero progress on my Awakened memories, although my arm has grown another 10 cm, so at least I have that going for me. My stump is almost at my elbow, bringing both a larger area of pain and an endless flood of questions from Tokta, most of which I can't answer. How am I supposed know what part of the blood it's coming from, or how it knows what to become? I don't fully understand it myself, and Tokta is having trouble figuring it out as well, leaving both of us frustrated. It sucks not knowing, but at least it works. I guess warrior just isn't in my job list, it got overwritten by punching bag.

Letting out a large sigh, I imagine my anger escaping from my chest, carried away on the wind to fend for itself, but that's a childish thought, knowing my fears and frustrations are still eating away at me. Closing my eyes, I concentrate once again, this time retreating to my mental planescape to check in on my other problem. I spend too much time inside my head, another thing for me to complain about.

Coming up to the familiar manor, I let myself in, stepping through the open double doors into the open courtyard, the lovely pond bubbling quietly while the plum-tree sits in full blossom, a beautiful purple-pink hue surrounded by greenery. I should have kept this place for myself and given Other me that stupid plain white room, filled with only a couch, a screen, and a single window that overlooks nothing but bright light. Then again, he spends all of his time here, so maybe this is more fair to him.

Making my way towards my room, I open it to find Other me laying in bed, just like I left him, inert and unresponsive. I could have just jumped straight here, but the journey lets me imagine that he will be up and mobile, as if nothing had happened. Going through the motions, I try to wake him, first snapping close to his ears, moving on to making louder noises, before finally shaking him somewhat roughly. Looking down at him, I once again note the differences between us. It's mostly in the lines around the eyes and the set of our jaw, he's always gritting his teeth with his eyes strained, a more focus and alert look about him, even as he lays asleep. If I let him take over for too long, I'd probably get crows feet around my eyes and start grinding my teeth in my sleep.

A roar sounds out from behind me and I turn to watch the fat cook stomp towards me, throwing off his apron and cracking his knuckles. Fucking runt, I'll tear you to pieces and cook you alive. Come greet your grandfather, Maota and learn your place.

Motioning for the others to back away and leaving my bowl in Ravil's hands, my face breaks out into a smile as I step towards Maota. Cracking my neck, eager for some exercise, I approach the cook as the crowd gathers around us, chanting and cheering, eager to see a fight.

Roaring once again, he charges me with arms outstretched, looking to grapple me into submission, an idiotic approach. My mind focuses and his approach slows to a crawl, as if he were moving through molasses. A single step takes me in front of him, my elbow driving into his gut. The air expels from his lungs at the impact, his head swinging forward. My palm shoots upwards, cupping his face to cushion the blow, sending his head backwards in an arch. His feet lift off the ground, weightless for a fraction of a second, before he comes crashing down at my feet.

The silence is complete, broken only by Maota's pained gasping, the match over in an instant with not even enough time for proper wagering. Calling Bulat and the others over, we march towards the pot, our bowls held out to the new soldier holding the ladle. After a brief hesitation, the ladle dips deep into the pot and fills each bowl with a hearty serving, a wry smile upon the soldier's face as he doles out each measure.

After a short jaunt away to a private area, our group of cripples eat in silence, the mood stifled from the conflict, the harsh truth too heavy to put aside. Feeling angry and more than a little guilty, I eat mechanically, barely tasting the meal that I fought for. These men had come to terms with their disabilities, simply accepting that it was their lot in life to be stepped on and ignored, but until their dismissal, they could at least pretend they were still soldiers. That illusion was just shattered by me, the strain between them and the healthy soldiers now clear as day, a line drawn in the sand. We might end up having to fight for every meal now, and that's just asking for trouble.

My meal finished, I sit in silence, ruminating on my anger until I can't keep quiet any longer, the words being spoken despite my better judgment. "What's the matter with all of you? Where's your fucking pride? You lose a limb, your eyes, or whatever, and you just let everyone walk all over you? 'Just the way of it', that's fucking bullshit.

Leave it, boy. I like you, but you be crossing a line now. Bulat's tone is no longer friendly, his eyes downcast and refusing to look at me.

Explain it to me then, because I don't fucking understand. You live, laugh, and drink, yet you act like your lives are over once you're discharged from the army. The army isn't everything, there's more to life than soldiering.

Easy for you to have hope! The words erupt from his mouth, rage clear on his face as it turns crimson, his eyes bulging out as he yells. We all have eyes, see your arm growing by the day, the treatment of an expert healer. The little hero is worth fixing, but old Bulat and his friends? He thumps his chest hard, puffed out with pride. We trained, we fought, we served and sacrificed, and for what? To be judged worthless and cast aside. What pride is there to be had in being a cripple, unable to work, only a burden to those around us, to beg at the general's table, praying that she drops some scraps for us to eat? His anger deflates, his shoulders slumping as he waves me away. Better had we fallen in battle as warriors, so that we could keep our pride.

Looking around, I see nothing but agreement and resigned acceptance in each of their faces. Soldiers, once proud and strong, reduced to this. Akanai offered them help, but charity is not enough, not to make them want to live. They still hold to the scraps of their pride, their identity tied to being a soldier, a warrior, an elite. Strength is everything to them, and I can help.

Alright, gather around and keep quiet. My decision is made, despite Akanai's orders. What's the point of coming up with an amazing healing technique if I can't share it? What I am about to tell you cannot leave this circle, agreed? After a round of nods from everyone, I continue. I am not being healed by some expert, I'm doing it on my own and I can teach you.

A loud snort sounds from Bulat. Bah, better to tell us that you can shit gold and piss wine, that would be more believable. Healing is no easy task, regeneration as complicated as it gets. If you are truly healing yourself, then you be a genius, but Old Bulat ain't the reading type. Despite his words, he edges closer, his hope for redemption stronger than his cynicism, and the others crowd in as well, cautious optimism on the faces.

Patting him on the face with a smile, I quip, As much as I would like to see your lips move while you struggle to read, that isn't needed. Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I also say a tiny prayer to the Mother, hoping that Akanai doesn't find out.

Even if she does, seeing hope in these soldiers eyes, makes it worth the punishment.

Well... Maybe. Whatever. Too late to stop now.

Better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.

Chapter Meme