Chapter 1810

Chapter 1810

Number One dragged himself up through the empty stone tunnels, scowling as he wondered whether this would be a waste of time. The noise of his cane bounded off the walls, back and forth, seeking an escape from the rock tomb. The interior of the mountain might seem like a more mild alternative to the Paths of Blood and Spirit, but the Path of Bone had its own dangers.

Especially to those who lingered too long out of the cleansing winds of the Grand Pattern. The mental fatigue killed more disciples than anything else, in this mountain.

Ignoring the whispers in the darkness, Number One continued his ascent. He reached into himself and found the feelings that had been stewing for so long, ready for this chance to be seen. Righteous indignation. Pride. Condescension. And, considering that he was heading to meet with Number Four, the slightest prickle of fear.

How strong am I? A more detached part of Number One wondered. When was the last time I needed to struggle to survive?

Those emotions arrayed themselves on his face as he reached the mouth of a tunnel and knocked his wooden cane against the wall. After a few seconds of silence, a voice answer. “Come in.”

Number One walked forward, mildly curious despite himself to see how the obnoxious Number Four lived. He walked into the low illumination of candles and was stunned, even though he had long suggested that the boyish Disciple Number Four was a deviant.

Number Four sat at the other end of the cave, peering out through several small holes he had bored out from his cave system to the surface of the mountain. Restrictive mists and the dangerous winds of the Grand Pattern seeped through those holes, gradually dispersing in the rather spacious cave. But what caught Number One’s attention were the long shelves that Number Four had carved into every inch of the cave walls.

Each bit of space had a glass jar that contained a dried flower. As Number one looked around, he saw a hundred different varieties; each flower had its own shape, its own faded color, its own size and bloom. Roses and chrysanthemums, tulips and daisies, wildflowers and carnations. They were arranged by colored, creating a slow shifting rainbow, tainted by the grey and brown of stalled decay.

Number Four, acting the part of the dedicated disciple, turned as though only now noticing Number One’s presence. He was short and slight, looking more like a gangly teenager than the seven hundred-year-old schemer that he was. Following Number One’s gaze, Number Four grinned. “Ah, my collection? I offer entrance tickets to the training camp for any flower that I’ve never seen before. After a few camps here and there, weeding out the repeats, I’m quite proud of my collection. It’s my one indulgence, here.”

Number One walked slowly forward, deciding to ignore the wall of preserved life. He didn’t need to ask what ‘weeding out the repeats’ meant. He said, “When I heard that you wished to return my book to me, I was... quite motivated to get it back. Only now have I recalled how much I’ve missed its contents.”

Number Four’s expression didn’t even flicker at the sarcasm of Number One. He pulled the book where it had been tucked at the end of one of the shelves. “Of course. As one of our Master’s favorite novels, there are certainly profound lessons to be found within the story.”

Number One walked over and grabbed the book. Number Four didn’t release it, so both remained frozen with the book bridging the distance between them.

“I believe I know who sabotaged your invitee.”

Number One flushed. He had known that Number Four wished to discuss something privately, which was why he had given the pretext of this forgotten book. Yet certainly this wasn’t what he had expected to hear. His emotions trembled. He growled back. “I hope you also have some proof that it isn’t you, the most likely suspect. I will not stomach more lies from you.”

Number Four’s smile was slightly hurt. “Now, Number One, I hope you have more faith in me than that. Do you think I would do something so meaningless and spiteful as this? Truly, it is an affront to your dignity that this Ghosthound inexplicably happened upon a Path of Blood. But your majesty and talent remain unaffected. This attack was remarkably petty.”

...which was not to say that Randidly didn’t benefit, as whirlwinds clashed against wind blades and his maelstrom rumbled forward. Wielding this was hugely beneficial to his understanding of the Grand Pattern and also the organic mimicking arrangement of Nether generally. His energies stretched beyond the limits of his senses, so honestly, it was a good thing that the natural patterns could fend for themselves; if they could not, the whole operation would be ground down and collapse beneath the scrutiny of that consciousness waiting above.

With the mental load eased, Randidly watched the shade he followed with half-closed eyes. His senses sang with the whirling force of natural energy arrangement itself into true tides, flowing out from this mobile and miniature sea. Despite the restrictions of the mountain, he was quite relaxed. To the point that he began to lose track of time and simply enjoying the slow insights he accumulated.

...

Congratulations! Your Skill Philosophy of the Boundless Deluge (M) has grown to Level 429!

Congratulations! Your Skill Cutting Tide of Amenonuhoko (T) has grown to Level 530!

Randidly was eventually forced from his leisurely walk by the shade being abruptly obliterated only a few meters in front of him. The attack was only in the specter’s world, not his own, so he received only emotional damage. He slowed and frowned around at the surroundings.

From the little he could see, Randidly now walked onto a pitted slope. The edges of most of those holes might have been softened, but he recognized almost immediately what he was seeing.

While he was lost in the patterns, Randidly had approached the halfway point of the Third Step. The deadly force spikes waited for him, like the jaws of a bear trap hidden in scattered leaves.

Randidly bowed his head briefly, the energy churning around him to continually resist wind blades. Thank you for your assistance. It is tragic that you died so suddenly, but due to your assistance, I promise I’ll reach the summit of this place.

Yet when he raised his head, Randidly stiffened. The fake Nether around him was pulsing and writhing. The Stillborn Phoenix complained that it hadn’t been able to eat any emotions in a while, so he focused more on the lingering remnants to determine the source. He figured that this area would have even more diminished presence, yet around him-

Fuck. I’m the source.

Trembling, Randidly turned and opened his senses as much as he could go. Behind him, some stumbling and gasping and others confident, Randidly saw thousands of shades walking in hamster balls of wind blades. The more he blinked, the more he couldn’t avoid the realization that these remnants were using his Skills, too. Much more poorly than he did, because he watched several wind blade orbs faltering and cracking open against their own spectral onslaught, but still.

“What the hell is going on?” Randidly muttered, watching the surging army of remnants marching past him and challenging the waiting force spikes. Most were directly annihilated, although some just had large chunks ripped out of the edges of their wind blade orbs and then were eviscerated by wind blades.

Yet only a second later, they had reformed and tried again, seeking a new way forward. Randidly’s skin burned from the sensation of this fake Nether absorbing something from him and giving it to these remnants. Or rather than taking, they simply copied.

Somehow, this fake Nether reflected his Skills out to all the lingering remnants. And quite a few seemed willing to give it a try.