Book 8: Chapter 11: Man and Myth

Book 8: Chapter 11: Man and Myth

Wu Gang had been relieved when Sen suggested that he could come along to the capital. It had let him put off a decision he’d never thought he’d ever be making. Plus, it was a chance to learn a bit more about a person who had radically altered his life, but that he didn’t really know at all. His interactions with the street rat, Sen, had mostly involved punching rather than talking. A fact that had left him with more than a little lingering guilt. In fact, most of what he’d done at the behest of the mayor’s family was a source of guilt for him. Then, there had been that fight with Lu Sen, in the days before the name Judgment’s Gale even existed. That fight had been terrifying and humiliating, by turns. The contemptuous ease with which he had slapped down all of those early-stage cultivators had been eye-opening.nÊw stories at no/vel/b/i/n(.)com

Still, Wu Gang had believed his own strength would be enough. What a laughably naïve thought that had been. Lu Sen had stopped that blow cold with nothing but brute strength. Then, he’d punched Wu Gang as hard as he’d ever been hit in his life up until that point. That was all it took. A single punch to end their “battle.” Then, for reasons that remained entirely opaque to Wu Gang, Sen had freed his family from debt and sent him out into the world with one, very clear command. Don’t make me regret this.

After that, Lu Sen had been like a ghost that was always over Wu Gang’s shoulder, watching, evaluating, and always ready to pass judgment. Like everyone else, Wu Gang heard the wild, unbelievable tales of the man in blue robes who challenged sect elders, defied demonic cultivators, and worked miracles both benevolent and terrible. Lu Sen was no longer a man, no longer even a cultivator, but a story, a myth, a specter to conjure by and to fear. He was Judgment’s Gale, a figure who strode across the kingdom in blood and fire. As a man others told stories about himself, Wu Gang never knew which stories were true and which had been cut from whole cloth. He’d only ever seen Lu Sen on one other occasion. That meeting was hazy in Wu Gang’s memory. All he really remembered about Sen in that memory was a man who seemed to have rage burning inside of him. The rest of his memory was consumed with the woman who had been with Sen. He still had dreams about that woman sometimes, which honestly worried Wu Gang at times.

A heartbeat after that, he felt Lu Sen’s qi rouse itself. Wu Gang had fought relatively few cultivators. In a strange way, his reputation had shielded him from the worst that the Jianghu had to offer. Even cultivators from sects with particularly bad reputations seemed deeply reluctant to fight with a man known solely for helping people. More than once, he’d been met with an aggressive sect cultivator, only for that cultivator’s companions to interfere. He had, however, been witness to more than one battle between rival cultivators. He’d felt the strength of foundation formation cultivators and core cultivators in the heat of a fight. He knew the kind of pressure that created and what rolled off Lu Sen in that moment was something on another level. It was the difference between standing next to a stove and standing in the heart of a forge. The strength of it, to say nothing of the speed with which it was summoned, staggered Wu Gang, and it made him afraid. That fear was only amplified when Judgment’s Gale sent that qi chasing his killing intent out into the forest because that was when the screaming started.

Wu Gang’s spiritual sense wasn’t especially keen, but even he couldn’t miss those bright stars of life that had floated in his mind’s eye blinking out one after the next. He couldn’t figure out what to react to first, the raw power on display, the unbelievable control, or the speed with which death seemed to come when Lu Sen merely stretched out his hand. Wu Gang looked at Lu Sen and shivered. The only sign, the only indication at all that this was costing the man anything was a slight tightness around the eyes. Those cold, cold eyes that never moved away from Tseun Rong.

“I’ve done what I could,” said Sen. “It’s going to get ugly now.”

Wu Gang felt the disbelief on his own face at the apologetic tone in Lu Sen’s voice. It was as if the man somehow felt that dispatching at least a couple of dozen would-be attackers in the span of a breath or two was somehow inadequate. He didn’t have time to pursue that thought much further because Tseun Rong finally reacted. With a roar of effort or rage, he shot to his feet. Lu Sen flinched as that bizarre, alien technique he’d been using against the other man was apparently broken. Tseun Rong shook his head and drew a heavy dao. Judgment’s Gale wiped a trickle of blood from beneath his nose with one hand and drew his jian with the other. Wu Gang’s blood ran cold as the familiar, reflective metal of the blade suddenly turned a color that was darker than the deepest black he had ever seen. The black lightning crackling around that blade left eerie, disquieting, purple afterimages in Wu Gang’s vision. The worst of it, though, was the feeling of absolute, imminent doom that radiated off that transformed blade. Lu Sen glanced at everyone, offered a smile as cold as winter’s heart, and then vanished in a burst of qi that fueled a seemingly impossible qinggong technique.

You were looking for a myth, thought Wu Gang. You found him.