Kernoel77
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Chapter 149: A good Blade
🕑 Added 2025-06-05 00:20:54 +0000 UTCI touched my hand to the altar of hir, the tombstone cold under my fingers. There was a faint wind that blew in the temple, feeling cool against my skin. I breathed, and then felt that touch of divinity.
‘Fio,’ Hir greeted me. The chorus of voices seemed strained, as if repressing their anger or disappointment.
‘Hir,’ I thought back at them. ‘I want to know why-’
‘I apologize for Lurelia’s actions,’ they said. The words come out pressed, as if through gritted teeth. ‘She has overstepped her bounds. Perhaps, in the olden days this would have made sense, but I understand your anger.’
Huh. The sudden apology floored me. I was expecting more… pushback. ‘Are all divines so understanding?’
‘No,’ the voices replied. ‘Ru and Argus Support Lurelia. They believe you an uppity mortal who must be squashed. Archiva cares only insofar as the survival of her library is concerned - to which you are an important cornerstone. She stands with you. With us.’
‘Do you divines often fight amongst each other?’ I asked, the question bubbling forth before I could consider it.
There was a long sigh. ‘Yes,’ Hir said eventually. ‘We bicker much, though there are few such blatant acts of idiocy. Think of us much more like coworkers than siblings. We share a world, and we share a duty, but the way to accomplish this duty is different. I believe we need more mortals. Lurelia believes she could save everyone. Perhaps she is wrong, or perhaps I am.’
At that, I took a deep breath, shaking my head. What a silly revelation. ‘You are just as petty as us, then.’
‘Yes,’ Hir confirmed without hesitation. ‘We put on grand airs, but we are simply people. We live, now, and one day, we die. At the end of our lives, we will be buried, same as any cultivator. It is simply another step on the path.’ Their voice is calm but shaky, just faintly. As if saying so was difficult. No, perhaps not necessarily that. Instead, the words were scary.
Hir was afraid. Of death? I struggled to believe it, so I asked. ‘Are you scared of death?’
They chuckled. It was a soft, ringing noise. Calm and beautiful and melodic. ‘No, Fio. I’m not scared of death. I’m scared of failure. Of dooming this world, of losing the species that have flourished here. If I must die, then that is that. It’s a sacrifice I offered before, and one that I would offer again in a heartbeat.’
I tilted my head. ‘Are you a coward, then?’
‘What?’ they asked.
There was no indignation in the question. No divine anger. Simple… befuddlement. ‘Are you running from your responsibility?’ I could feel Cass trying to pull me back, but I refused. I had to know. ‘Do you think that once you’re dead, you’ve done your part? You won’t have to try anymore?!’
And then, they laughed. Not in a condescending way, but a bewildered kind of hilarity. ‘Yes, Fio. Yes, that’s exactly what I think,’ they said. ‘Death is the easy way out. It always has been. To Ann, when she was a goddess, it was a new beginning. A different path, the opening of a door. But to me? I am death. It is the end. Once I claim myself, the cycle is complete, and I will no longer need to try. I can lay down and rest. I’ve lived long, battled long, and I am weary. Grant me this fantasy.’
To that, I had no reply. Somehow, once I crossed into the fifth realm, the gods apparently decided to become more human. Perhaps they had to hide less, perhaps they had less reasons to keep up appearances. Or perhaps, the situation was dire. I did not know, but that was fine, too.
‘I see,’ is all I said. There is nothing I could tell Hir. Just like Iryel, they were overworked. A divine in need of a break. How strange. ‘Thank you for the apology.’
‘Of course,’ they said. ‘It was only right.’
At that, I shook my head. ‘No. You took responsibility for someone else’s actions. You owe me nothing, owe us nothing. So thank you for giving anyway. I would prefer to see you alive at the end of all this.’
Their voices paused for a moment, then came back soft and gentle. ‘Of course. We shall try,’
‘And that’s all I’d ask,’ I thought. ‘Could you show me the store?’
- - -
Matt was suspicious, but he followed the old man regardless. Silently, they walked through the streets of the medieval city. The uneven cobblestone and surrounding houses raised from carved rock or bound logs were imposingly beautiful, but Matt disregarded them. His earrings stung back and forth, a steady pendulum that calmed him.
The two of them walked, and Rae said not a single word. The old man just walked, keeping a steady pace, his hands clasped behind his back. Matt saw them shake slightly. A tremor that he only noticed in the fifth realm. If he was weaker, it would have been entirely invisible. But now? Matt saw that he was nervous, even if he hid it well.
However, that wasn’t his problem. The swordsman disregarded the old bastard and looked to the lilac sky instead. He traced the minute winds in the air, letting them brush through his hair like a gentle caress. Each faint movement of it was recorded to be used as part of his storm. The exercise was anything but simple, and still, it calmed him.
So he walked.
Through streets, past houses, big and small. Decrepit ones, opulent ones, inns with Reflectors, and Edians who treated them with a steady unease. It was a thin equilibrium, but it was peaceful. The air smelled nice. The sun was warm without being scorching. There was a touch of brimming Echo in the air, but it was fainter even than on Neamhan.
“We’re here,” Rae eventually said.
That comment was what made Matt tear his gaze from the sky and the buildings around. The old man had still not turned around. He stood in front of a decrepit door. It was a small building, made from dense but somewhat worn down stone. The age was etched into its walls, smeared and cracked and scratched, and yet homely.
Gently, with calm fingers, the old man pushed open the door, and it creaked as it swung on untended hinges. But it swung, and sunlight spilled into the small room.
The floor was covered in a thick sheet of dust, but that was not enough to hide the craftsmanship from Matt. Outside, it would barely have been as big as an apartment, but inside, the thing was the size of a soccer field. Runes sprawled across the dust covered floor, sputtering to life in the shoddy walls. It was a training hall, made by a formations expert.
Rae walked in calmly, stepping in a specific pattern. “Follow in my steps. There are defensive arrays,” he said, voice quivering ever so slightly as he danced through. Matt’s frown deepened, but he followed.
He frowned, because he saw the walls. The way they and the ground were covered in scratches. Long furrows, dug into the stone and the wood. Wounds from battles long past. This was a training hall.
There were even flecks of dried blood still on the floor. Blood that had probably once belonged inside Fio’s body.
“Why are we here?” Matt asked, but Rae simply held up a hand.
“Please, I ask for a little more patience. I will explain soon, I promise.”
Clicking his tongue, Matt listened anyway. Because he chose to be kind and patient, even as it ground on his nerves. He simply nodded and bore with it, walking further into the halls.
“Would you be so kind…?” Rae asked, gesturing wearily at the dust all around.
Matt sighed. “Fine,” he said curtly, then swung his hand. That motion was all it took. After all, when coated in Qi, his palm was as good as any blade, and a storm of plum blossoms crawled through the halls, carrying the dust and grime with them. The wooden floorboards were revealed, still maintained, the formations inscribed into them unblemished.
Coughing slightly, the young swordsman waved his hand in front of his face. “Ugh, some got into my eyes,” he complained. “What a pain.”
Rae remained silent. He simply stood and watched as Matt coughed. He waited until the younger man stared at him again. He waited until Matt spoke. “So what?” the swordsman asked. “What is it? Why did you bring me here? Are we fighting or something? Are you trying to show off? Pull some ‘mysterious old master’ shtick? Tell me.”
And, finally, the older man nodded. “Yes,” he said, giving a long, suffering sigh. “It is about time I say it.” He breathed in, then out, his hands shaking.
Then, slowly, he lowered himself to the ground.
First to one knee, then the other. Then, he lowered his head to the wood, too.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The silence in the training hall was sharp and cutting. It smelled of plum blossoms. “You’re sorry?” Matt asked.
Rae nodded, smacking his head into the ground softly. It wouldn’t hurt his head, but the sound rang out clearly in the quiet building. “I apologize. To you.”
“To me?” Matt asked, gritting his teeth. “To me?”
Again, the old man nodded. “Yes. To you.”
“What about Fio, huh?! Have you apologized to her?!” Matt demanded.
“No,” Rae said. “I have not.”
“You spill her blood, you carve up my friend and then you have the audacity to drag me here just to feed me an apology? The fuck do you expect from me, bastard? For me to shake my head and smile and wave it away as no problem? To go easy on you?!” he snarled. “Fuck off. I don’t care what you’ve done since. I don’t care how you’ve repented. You carved her up in here. For that, I will never forgive you.”
Rae swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Drops of water fell to the ground beneath his head.
“Bastard. You are a fucking bastard. You took a kid and… turned her into a war machine or something, fuck. All discipline, all iron, all unyielding, right? A blade never breaks, and all?” he pulled out his sword. A shattered thing, patched with blossoms. It was ugly and beautiful all at once. “And what, you’re sorry to me?”
Nothing.
“Say something!” Matt yelled.
“I’m sorry,” Rae said again. The words came out a wheeze. “I… I-” he paused.
“What?!” Matt yelled again, outraged.
“I couldn’t look her in the eyes,” Rae said. He still faced the floor. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t. So here I am. With you.” A sob. “Practicing.”
At that, the young swordsman paused. All the anger, all the bravado from a moment ago fled. The floor beneath the old man’s head was wet. A steady drip-drop fell from his face onto the wooden boards.
“What are you sorry for?” Matt asked. It was cold now, like a snowy winter night. Cutting to the heart of it.
“For hurting her. For being too harsh. For each and every unfair cut to teach her an unfair world. For being a warrior and trying to force her to be one,” he said.
Matt nodded. “And?”
“I want to do better,” Rae said. “It’s been years. I need to do better.”
“Can you?” Matt asked.
Those words were the harshest he could. The apology? It mattered, yeah. It was chill. Important, even. But it was like opening the door to an unfinished house. Rae needed to build something, to do better. And Matt… well. The Rae from Neamhan was better than the one from Eden. So he needed to know which one this was.
“I… will try,” he said. “Fio cared for me on the other side. My wife did, too. I’d forgotten about all the war and the slaughter. It was so distant and now…” he grasped the air, then slammed an empty fist down on the wooden boards. “It’s there, but not. It’s far away, but so close. I fought and killed for decades, under a half-dead, forgotten god. For a whole world, where every loss meant another city, gone. Another culture, wiped out.”
“So what?” Matt asked, cruelly. “You have your reasons. Those are not excuses.”
Rae nodded. “Yes. They are not. So I apologize. I take accountability. I hurt someone who did not deserve it. I thought it was for the greater good—” Matt scoffed “—but it should not have happened. So, I will do better. I will guide and protect her. As a teacher should.”
For a long, long moment, Matt let those words hang in the silent air. He stood there, and thought. Fio would want to forgive him. She’d wrap this old fool into a hug and cry and say it was all fine. She was like that, and that’s why they were best friends.
But Matt? He wasn’t like that. He was much, much colder than that.
Slowly, he took a deep breath. “Get off the ground,” he said, sighing with exhaustion, dragging a hand through his hair.
Morosely, Rae followed the instruction. Matt waved his hand, brushing aside the dust, and the remaining tears sticking to the old man’s face. It all vanished with the wind. The two stood opposite each other for a long moment.
“How sturdy are these walls?” Matt asked. He felt angry. A torrent of it boiled inside him, but his voice was relaxed. Calm and brutally aloof, almost uncaring.
“Very,” Rae admitted. “Carved by an archmage. I can break them, yes, but not with just stray hits.”
Matt nodded. “Alright, old man.” He drew his sword. “Fight me.” His face, for once, was ice-cold. There was no battle-lust, no hunger, no furious joy of life and death dancing at the edge of a blade. This was a simple test.
Rae smiled sadly. “I thought you might say that,” he said, grabbing the empty air next to him. Ricipia, the Sky Terror, appeared in his empty hand. “Battle is a conversation between warriors, right?” the old man asked.
“Sure,” Matt nodded again. “But that’s really not it. I just wanna cut you, fucker.” And then, he stabbed the unforgivable bastard, Fio’s master, mentor and teacher, and the asshole he’d decided to forgive already. He just had to bleed for it a bit.
He’d endure it. A good blade never broke, right?
