Chapter 72: Hothouse Flowers
It was the rise in general volume, heat and light that lifted Dàilán out of her cultivation trance. She let her body stay loose, giving herself time to absorb the information coming in from her senses.
The scent of hot sand and old blood was acrid in her nostrils, the reflected crow-light making it impossible to see details more than an arms span, as it dazzled the eyes.
One of the Elders was speaking from the stands through an amplification formation, outlining the conditions of the mini tournament. There was an audible sound of shock from the watching Sect members when he reached the part about fighting for the right to be selected as Heir.
There was a rustle of feet on sand and robes that drew her attention to a loose semi-circle of twelve young Cultivators that she could barely make out through the glare, around twenty arms spans away from Chénli and herself.
"They seem irritated that you have not noticed their killing intent," murmured Chénli from behind her, the slightest hint of amusement colouring her voice.
"What killing intent?" asked the young Heiress in confusion, gasping slightly at the unrelenting heat that pounded at them from all sides along with the refracting of the crow-light off every surface. Even from under the hood, it stung her eyes, "this heat and whiteout is what I need to be worried about."
She needed some way to decrease the effect of the light, quickly, before the Elder announced the start of the bout - some kind of filter or veil for her eyes…
...a sudden bizarre thought struck her and she quickly pushed her Essence through the Veil technique. It was pointless turning invisible here - and even if she wanted to, with the limiter on she could not push the technique out of her skin as it was normally used - but if she only focused the technique into her eye sockets, that might still count as internal use…
...an odd prickle in her eyes and a familiar shimmer over her vision, much heavier than what she was used to, and the glare immediately stopped interfering with her vision. It looked like there was a thick pane of glass in front of her nose. She could see odd ripples - like being under slow moving water, but the glare level was now normal and other than the slight distortion she could see normally.
Experimentally she poked herself on the arm. There was a very slight distortion, with her fingers landing just off from the target - which she quickly corrected for - and after tapping quickly eighty one times while shifting her head and eyes about slightly, she confirmed it was not affecting where she landed her hits.
The Elder sounded like he was building up to starting the fight; the others certainly thought so, judging from how she picked out telltale tensing of muscles and shifting of stances. She felt Chén'er's muscles flexing as she did the same.
"Chan'er, is the glare affecting your vision?" she asked rapidly over the rising noise of the crowd.
"I will have to manage it," Chén'er replied grimly and Dàilán shook her head sharply, keeping her vision on the loose semi-circle of opponents, "Heir Guard, no time to explain - run the Veil, but only on your eye sockets. Watch for the distortion and compensate - like striking a fish through water - but you can see clear, unlike our opponents."
Dàilán felt Chénli stiffen in response to the use of her address which made the directions an order - then twitch at the rest of the sentence. A miǎo later her friend shuddered, "Gods and Heavens, that is… oh, my…"
There were a few more twitches from behind her - as the Elder wound up into his final warnings to all combatants; no death strikes, shock weapons, everyone had at least one ally, if the Heir is taken down the battle ends… combatants ready - obviously Chén'er was making her own adjustments. Dàilán smiled grimly as she sank into a ready crouch, her hands firmly on the handles of the sparring shock daggers. Things just got a bit more even.
"...Battle, Begin!"
There was a roar of excitement from the crowd, various factions obviously all shouting out their preferred combatant's name. Dàilán let herself rise up on the balls of her feet, a part of herself starting to sing with anticipation for all she thought this whole exercise was a ridiculous farce. She could feel Chén'er doing the same. She was not going to move first, but the moment the opponents started moving weaknesses would open up to exploit - any moment now… there would be…
"Wait, Seriously?" The words slipped unbidden out of her mouth and Dàilán felt herself straighten up in confusion and not a little bit of incredulity. Behind her she heard Chénli scoff in derision as the crowd's shouts subsided into confused conversation and a rising level of hisses and laughter.
All twelve of their opponents were ignoring the pair of them in the centre; instead little twitches and shifts betrayed they were all watching each other like mantling hawks instead, all obviously unwilling to open themselves up to attacks from those they clearly perceived as the bigger threat.
Dàilán shook her head in disgust. Ignoring the so-called geniuses in the centre, she looked up at the area of the stands that the Elders were seated in and raised her voice, "Honoured Elders, I do not suppose there is a time limit to this farce? Surely, if I am not defeated within a kè, it should be considered my victory?"
There was an indignant stir from the other people on the sands and she could feel Chénli stifling chuckles at her back. The Elders looked at each other and several quick nods resulted in the Elder previously acting as an announcer standing and raising his voice while looking pointedly at the collection of other Cultivators, "It is so ordered - if the Heir remains undefeated inside of a kè despite six to one odds, it is counted as her win."
"I am fine with standing here for a kè while these fine 'genii' demonstrate the Sect has no future," acknowledged the Heiress loudly as she sank back into her watchful crouch.
There were cries of outrage from the stands - several Cultivators standing and gesticulating - the general atmosphere immediately becoming heated as the spectators erupted into cries of agreement, disagreement, anger, laughter and every emotion in between.
One of the twelve Cultivators on the sand spoke frostily, despite clearly feeling the heat in his ostentatiously embroidered robe covered in elaborate Essence runes. "What nonsense does an outsider noble speak?" His voice carried across the arena and the spectators immediately quietened to hear the trash-talking.
A young female Cultivator with her nose raised as if smelling something off, answered the first, "I say it was just the sound of the wind blowing over the mouth of an empty vase."
Chénli snorted from behind Dàilán, "You are a fine one to talk about empty vases Pei Chi, speaking from experience, I would say."
"I take it you have defeated that one, then, Heir Guard," remarked Dàilán idly.
"Several times. Resoundingly," responded Chénli, "my only conclusion from her presence here is her opponents in the last tournament must have all been males hoping to move the battle to a more... congenial… location."
A wave of laughter and hoots came out of the stands, as well as from the majority of the twelve standing on the sands - intermixed with shouts of anger from people who had probably been her opponents or possibly suitors.
The young woman turned bright red and if looks could kill Chénli would have keeled over on the spot.
"So where are - your - admirers then, Chén'er?" teased Dàilán, her attention still wholly focused on the twelve 'Genii' who seemed to be redirecting their attention towards the two of them, slowly.
"Oh, they are there," her friend replied in resignation as a round of hoots, whistles and cheers rose up at her words.
"You have not answered the question," pointed out another of the twelve. Unlike the others, he was bare to the waist, wearing long, loose fighting pants with tanned skin that gleamed under the bright crow-light with prominent muscles; and was leaning almost casually on a staff twice his height that looked like a small tree trunk, seemingly unconcerned about the others.
Chénli spoke up again, but this time her voice held respect and surprise, "Meng Fan… it is agreeable to see you there."
Fan laughed, "You can speak plainly Li'er, you are shocked to see me here." He gestured ironically at the other eleven.
Dàilán studied this male cultivator, cocking her head to the side, "You are different."
"He is a Body Cultivator, Mistress," explained Chénli, "Not a popular choice for most Cultivators as they tend to be weaker than Essence Cultivators at the lower levels."
"Friend of yours?" enquired Dàilán with interest.
"He has taught me a number of useful things," agreed Chénli, "But, no, I did not expect to see you ranked, Fan."
"Last, of course," admitted the big Cultivator cheerfully as he swung his staff across his shoulders and linked his wrists behind the bar, incidentally showcasing an excellent set of upper body and arm musculature, "did not run into any of these…" he gestured idly behind himself with an expressive shoulder shrug as he sauntered forward on bare feet, "and well, a few of my opponents got cocky, got close… and a couple others, I managed a few of the tricks you showed me…"
He stopped three or so arms span from Dàilán and slammed his staff off his shoulders into the sand with a resounding thud that shook the immediate area, "That lot do not care about me - I cannot defeat them and they can all beat me with a bit of effort - so… I do not have anything to watch for, unlike the rest of them - all worried about back stabbing."
"Which is why I say the Sect is facing a bleak future", answered Dàilán, stepping to face the larger cultivator, "their first loyalty should be to the Sect and each other - trusting each other to deal with external threats, not worrying if each is a potential enemy. Foolishness."
"Maybe," replied Fan his eyes watching her movement, although he still smiled, "I hear there is plenty of internal threats to worry about. But," he tapped his staff, which resonated with an echoing boom, "beyond my understanding - I just hit things. So - I figure there is no harm in giving this a go. Besides, if you cannot get past me, this little competition is over anyway."
Chénli laughed, "He is downplaying himself, Lan'er, make no mistake, he is a tough opponent. Do not try to outlast him or go strength against strength," Chénli pushed her mistress on the shoulder, "I will keep an eye on the others."
Fan laughed, "Giving away my secrets, Li'er?" He winked broadly at Chénli who laughed in response, "What secret - everyone can see that fighting you head on is a mistake."
The messy haired giant picked up his pillar and held it loosely across his body in a guard and raising his nose theatrically, "Let us begin," he remarked in a faux haughty voice, "- I - do not need to wait for another five allies to fight with me."
Dàilán laughed and sank back into her ready crouch as Chénli backed off, her attention on the other eleven competitors to warn her mistress if they attempted to interfere, but for the moment they appeared content to observe the combat - ostensibly taking advantage of the situation to measure the Heir's skills.
Without waiting for the stronger opponent to make a move, the Heiress darted forward at an angle away from Fan, low to the ground as if trying to avoid a sweeping blow. Fan's pillar-like staff slammed solidly into the ground, kicking up a wave of force that blasted out sand in all directions, obscuring both of their forms as Dàilán brought her sleeves up to cover her eyes from the stinging grit - and borrowed the force of the impact wave to push herself out of range, just as the staff came thundering out of the dust like a sailboat's boom, brushing over her previous position at high speed.
There was a roar of approbation from the crowd as the Heiress redirected her momentum to slap a Essence-reinforced hand on the surface of the hurtling staff as it passed by her. She swung herself up onto its surface and began running up it as if it were a stationary log, blasting out of Fan's self created dust cloud and into his face.
Fan immediately released the staff, his eyes widening as the young woman leapt off it towards him. The huge staff went tumbling across the arena, kicking up dense clouds of sand with each impact and ricocheting wildly across the ground, causing the other opponents watching to make hasty evasive maneuvers amid a storm of curses.
Cheers went up from the audience as the indiscriminate impacts of the staff shattered the composure of the other participants - and triggered a sudden explosion of combat as everyone sought to take advantage of the chaos.
Blasts and quakes caused by several rapidly loosed techniques from the three or four separate battles that broke out threw up yet more sand, turning the arena into a howling nightmare of strobing crow-light, stabbing through the thick roiling billows of an artificial sand storm, as the ground shifted underfoot, causing Fan to stagger. Bringing his arms up to block Dàilán's shock daggers as her leap carried her into his face, he grimaced as he sought to compensate for the misstep but only an empty palm slapped against his forearm, swinging her smaller form underneath the block.
Bellowing, Fan raised a knee and thrust his elbows down to crush her between two irresistible forces, but he was a fraction too slow as her remaining dagger avoided his arms entirely and slammed directly against his sternum - not protected by thick muscles - sending Lightning Essence directly into his chest.
Spewing blood, his body jackknifed, slamming his head against the ground even as the lightning locked his chest rigid and caused his heart to stutter. His constitution was robust enough for his heart to recover its rhythm a moment later, but the combination agony of a frozen diaphragm, involuntary muscle spasms from the Lightning Essence, a concussion and his heart being shaken was too much and he collapsed insensate to the shocked cries of the crowd.
He was joined on the sand a miǎo later by a collapsing Cultivator that crumpled out of the dust clouds onto the sand in front of Fan, twitching uncontrollably. Lightning Essence sparked from Dàilán's other dagger as it fell from his clearly bruised throat, the Cultivator's own small blades falling from his hands as he passed out.
The heiress scooped up all three blades in passing with one hand, slashing out with her hold out dagger in the other to sever a length of cloth from the fallen Cultivator's robe and darted back towards Chénli who had retreated to their makeshift defensive formation and was defending against the occasional stray attack that brushed past.
The moment of the kill takes many words to describe but only occurred within three breaths of time, a couple of blinks of an eye - or a couple of miǎo, to be precise. Both unconscious Cultivators were still completing their falls to the sand as the young Heiress arrived at her bodyguard's side in a spray of sand to the amazed shouts of the audience.
"That bastard tried to back stab me while I was attacking Fan," she shouted over the clamour at Chénli, gritting her teeth and feeling them crunch against sand particles.
"Pfft, seeking death, that is your trick," laughed her friend as they came together back to back.
"True, so I - was - half expecting someone to try it," shouted the Heiress back, disgruntled, "just not so poorly - I barely had to aim my throw! Are we sure these are geniuses?"
"All the idiots who are squabbling or trying sneak attacks against each other are Hothouse flowers," yelled back Chénli as the ground shook to another over the top explosion, "your mother would have never let the younger generation degrade to this state - those idiots are still out there fighting against each other instead of focusing on the goal."
"I am going to take the opportunity to swing a few of the fights in favour of the weaker opponents then," the Heiress replied in a normal volume into her friend's ear then turned her head and spat the mud out of her mouth, "should make things easier when they get their act together." The last half of the sentence was muffled as she re-sheathed the steel hold out knife in her boot and pulled the strip of cloth she had cut up to make a makeshift mask, to filter the sand blowing around from continuing to get in her mouth.
"I cannot participate if you go on the offensive," reminded her friend, but her tone of voice was unconcerned, "Those remaining after the sand settles will be the ones who know what they need to do - the actual blooded Enforcers - so watch your back. "
"It is fine - stay here and defend - so if I come back in a rush, I have a chance to activate the formation," responded Dàilán determinedly, darting off into the dust towards the nearest set of cries of exertion and clashing of weapons.
A moment later, she punched through the latest billow of sand from that direction to see five of her so called opponents battling it out - two against three - with the pair obviously scrambling to defend from the constant bombardment of the other three. "Tch," the Heiress rolled her eyes in derision and let her two spare daggers fly to hit the foreheads of two of the three attackers, sending them to the sand like felled trees.
Instead of responding by locating the source of the attacks, the two defenders immediately leapt on the remaining attacker. Dàilán watched in disbelief as after a brief bitter struggle two of the three combatants took each other out, leaving one weakened and exhausted defender. Clearly these so called Genii were more focused on dealing with old grudges and feuds than focusing on the simulated Order, despite having two of their number being taken out by an unknown attacker.
"What in the Hells is wrong with this so-called Enforcer Sect, " she muttered to herself, quietly approaching the remaining youth and taking him out with a knife hand to the carotid without him even noticing her approach.
Judging from some equally disgusted noises coming from the audience, she was not the only one unimpressed by the so-called 'genii' behaviour. She could hear a heated argument going on up in the Elder's area of the stands - and rolled her eyes; it was obvious where these 'Hothouse geniuses' had learnt their 'tactics'- some of the faction leaders were coming close to blows over their 'good-seeds' behaviour in a fashion that belied their 'senior' status.
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