Zarziyan - The Price of Ascension

The work was grim and methodical. Lian moved from man to man, a silent, hulking specter of salvation. His process was terrifyingly simple. He would place his large hand on a disciple's forehead or chest, and the sick, grey miasma that clung to them would flow into him, drawn by an invisible, insatiable hunger. For him, it was a minor, almost tasteless snack. For the disciples, it was a horrifying, intimate violation. They felt their sickness being ripped from them, not by a gentle healing light, but by a predatory void. They were being saved, but it felt like being preyed upon.

Fear and awe warred on their faces. They looked at him not as a savior, but as a necessary evil, a tame demon their captain had unleashed to fight a greater one. The name they had given him in whispers, "The Devourer," now became his official title, spoken with a mixture of dread and reluctant gratitude.

As promised, Lian's status changed. He was given a private wagon near the center of the caravan, a dark, enclosed space that became his mobile den. The other servants gave it a wide berth, treating it as if it were a cage holding a slumbering beast. No one was assigned to bring him food; it was simply left on a stool outside the wagon's heavy canvas flap. Lian had moved from being a part of their world to being a separate, feared entity within it. He had their obedience, their fear, and now, he had their ear.

That night, after the last of the sick had been cleansed and the caravan had settled into a weary, uneasy quiet, Captain Jian came to his wagon. He stood outside the flap, his posture stiff, his face a mask of conflicted duty.

"Devourer," the captain called out, his voice low and strained. "The bargain stands. I am here to answer your questions."

The canvas flap was pushed aside, and Lian emerged, his immense form seeming to drink the light from the nearby campfire. He did not invite the captain in. He simply stood there, a silent mountain, waiting.

Jian took a deep breath, the act of speaking feeling like a betrayal. "What do you wish to know?"

Lian's first question was not about history, or the sect's philosophy, or the politics of the southern lands. It was direct, technical, and utterly unnerving.

"Your sword," he rasped, his eyes fixed on the hilt of the captain's weapon. "The 'Void-Cutting Sword'. How?"

The captain flinched as if struck. Lian was asking for the core principles of one of the Jade Sword Sect's most secret and powerful techniques. To reveal it to an outsider, especially one like this, was a crime worthy of death. But a bargain was a bargain, and the lives of his men had been the price.

"It is... a technique of supreme Qi compression," Jian began, his voice tight with reluctance. "We are taught to gather our spiritual energy, our Sword Qi, and purify it, removing all impurities until only its sharpest, most 'cutting' aspect remains."

Lian listened, his face impassive, but his mind was a whirlwind of analysis. Purify? Wasteful. All energy has a use.

"Then," the captain continued, forcing the words out, "we compress that purified Qi into a single, infinitesimally thin edge along the blade. We use specific meridians in the arm and hand to create a spiritual channel, a conduit that can withstand the pressure. The release… it does not cut the physical form. It cuts the space, the void, between the atoms of the target."

Lian processed this. It was elegant. Precise. A surgeon's strike. It was also, from his perspective, incredibly inefficient. They spent so much energy purifying, so much effort on control and precision, all to create a single, perfect strike. His own method was to simply gather the raw, untamed storm and obliterate the target and everything around it. Theirs was a scalpel; his was a landslide.

"The meridians," Lian grunted, demanding more. "Show me."

This was the ultimate betrayal. Captain Jian closed his eyes for a moment, his hand resting on his sword hilt as if for strength. Then, with a look of profound self-loathing, he slowly raised his arm and began to trace the pathways on his own skin. He described the "Jade Spiral Conduit," the complex interplay of major and minor channels, the breathing techniques used to regulate the flow, the precise mental focus required to keep the compressed Qi from detonating prematurely.

He was revealing the very heart of his sect's power to a monster.

Lian absorbed every word. His mind, empowered by the Heartwood's knowledge and his own Primal Sense, didn't just hear the description; he saw it. He saw the energy flow in the captain's body. He saw the channels, the gates, the intricate web of power. And he saw the flaws.

He saw how their rigid adherence to specific pathways limited the amount of Qi they could channel. He saw how their purification process discarded vast amounts of usable, albeit chaotic, energy. He saw how their entire system was built on the assumption of a stable, pure inner core, making it catastrophically vulnerable to invasive energies like the miasma... or his own. They had built a beautiful, intricate glass sword, and he had just been handed the blueprint for how to shatter it.

"Enough," Lian said, cutting the captain off mid-sentence.

Jian fell silent, a sheen of cold sweat on his brow. He felt naked, violated, as if his very soul had been plundered.

Lian gave a single, slow nod—his signal of dismissal. He turned without another word and retreated back into the darkness of his wagon, leaving the captain standing alone in the cold mist.

Jian stood there for a long time, the weight of his betrayal settling upon him. He had saved his men, but he feared he had just armed a god, a god whose nature was anathema to everything he believed in.

Inside the wagon, Lian sat in the darkness, a cold, predatory smile touching his lips for the first time. The captain thought he had paid a high price for his men's lives. He had no idea of the true cost. He had not just given Lian a lesson in swordplay.

He had given him the keys to his kingdom. And Lian, the Devourer, was already planning how he would take it apart, piece by piece.