Elder Cultivator

It was impossible for Nthanda to undergo a fundamental change within a short period of time, and even though she had managed to greatly improve herself her peers were not remaining idle either. The next few matches were filled with equal parts wins and losses. That was how Nthanda discovered a serious flaw in her new technique. It was obviously incomplete, but she hadn’t even gotten a chance to use it because of the way she had developed it. It didn’t help she didn’t have a proper bow to use either.

Perhaps it was a foolish notion to begin with. Working around the changes to her left hand made the rest of her tasks more difficult… but if it actually worked as she wanted, she was interested in completing the transformation. So far it hadn’t been practical in actual combat, but that was her fault more than the technique itself.

She looked at her left palm. Unlike her other, it was not paler in the rest of her skin but darker than even her normal deep brown. It didn’t have the same sheen to it as the ants’ chitin, but it was only an approximation of the creatures. No matter how much a human cultivator might take on certain aspects of creatures, they remained fundamentally the same.

Nthanda’s final opponent was a woman who hardly looked suited for her weapon. Cultivators didn’t necessarily need muscle to wield weapons, but the woman didn’t even look as if she was up to the same standard of body tempering as most cultivators, let alone Nthanda. Perhaps most wouldn’t have noticed, but she was more sensitive to such things. For most the method through which they made use of their power didn’t make much difference as it had to be dealt with regardless, but for Nthanda’s purposes this was the best chance she would get.

Her opponent’s weapon was essentially a spiked metal club. It was not quite as long as a proper polearm, but it had a good amount of reach to it. She might have called it a staff had it been symmetrical, but the way it was shaped made it clear only the top end was for bludgeoning, piercing, and otherwise damaging people.

The battle began with clashing weapons. Nthanda’s opponent seemed to be aiming for her weapon directly instead of trying to avoid such collisions. It was a sensible enough technique given how well it worked. Nthanda was used to being able to force her opponent’s backwards with her powerful strikes, but her opponent had remarkable stability through a connection to the ground. Furthermore, the impacts strained Nthanda’s muscles to the point she couldn’t just try to wear out her opponent’s natural energy.

That suited her just fine though. There was no point in testing a trump card against an unworthy opponent. Nthanda continued to weave her halberd as she could, making use of her reach to hold off her aggressive opponent. She continued to fight until her opponent knocked her weapon to the side, not entirely by coincidence.

Her opponent rushed forward, the iron club swinging down at an angle that was not quite vertical to avoid her easily dodging it. Nthanda still had her grip on her halberd but it was too far to the side to bring it to bear. The club came down straight into Nthanda’s palm.

One of the spikes pierced through her hand, and the force of the blow pushed her into the ground up to her waist. Yet the muscles and bones in her arms, torso, and legs held firm. Taking such a blow head on should have shattered something regardless of how much she tempered her body, but it lost some of its force the moment of impact… and was unable to maintain the followup momentum.

Nthanda’s grip closed on the weapon. She didn’t want to use such a reckless technique but it was the one most appropriate to testing her ability. And it had worked. Her opponent struggled to pull away, but could not force her grip off of the weapon. Nthanda did find herself slammed into the ground back and forth for her refusal to give up her grip, but the force of the blows was very little. That was because from her hand extended an area that mostly negated the energy around it. It barely extended beyond her touch, but that meant the most critical portion of the weapon did not have the additional momentum and power that it required to be a threat.

It wasn’t even particularly tiring for Nthanda. Yet the technique wasn’t without flaws. It didn’t just weaken her opponent’s energy, but also her own. That meant she was unable to protect her palm, and that meant the weapon had maintained its power up until the point of contact. But still, it worked well enough. It wasn’t complete negation like the ants, but it suited her.

Soon enough her opponent realized that Nthanda wasn’t going to let go or give up, and the halberd she leveled in their direction gave them incentive to surrender. Nthanda grinned. It was just one battle, but even if it didn’t vastly improve her rating she would at least be walking away from the competition with great improvements.

Now she just had to figure out how to make use of the same with a bow. The strange bone bow that Anton lent her for training was just about right, but unfortunately she didn’t have one of her own that matched. Perhaps she could develop the technique to turn on and off as well.

-----

Anton sighed. Watching a skilled archer fight without a bow was a shame. He had to admit that Nthanda was much more skilled than himself in melee combat, but that was likely due to necessity more than choice. She’d chosen a difficult road, one that was difficult to travel without proper access to equipment. Though that was what the competition was for, wasn’t it?

Despite the fact that Ingram was significantly behind the other students- and debatably less talented- Anton also admired the man for his determination. He had gotten quite far with a poor technique and little opportunity to learn more. Anton wondered how far he himself would have gotten had he not been given access to the Ninety-Nine Stars from the beginning. Could he still have developed to where he was now, or would he have failed to take even the first step, ultimately dying in the attempt? The latter wasn’t a pleasant thought, but that was exactly one of the reasons Anton was so interested in giving others the same sorts of opportunities.

Few of his other students maintained his interest in the long term, though he still tried his best to help them grow. Perhaps they would become something more, or perhaps both sides would only remember each other in the context of a competition for resources.

There were others Anton was interested in though. Students that weren’t his. One of particular interest was a young woman studying under Chikere. Or rather, the only student still with Chikere. The swordmaster had talent, that was certain, but the ability to learn and the ability to teach others wasn’t always connected. Finding people with the right set of attributes to learn from Chikere was… not common. There were others like her, of course. Million Sword Vault valued many of the same things as Chikere, but as they were one of the greater sects they were not involved in learning here in this competition. Instead, it was mostly independent cultivators and smaller sects.

When the example that was given to someone was a single sword swing or a more impressive but immensely less comprehensible two dozen swords moving simultaneously on their own, it was expected that people would drop out. Combined with Chikere’s casual nature towards injuries and her students decided they might learn better elsewhere. And they were probably mostly right.

The young woman seemed to be named Florry, as she had introduced herself to Anton previously. She was kneeling on the ground among a dozen swords, with one resting across her lap. Chikere seemed to be trying to explain some details of sword techniques, and the young woman listened raptly.

“And then a swish and flick, and you get a sword which grows on a tree. Though most of them were kind of bad.” Chikere nodded seriously, “But you still have to defeat the sword bugs when you see them.”

“How are things going here?” Anton asked.

“Good!” Chikere didn’t seem disappointed that most of her students were gone. Actually, Anton wasn’t sure if she would have noticed at all, unless they were carrying decent swords. “Hey, you… show Anton your new technique!”

Florry shook her head, as if she were coming out of some sort of daze. Then she stood up, knocking over some nearby swords in the process. “Yes, of course swordmaster Chikere!” Florry turned and bowed to Anton. “It’s not much, but… I’ve been doing my best.”

Taking the sword that had been resting on her lap and one more that was sticking point first into the ground, she held them in either hand. After lowering herself into a stance, her eyes took on a serious edge. She flicked the tips of her swords underneath the hilts of swords surrounding her on opposite sides, springing them into the air. They landed balanced on her own swords, nearly point to point at right angles. That was just the start, however, as her movements gradually gained confidence, speeding up. A moment later the swords were flicked forward, slicing through the air at an unknown target. Anton felt just a bit of energy controlling their motion, but their trajectory was set by the force of the two other blades propelling them at strange angles. The remaining blades on the ground likewise went towards the same imaginary opponent, arranging themselves in a disorganized pattern in the ground behind.

Anton had to admit it really wasn’t much more than a party trick of sorts. Not that he would expect much better from a Spirit Building cultivator. Controlling a large number of swords simultaneously like Chikere was not going to happen immediately. Even so, Anton could feel it might develop into something interesting.

“Good. And the other one!” Chikere called out.

Florry closed her eyes in concentration for a moment, centering herself. Then the two swords in her hands sliced past each other once vertically and once horizontally, weaving in opposite directions. Despite his lack of training in swords, Anton recognized the shadow of a technique, mostly because the original had been burned into his memory. It was only a tiny fraction as impressive as Swordmaster Rahayu’s final slash, but the presence was there.

“That’s great,” Anton said. “I don’t believe you could do that at all last time I came by.”

“I’ve been practicing,” the young woman said. “But… I can’t do much in real battles.”

“Don’t say that,” Chikere commented. “I know you can do it.” If it were anyone else, Anton would have been surprised at her punctuating her point with a sword slash. It was close enough to Florry to cause her to take half a step back. “You just have to react to your opponent.”

“But what if I’m not fast enough?”

Chikere shrugged, “Then just react before they do anything.”

Anton cleared her throat. “I believe she means to predict what your opponent will do and act accordingly.”

“Didn’t I say that?” Chikere tilted her head.

“Umm…” Florry spoke timidly, “Normally people don’t call it reacting if you do it first.”

Chikere shrugged. “What’s the difference? Besides, it’s important to make sure your actions don’t change what your opponent is going to do. Unless you want them to.”

“... I think I get it,” Florry said.

Chikere nodded, “Good. But maybe you’d get more if you saw it in action. Say, Anton, are you busy?”

“I am not,” Anton admitted.

“In that case-”

Anton held up his hand, “Only if there are trained doctors from the Million Sword Vault on standby,” Anton cut off her request for a fight. “And we’d need to invite both of our students. Perhaps talking to others would be beneficial as well. I’m sure more people could learn something from a high level battle.”

“Great! I’ll see you when that’s all set up then.”

In short, all of the work had been hoisted onto Anton’s shoulders, though it was just as well because he doubted she would be capable of organizing much. Unless there were the right people around to interpret some of her ideas.