Artorian's Archives Omnibus

by Dennis Vanderkerken

  A shrill wooden whistle blew. All cultivation, drills, fights, group synchronization movements, and training ceased at the drop of a copper. The unified slap of open hand-to-fist was heard, and Artorian sighed. The call went out from the most senior teacher present.

  Of course, that was Jiivra. Unlike the other instructors who were just fine letting the formalities slide, she was having none of this ‘treat him like a grandfather’ garbage. A school needed order, a clear chain of command, and a vigorous instant response that could be performed at the drop of a hat.

  He honestly didn’t know what else he'd expected from someone fit to be a Paladin; someone with a record as a successful combat leader and drill sergeant. She was the only one present that had previously dealt with his behavior in the Fringe. The Paladin-aspirant had plenty of experience with the old man, and she knew better than to merely ‘go with the flow’. His ‘flow’ was scheming, and she wouldn’t abide it!

  “Students greet Great Master!”

  Artorian winced a little as the harmonized instructors called out. “Jiivra, you little…”

  That was so uncomfortable! He knew it was done on purpose. The apprentices echoed the call; they knew the Headmaster didn’t actually require it, but the devout nature of their primary combat instructor hadn’t eluded them. If she wanted them to greet, it likely had more to do with their teacher seeking a gap in their swift response where a call to action was concerned. They had been taught too well not to snap into action. “Students greet Great Master!”

  He had to play her game for the moment. If he broke from her rigid protocol, it would ‘harm the students understanding of order’. Gently tapping his own fist to his open hand, the Headmaster bowed back to finish the social ritual. “Please continue, bright young minds. I only require your combat instructor for a short chat.”

  The response was instant from both pupils and faculty alike. “Yes, Great Master!”

  Sounds of activity built. For some reason, the novices all put in extra effort while their teacher’s teacher was watching. Their combat instructor followed the ‘Keeper Irene’ school of training, vocally supporting the notion that those who cultivated power should use it when defending themselves. Conservation was irrelevant when your safety was on the line.

  Practicing what she preached, the drill sergeant thrummed with celestial power during practice bouts. No one was safe from her challenges, and that included other instructors. When their teachers fought, pupils watched wide-eyed to keep up with the Essence-fueled action.

  Even the youngest now saw examples of Essence techniques; it piqued their curiosity. When it came to proper utilization and fighting, none could beat instructor Jiivra in a straight up melee. It had once been said that she had an unfair advantage, and her response had been they all team up and come at her at once. The result? Not even when they ganged up on her was victory attainable.

  The tale-worthy victory put hopeful stars in the eyes of all the students, but especially the young girls who had never possessed the raw physicality of their peers. Jiivra took the opportunity to explain that a butt-whooping was gender neutral, and that Essence allowed for an utterly level playing field. Skill, and the willpower to use it, was key in fights at that level. If they applied themselves and worked hard on both their studies and training, they too could stand where she did.

  The stories and sights fueled them as they rigorously practiced. Work ethic on the mountain became unparalleled as a result.

  Artorian slipped out of sight. He kept out of the way of second-tier new students with a bamboo-stick yoke that held giant pails of water, which they balanced on their shoulders. These pupils had finished the core curriculum of reading, writing, basic understanding, and the trips up and down the mountain steps. This regimen was required of all novices to build their core strength and endurance.

  Once they could perform that task without strain, the first-tier apprentices graduated to second tier and were allowed the second level of teachings as result. They knew well that at the third, the Great Master would personally reveal to them their ‘Essence’ gifts and how best to cultivate them from that point.

  Once third-tier, a pupil was assigned a teacher with similar Essence sources. That instructor would guide them through the process of containing the corruption within themselves so they could construct a Chi spiral. Beginning the process of cultivation graduated an apprentice into a fourth-tier student.

  Once you reached D-rank one, you were given a test by five randomly selected teachers. Those that passed could choose to become a fifth-tier student, guiding those who struggled while studying to take the test once more. Or, if they passed easily, they could become a first-tier teacher directly.

  Instructors could continue taking tests given by five teachers one rung higher than themselves in order to increase their teacher rank. At the apex of the teacher tiers, one had the option to request a trial from a Master or Great Master. Success of the trial afforded one both the title, and the privileges of that rank.

  Within all the teachers, there were but a handful of Masters. Several of the more gifted, multi-channel students had blown past the set requirements over the years. Several luxuries differentiated a Master from an Instructor. Masters no longer had required teaching schedules. They could cultivate more freely and focus on self-development. Their station allowed them to interrupt any ongoing lesson so long as it was in order to assist, as well as take personal pupils.

  Jiivra held the position of being the highest-ranking Master among them, even if the Master rank didn’t have official separations yet. There were simply not enough of them to make a proper system. Above the common Masters, only two Great Masters lived in Skyspear: Artorian and Cataphron.

  Between the two, only one was Headmaster. Jiivra accompanied Artorian as he descended the stairs to the Inner Courtyard. This level was new, and didn’t previously exist. Space for it had been cleared out of necessity, and now the location was a bustle of activity in a… different sense than the Pagoda levels.

  A mixture of market and refugee intake took place here. Animals were equally present as merchant-minded Skyspear residents worked with abacus and chalk. The math for the next trip for trade goods at the base of the mountain was loudly discussed. So heated were their exchanges that they didn’t even see Artorian and Jiivra as they passed. It infuriated Jiivra, but Artorian loved it.

  People who made it up the mountain were received here. Long discussions took place on expectations, requirements, and applicable skills. Everyone had a little bit of everything, and it was good policy to admit anyone that could help grow their community. There was always a need for labor, or help with some project or another. If a profession came by that the mountain didn’t have yet, it was a good day. New space was being added daily as the insides of the mountains were mined and cleared further.

  The combat instructor quietly went along with the as-yet unofficial Headmaster, strolling through the Outer Courtyard. The statue of a door marked the center of the plaza as a water-fountain feature. How they had gotten that to work with one of the Gnomish baubles, Artorian would never know. Some distractions even he couldn’t afford.

  The area had been cleared further, and sprawled all the way to the mountain’s edge. The outer courtyard used to be the entrance area, but now it was an exhibition and teaching forum for hundreds of students or people at a time. A massive, round arena waited behind the statue while a great multitude of people rested and recuperated. When one finished the trek up the mountain, this was where they slept, rested, and ate before ascending to another level. A surprising number of people successfully made it up the mountain these days.

  They were welcomed to stay, even if that stay did not include a life free of hard work. For most who made the trek, it was still a better life. One where clean air, water, and food was plentiful so long as you didn’t step on the rules. Jiivra tapped the lingering old man on the shoulder. Artorian was wasting time. “Yes, yes. I suppose I don’t have the luxury to
take the stairs all the way down?”

  Jiivra shook her head.

  “Drat, I really wanted to see all the repaired rest spots. I heard they carved an entirely new statue of Woah the Wise! One in a pensive pose with him holding a book.” He wanted to see it, but sighed and nudged Blanket, since his companion was burning a hole through him with her eyes. “You ready, my boy?”

  A chipper *cheeeep*! replied as the napping Glider woke ready to play. Blanket bounced over to the edge of the mountain as the duo followed. Due to his impressive size, a few nearby commoners called out in alarm. Especially when they saw two simple-robed people standing so precariously close to the precipice. “That edge is dangerous, you might fall!”

  “Well. That’s partially the plan!” Artorian and Jiivra each took hold of one of Blanket’s offered hind feet, and to the collective screams of those behind them… jumped off the mountain. Blanket spread himself wide, catching the breathy winds that circulated. He slid right into a breezy jetstream, and the flight was swift.

  At the base of the mountain, Cataphron sat behind his mobile food stall. He served grilled eel and crystal cobra on a stake, dipped in sweet honey sauce from the sizable apiary that existed further back on his level. If you wanted to climb the mountain, you had to pass Cataphron.

  Not the easiest feat, especially for those of ill intent. The impervious cultivator had swiftly made a hefty reputation for himself at the base. Both as a spectacular cook and unstoppable titan. Wealthy Nobles that made claims and demands, raiders who wanted to use their authority to steal property, or those who attempted to muscle their way past… all became part of his cultivation.

  Their deaths were his advancement, which meant that nothing was wasted. Even the bodies went to his prized cobras, whom he loved dearly. No raider party had ever managed to retrieve even a single cobra, and their supply of poison had quickly run dry. Cultivators of repute had come to ‘reclaim’ the cobras of course.

  Unfortunately for them, Cataphron was a high C-rank. Sure, his lack of external Aura was unsettling, but it only made his opponents easy pickings as he tore through them like snake tataki. A delicacy which just so happened to be offered at his food stand!

  Individuals or families with good hearts he could gain nothing from, so he let those through to make the climb. Not only was this doubly convenient for making sure the students up on the mountain didn’t get put in harm's way, but it ensured that the first experience they had was with a powerhouse. Unfortunately for Cataphron… he’d known how the dice landed. He demurely sat behind his stall, and heard gravel crunch below approaching feet.

  Right on schedule, he supposed. “Artorian! Try some of this tataki cobra. Maybe if your mouth is full of food, I won’t have to hear you tell me the bad news. Or talk in general.”

  Artorian glanced at Jiivra, who sighed and pressed her fingers onto her brow. Like a small child, the old man hustled to the stand with a big grin and slipped into a seat. “I’ll take four, my good man.”

  Cataphron grumbled and prepared four skewers on the grill. Jiivra took a seat next to the bouncy, childish elder who acted like he was about to get an entire bucket of candy. This old man would never change. She cut to the chase and pulled out a vellum. Not bothering to unfurl it, the subtlety-ignoring warrior dropped it on her plate. “Do I need to say it?”

  She was curt, and Cataphron looked sour as he grilled. Not that it impacted the quality of his food, but he knew what the outcome of the challenge was.

  “Don’t bother… just lay the abyssal verdict.”

  She nodded and recited it from memory before levering the result. “On Authority as a Master of the mountain, I declare the test of virtue concluded. The victor is Artorian. He is hereby officially the recipient of all agreed upon terms, titles, and ownership deeds.”

  Cataphron leaned forwards on his grill, visually deflated. All the power and might in the world—even gained in haste—hadn’t prevented a powerless old fool from besting him in the arena of public opinion. It was his own fault for accepting such a skewed bet, and he knew it. He could feel the old man hiding his elation under that infuriatingly giddy smile.

  “Pretend all you want, you old dog. I know the truth, even if it remains hidden from the world. Under the veneer of that playful, sweet, bouncy persona… a real monster patiently lies in wait. An eternal warrior never free of the battlefield, ever watchful and scheming the next move on the game board. Artorian the Architect.”

  “Also known as…” Cataphron held out his hand and exhaled through his nose. “Headmaster.”

  Artorian shook the offered hand in acceptance, quietly glad that their Oath still prevented a fight. “Gatekeeper.”

  Cataphron narrowed his eyes at the title, but couldn’t say it wasn’t accurate. The handshake released, and Cataphron handed over the last batch of tataki he would cook. He was done. Jiivra and Artorian ate as they watched as the man slumped into his chair. He dejectedly picked up a skewer of his own, chewing on it as the new Headmaster snuck in a question.

  “Cat… why did you cultivate your three channels individually, rather than cultivate the compound Essence of the three? Your iron-shell technique seems to be the only one it has all gone to over the years. What even is the compound?”

  Tearing a whole piece from the skewer, Cataphron aggressively swallowed before levering the tiny wooden stick at Artorian. Jiivra could tell the Skyspear resident wanted to be snarky, but the mood had left him. Cataphron deflated with a sigh, his gaze falling. “What’s the point? Look, do I seem like the kind of person who wants to sit around crystals and gemstones all day?”

  Both the academy teachers shared a look of confusion, and Cataphron hung his head. “Gemstone. The compound Essence of earth, water, and infernal. To me, it’s gemstone. The perfected version of a crystal. Crystals are made of earth Essence. Given perfect conditions, they grow using condensation in minute, granular amounts. Which is where the water Essence comes in. Infernal easily provides the most optimal conditions and cultivates the growth in excess. So diamonds, topaz, rubies, sapphires… any other crystalline structure I come to gain an understanding of… I could cultivate from.”

  He nibbled some grilled cobra from another skewer. “I don’t use this for my cultivation. One, because it is against the social norms I grew up with. Two, because instead of the iron shell that coats me, it would be a crystalline shell. I’d only consider diamond, and even that is too glittery for me. The technique instead gives me a glossy, obsidian look while being nearly as good as the compound Essence. Without the… embarrassment of glittering.”

  He waved the stick around. “Most people believe the combination would be ‘swamp’, and the hypocrisy of it all is that this answer isn’t wrong. It’s just the same three Essences in a different amount. The water and earth Essence amounts just about flip.”

  This was a very interesting topic to his entire audience. Several students under Cataphron’s wing practiced nearby, and had stopped to listen. They were mostly all earth-based cultivators. Over the years not a single infernal Essence user had arrived, but that hadn’t left the old Master without students. According to the records, it was rumored that Cataphron accepted his first student the same day he realized that he had lost the challenge. Loss changes a person, and knowing it before it officially happens? Even more so.

  Artorian lacked the infernal Essence channel, a fact Cataphron loved to lord over the man anytime messages made their way up and down. Jiivra wanted to know for certain. “So… you’re saying that a concept can have the same Essence-combination as another?”

  Cataphron managed to not disdainfully flick a sharp wooden stick at her. “Of course it can! The amounts will just differ. You can easily have a hundred people with a single Essence available, and it all leads to a different conceptual result. Simply because of everything a single Essence channel is able to accomplish. More channels just mean more options, as well as more limitations.”

  Finishing his skewer, he stabbed it into h
is cart as if it was a steel rod. “I’ve always been more interested in the latter, as in my experience I’ve rarely to never met people whose Essence channel amount didn’t match their intellectual oddities. I’m sure it’s more complicated than this, but those who are simple have few, and those who are not have many. It’s also an easy insult for those who have few, and is convenient for my cultivation improvements.”

  Jiivra looked away in irritation. She abyss-well knew that’s not how Essence channels were determined, but actual studies in the field were barren. She was unable to refute him with facts, not having a strong enough grasp on what actually determined the channels. She just knew it didn’t seem to be random.

  Initial channels were strongly shown to be inheritable depending on parentage. The environment and location seemed to have something to do with it, and experiences through the course of life had a chance to open new channels. It was theorized that how one chose to react to life and the world around them determine which channels naturally expanded, but the entire topic was mired in speculation.

  The ex-Headmaster grumbled, making the decision that he didn’t want to be here anymore. No longer did he need to be around people that thought it was perfectly acceptable to barge in with questions because the status quo had shifted. He considered what the new Headmaster had called him, and denied the position as he felt a tremor build in his spine.

  “No… I’ll not be the Gatekeeper. I feel the call, the push of the mountain. Already it rejects me. As I have lost the Headmaster title in earnest, I have failed this place, and it rebukes me. I will be Gatekeeper no further. I will remain no longer. I will descend into the depths of the mountain and seek the fate of my old Master, Diomedes.”

  He took off his apron and threw it to one of his students. “This is yours now. I have taught you how to handle my snakes. Cook the meals, protect the doors, and use your earth affinities. I am done, and of this mountain no more.”