Malware: A Cultivation Academy Series (Bastion Academy Book 2)

by J D Astra

  Time to improvise.

  I took a deep breath and steadied my shaking hands, then envisioned what I wanted to do. Mae’s presence was strong as she prepared to guide my actions with pinpoint accuracy.

  All at once, I released my claws and leapt off the ledge with a twist. I turned mid-air and fired the grappling line back toward the window with a prayer to Jigu. The hook hit with a thud and pulled us back into the stone building with a crunch.

  I winced as another leg jammed into the body housing. The limb was barely responsive and leaking munje.

  “Twenty five percent,” Mae reminded me again, and I growled.

  I let the line out and sighed with relief when I touched down on solid ground. I released the hook and reeled it in so fast, the force of it locking in place bunted us several meters down the street. My gold munje leaked out in a noticeable trail as I skittered away from the building.

  ‘Mae, mobilize the en reserve and try to patch that up, would you?’ I asked as I galloped through the shadows along the bay.

  “Not sure there’s enough, but I’ll try,” she said with apprehension. Just because the odds were bad didn’t mean we couldn’t get lucky.

  But I’d been down on my luck most of my life, so I probably shouldn’t bank on a miracle—which was likely what we needed at this point.

  I slowed to a limping trot to prevent the jammed leg from bouncing around while Mae was trying to fix it. Slowly, the golden stream faded to a trickle, then stopped.

  “Got it, but bad news; ten percent left. We can’t make it back on that.”

  I needed to get creative again, and quick.

  I stopped, allowing my munje use to drop to insignificant levels as I scanned my surroundings. The bay wasn’t far off... What if I could drift closer to home?

  An early morning passenger boat with bleary-eyed outer-city workers putted by, and I grinned.

  “Praise Jigu, she heard me,” I whispered and got moving.

  The old tugboat turned passenger car was loud enough I could feel the vibrations from the road, and I knew the sound of my grappling hook would go unnoticed. I got up to a gallop and jumped, doing the same maneuver as with the window. I looked over my shoulder and took aim, then fired the hook at the engine compartment of the ship.

  The hook hit with a plink and latched onto the metal of the exhaust valve. The boat dragged me along, and I felt my legs scraping the stone boardwalk. This was too loud; it wouldn’t work.

  I kept up an awkward backwards run as I looked around for something, anything else that could help—

  A loading dolly! The fisherman had to transport huge amounts of iced fish up and down the boardwalk to the market, and these little portable rolling devices was how. And there was one within claw clamping distance in just a few meters.

  I kept up the backwards canter and lined myself up to snatch the dolly.

  “Six percent.” Mae’s warning was not well timed, but I breathed down my nerves and sucked in a refreshing breath. I could do this. I’d done way crazier things before.

  My heart pounded in my chest like a stampede of angry metalmaw boars. The dolly came within reach, and I snapped my claw against the metal frame. I yanked it under me, wrapping my operational legs around the edges of the metal.

  I let out a deep breath, and my shoulders fell away from my ears. I released the death grip on my pants and shut down most of Tuko’s functions. I kept a small amount of visual data running and one claw to allow me to move around obstacles in our way.

  “Your luck right now astounds me,” Mae said with disbelief.

  ‘Hey, it wasn’t all luck. I had to do some thinking, too,’ I thought with a cocky smirk. I knew it was mostly luck, but I liked thinking I had outsmarted the horrible odds.

  The boat pulled us along, and when I saw the end of the docks, I released the grappling hook. I used two limbs to roll us through the streets on minimal power. I was grateful Bastion was slightly downhill.

  I dumped the dolly on the other side of the street and skittered into the hole in the wall as Tuko’s ma ran dry. I opened my eyes, a huge grin burning on my cheeks.

  “I am a legend,” I whispered, and my breath crystalized on the air.

  “Oh, get over yourself,” Mae said with playful sarcasm. Her face appeared in my vision for a flash, rolling her eyes at me. My grin widened—something I didn’t think was possible—and I untied myself.

  I scaled down the tree with ease and met Tuko at the wall, filling his reservoir enough to get him back into Woong-ji’s workshop. The sky was shifting from midnight navy to the predawn hues of orange and pink.

  I hadn’t slept nearly enough, but we’d gained valuable insight. The insignia on the boxes and the location of the signal broadcast. I walked to the area of the glade where meditation would take place to find Ko-nah was already there, legs crossed and eyes closed. I swallowed to quell my nerves and pressed on.

  “You weren’t in your bed when I got up,” he said without opening his eyes as I approached.

  “I was taking a walk,” I said nonchalantly, though my heart was racing.

  “For two hours?” he fired back immediately.

  “Yes, for two hours.”

  He hummed in acknowledgement with a tone that said, “I know you’re lying.”

  I plopped down next to him, heat swelling in my cheeks. So, he’d woken up when I left. How had he faked being asleep so well Mae hadn’t noticed? More importantly, how many times had he seen me leave and watched where I’d gone?

  The others joined us silently as the morning went on. I couldn’t keep my focus on meditation, so I cycled what remaining energy I had into zo. Breakfast came and went without being able to update Hana, Cho, or Yuri on the early morning success. Though it wasn’t the signal location, I felt we’d gathered relevant information and made significant progress.

  Li Alchemy was first, and today, Sung-ki had a rather cheerful expression. A sense of unease spread through my body as I looked at his unnatural grin. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt as though I’d done something wrong. Sung-ki shouldn’t have any knowledge of my wrongdoing, if it could be called that.

  When the final gong rang, Sung-ki snapped the door to the hall shut. “We will be experimenting with extracts today. The first student to destroy their vial, by any means, fails my class.”

  I grimaced and saw Hana, Cho, and Yuri exchange worried glances at the front of the class. Ko-nah didn’t look concerned in the slightest. I couldn’t afford to fail, and with li being my absolute worst munje, I knew I had to tread carefully.

  Sung-ki picked up a tray to show off seven slender tubes, their exteriors reflective and corks secured. There was an eighth, empty vial that was clear. “You will be given seven extracts in unmarked vials. When mixed, each will produce different results. There are three hundred and forty-three different combinations, and a third of them will destroy your vial. Timing matters. Speed of mixing matters. Method of mixing matters. I hope you’ve paid close attention these past six weeks.”

  Chapter 24

  SUNG-KI PLACED THE tray on Hana’s desk, then returned to the storeroom for his trusty wheeled cart loaded with similar trays. He moved through the class, placing trays on each student’s desk as he said, “Step one will be to identify all your extracts. Write them down and label your vials. You will be graded on this.

  “Step two is to identify what mixture you want to make, for what purpose, and what you think the outcome or side effects will be. You will be graded on your accuracy, as well as your daring. Mixing only two extracts will result in a lower grade than mixing all seven.”

  Murmurs of disbelief sprouted around the room. Sung-ki smirked and said, “Yes, all seven can be mixed successfully.”

  “What will we get for mixing all seven?” Tae-do blurted.

  Sung-ki’s gaze narrowed on him. “Well, if you don’t melt the skin off your face, create noxious fumes, or blow up, you’ll pass my class today with the highest grade I can give. Good luck,” he said
as he set the tray on Tae-do’s table.

  The students around him chuckled, but were cut short when Sung-ki went on, “This is no laughing matter. The dangers of a malicious mix are real. You could do serious harm to yourself or others. If you don’t know what you’re doing”—he looked at me with a stern glare as he set my tray down—“don’t do it.”

  He wasn’t cruel in the way he said it, but he was serious. He wanted us to be aware of the power we held in our hands and not to abuse or misuse it. I took his warning to heart, preparing for a failing grade from ineptitude.

  “Yes, Master.” I dipped my head.

  The students around me quieted, their faces taking on pained expressions of worry or genuine fear. The risk of serious harm was real. I took a deep breath and started step one: identifying my vials.

  “I can help, if you want,” Mae offered.

  ‘I’m not going to cheat my way through school. You know this.’

  Mae sighed. “Okay. I just really don’t want to blow up.”

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ I thought as I furrowed my brow.

  It wasn’t as hard to identify the extracts as I thought. We’d seen all of them before. In fact, I think we had been the ones to create them some weeks ago. They were refined from when we’d pulled the extracts, but they were still our own work. There was sayuki basil, maggot-rot mold, purila’s tail, lychii seed, yellow juniper, poh-pah berry, and witch-weed.

  We had never mixed more than three extracts at a time in class. Given that my li was still below average, I searched my memory for the most complex mixture I knew was at my skill level or just a little above. I didn’t want to blow up, but I didn’t want to look like I hadn’t been paying attention.

  Okay. I could do this. I knew from a week ago that mixing maggot-rot mold, then witch-weed and yellow juniper would result in a fragrant salve used in aiding regeneration—for external use only. It was a safe bet, but I knew what I was doing, so I went for it.

  Within a few minutes, I had successfully mixed the three together in my spare vial, creating the strong-scented, deep-purple goop. Sung-ki came to appraise my work. He hummed as he assessed the mixture and then my documentation.

  “Not very daring, but you did know what you were doing and did it well. I’m impressed with your growth, Mr. Law.” He scrawled his finger across my page with a burst of silvery ry munje, leaving behind a “4/5” at the top.

  With nothing else to do for the rest of class, I watched the other students, especially Cho. I couldn’t see his table well from here, but he was moving both arms furiously with minty-colored li munje zipping off into the space around him at every gesture. He tipped another vial and swirled the receiving one gently, then went on to the next.

  He was going for all seven.

  I swallowed hard. ‘Is he doing it right?’

  Mae’s cartoonish face appeared in my vision as she shrugged. “I don’t know...”

  When all the other students had finished, Cho was still working away. Sung-ki had ordered us to move our desks back—just a precaution—and watch him work. The master had an approving smile on his lips as Cho held the last vial in his trembling right hand. This was it. Would he explode or create a knock-out gas?

  He tilted the vial at the rim of the concoction ever so gently until a tiny drop slipped in. He pressed his thumb firmly over the mixture vial and shook his hand violently, his eyes pressed together tightly in fear. When nothing happened, he uncovered the vial.

  White mist slipped from the glass and blanketed the table, then the floor, spreading in every direction like slow-moving milk.

  Sung-ki clapped, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Well done Mr. Pak. He has created Creeping Mist. It is used in larger quantities to artificially decrease visibility on the battlefield. With a little tree-cover, this potion is exceptional for subterfuge and sneak attacks.”

  I whooped and clapped my hands, leading the whole class—save for a few—in raucous applause. Cho grinned, and his shoulders fell away from his ears. He sat back in his chair—only to realize there was no back. I leapt forward to catch him, but it was too late. He fell from the stool, spilling the white liquid across his uniform.

  Tae-do was the first to laugh, followed again by the rest of the class. “All that li, so little zo.”

  I gritted my teeth and helped Cho up. Sung-ki passed me a rag, but before I could help him clean off, Cho ripped the cloth from my hand with a pained scowl. His eyes were red and glossy, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Yuri and Hana moved in to obscure him from view as he wiped himself off.

  “Enough,” Sung-ki called, and the students quieted. “Leave your creations at your desk. I will grade them in due time. Everyone is dismissed except Mr. Pak.” The students around us dispersed slowly, grabbing their things and heading for the exit though class still had some fifteen minutes left.

  I put a hand on Cho’s shoulder, and he looked up to me. “You’re a legend. You don’t even have to try for the rest of the year!” I said, then knocked my chest twice and held out my knuckles to him.

  He pursed his lips, looking down at the stain on his dobok, then returned the gesture with a smirk. “It was pretty cool, huh?”

  “It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” Yuri stressed the word as she patted his back. Cho brightened considerably. Yuri didn’t often lie, and so her comment was more reassuring than mine.

  We moved toward the exit without Cho, who approached Sung-ki near the storeroom. Hana led the way out to the hall, but stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Tae-do. He stood with arms crossed, glowering down at her. The heat in my chest drove me forward, and I stepped up, putting myself between Tae-do and my friends.

  “Oh, Soo-boi!” Tae-do called with a smirk, and Shin-soo stepped around to the front. “We have a few extra minutes until class. Challenge Hana to a duel.”

  Shin-soo looked between me and Hana. “But you were saving my duel—”

  “Challenge her!” Tae-do bellowed. He grabbed Shin-soo’s dobok and shoved him into me.

  Shin-soo’s forehead was creased in panic, his eyes wide with fear. He smoothed over the expression and cleared his throat as he stepped back, then squared his shoulders. He looked at Hana. “Duel me.”

  “Gladly,” Hana replied with a growl.

  There was nothing I could do but watch. Two of the students in the growing ring of observers darted off to find instructors, and within a minute, Sung-ki and a young female instructor I didn’t recognize were among us.

  “What are your selections?” Sung-ki asked in a bored tone.

  “Zo,” Hana said as she rolled up her sleeves.

  Shin-soo was holding it together, but I could tell by the creases in his forehead he was worried. I wasn’t sure if it was because Hana was going to pummel the munje out of him or for some other reason. He’d never want to hurt Hana, as far as I could see. His hate had always been for me... and this was still about me.

  Tae-do wanted me to watch—helpless—as Hana had to fight. He knew I could beat Shin-soo—he saw me do it last year—but maybe he thought Shin-soo would be desperate enough for ranks to actually give a fight against Hana his all.

  I’d seen the rank board recently. He’d been fighting Shin-soo against Ko-nah, and Shin-soo’s record reflected the thrown challenges. He’d gone from low one-hundreds to one-ninety in just a few weeks. Shin-soo didn’t want to hurt Hana, but if he wanted to keep his head above water, he’d have to.

  Tae-do was torturing both of us at the same time.

  “Ry,” Shin-soo declared, and I furrowed my brow. I knew that was not one of his best munjes. It seemed he would throw the duel against her after all.

  “And the third?” Sung-ki asked.

  The crowd shouted options, but I could only watch. What was he thinking?

  “En it is,” the young female instructor in red robes said. “Hana, you’re the challenged. Your choice.”

  Shin-soo swallowed hard, then subtly pointed a thumb a
t himself.

  Hana squinted, then her gaze shifted to me. I nodded toward Shin-soo.

  Hana squared her shoulder and declared, “Ry first. Shin-soo.”

  I didn’t know what he was playing at, but I hoped Hana could find out.

  Chapter 25

  BEFORE THE INSTRUCTOR could declare the challenge, Shin-soo cast a purple ry silence around himself and Hana. The group gasped, and it took all my effort to stay in place. I knew the spell couldn’t hurt her, but my reaction was nearly beyond my control. What was he saying?

  The red-robed instructor pushed her way through the crowd and into the bubble. It dissolved in an instant, and the instructor pulled Shin-soo away from Hana. Hana’s hands glowed black, poised for a strike, but she’d held back. Her eyes were wide with confusion, and she followed Shin-soo with her gaze as he was dragged backwards. He nodded slowly, and then she looked at me.

  “Mr. Tam! I had not declared the challenge! You’ve lost the ry engagement,” the instructor chastised him, but Shin-soo wasn’t upset. He looked relieved.

  “Next is zo,” Sung-ki said in a drone.

  “I concede,” Shin-soo said without missing a beat.

  “But we haven’t begun,” Sung-ki said in disbelief and quirked his head.

  Tae-do crossed his arms and puffed up his chest. “Fight her or else.”

  My fists clenched at my sides. I wanted to destroy him. I wished I hadn’t sentenced him to no duels.

  Shin-soo looked to Hana, who mouthed the word, “Fight.”

  “This’ll be good,” Ko-nah said under his breath. I looked over to see a violent gleam in his eyes that made me sick. He wanted to see them fight, even though it was obvious Shin-soo wasn’t interested.

  He caught my gaze, and the hungry expression disappeared from his face as if it’d never been there. Instead, he looked worried, his brow pinched in concern. Everything about this was wrong. Maybe I’d misunderstood him? He had been speaking quietly when he said it.