It took another day until we caught up with the Elder, at a fast clip that felt effortless to me but would have undoubtedly exhausted any mortal within the first hour. We ended up marching well past the sunset, and started again after only a few hours of troubled sleep. A few days of peaceful sleep on comfortable straw and wool had left me ill-prepared for harsh stone and dirt, and my wrist and ribs still ached from Stag’s brutality. The tiredness, pain, and my own fear that the old cultivator would manage to race ahead of us motivated me to keep up the grueling pace. After all, what if the strange old man would find a fork in the road, and head in a totally different direction? I couldn’t take the chance.

  As it was, I shouldn’t have worried. When we finally caught up early the next morning, it was to find the Elder walking at the utterly, painfully slow pace that he’d kept up since we’d last seen him.

  “At this rate he’ll make it to the end of the First Son by the beginning of the harvest season,” Isabella scoffed as we watched the old man carefully shuffle along. “Only an immortal could walk so slowly.”

  I shook my head in disagreement, watching him from a tree further back down the road. “It doesn’t matter if they have all the time in the world for it; no cultivator of that power would accept moving as slow as a mortal would.”

  I looked over the old cultivator as we crept after him, taking in all the details that had been obscured by darkness before. Overall, if it weren’t for my own memories of the Elder eviscerating Stag, I would’ve just thought him a poor hermit. His hair was an unkempt mess, wisps of white straying out to surround a bald spot that a more self-respecting man would either hide or embrace, and his facial hair was matted together in an unpleasant stringy beard that drooped down to his chest. The only two pieces of clothing he seemed to wear were a pair of crudely carved sandals with frayed rope thongs barely holding them to his feet, and the robes that seemed to swallow his form were tattered and worn from untold ages.

  But even with their condition, the robes held a clear clue to this old man’s nature. I hadn’t looked very closely on the night of Stag’s death, but under the light of day I could make out their natural colour; a deep rust-brown, thoroughly dying the fabric to the point that the original colour was lost to time.

  I shuddered at the thought. This man was monstrous, like the very worst stories of cultivators who would wade through any number of peasants to take what they wanted. Except those sorts of villains were always cruel for the very sake of it; the way this man had behaved so far didn’t speak to any rhyme or reason to his actions beyond-

  “Excuse me.”

  I leaped away as fast as I possibly could, instantly exhausting the little bit of qi I’d regenerated since leaving home for the sole purpose of . Shortly afterwards, I crashed backwards into a tree, its entire canopy shaking and dropping some seeds and branches to the ground around me. I slid back down along the trunk until I laid at its roots, gasping for air as my heart thudded so hard against my chest that I was sure it was attempting to put even more distance between me and the Elder.

  Curiously, the only other sound I could hear was Isabella struggling to control her laughter.

  I turned my eyes along the road towards the Elder. Rather than looking at us, he had turned his focus to the obstacle in his path.

  “Important Sect business. It is best if you move aside now,” the Elder plainly said to his foe.

  The fallen tree that laid in the road before him did not respond.

  Isabella snickered. “Jumpy there, Ryan?”

  Isabella’s laughter turned into a high-pitched squeak as, somewhere behind her, the obstinate tree was utterly obliterated in a flash of qi that left me blinking spots from my vision. All that was left of the stubborn trunk was a pile of sawdust and splinters raining down from above. The Elder brushed the splinters aside from his ragged robes, and continued on.

  “Jumpy there, Isabella?” I retorted, and then winced as a hard tree seed bounced off my head. “Let’s just both agree that it’s better than being reduced into my constituent parts.”

  “Agreed.” Isabella shook herself off and offered me a hand up, which I gratefully took. “Alright, is that normal for the cultivators you remember from the Sect? Randomly eviscerating helpless trees?”

  “Absolutely not. I thought it was just some extreme aloofness, not some crippling deficiency! Who’s meant to be in charge of him?” I gestured at the Elder’s back. “He’s too powerful to not have a leash, and he’s just .”

  “I mean, if he’s from some Sect, can you imagine trying to him?” Isabella raised an eyebrow. “Maybe they figured, ‘better the peasants than us’.”

  We both watched the Elder for a moment as he shuffled along the road, and I sighed. .

  “Well, whatever it is, this is still an opportunity to learn some more.” Isabella started walking again, and I followed. Rather than keeping back at a distance, we closed the distance to no more than ten paces away, matching the Elder’s slow shamble. “So, Sect. If he is from one. Is he?”

  I ran my eyes over his robes again, and shook my head. “If there was an insignia, or colouring, then it’s lost to whatever dye-job he’s done. And I don’t think any Sect goes for ‘dried blood’ as their colours of choice.” I changed my focus to the bag that the Elder held. “I think a clue might be in there, though.”

  “In his bag?” Isabella stared at me. “In the insane, elderly cultivator’s bag? The cultivator who turned another cultivator into mince for standing in his way? That person’s bag?”

  “I feel like you’re assuming I was going to suggest something really stupid.”

  “Not at all,” Isabella said tonelessly. “I’m sure you have a brilliant plan for searching the bag of a cultivator that could erase you from this world with a snap of their fingers.”

  “,” I emphasised, “that’s what’s brilliant about it.” I pointed at the bag, which even from a distance I could see bulged with its contents. “can open it.”

  Isabella kept staring at me. “You want to do it?”

  I turned my hands up. “Why not? You got the pills back at the hospital, didn’t you? All you need to do is grab it!”

  “That was some weak cultivator on the other side of a building! What do think is going to happen if the crazy Elder realises his bag is gone, and it’s suddenly right next to you?”

  “I…” . I sucked on my lip. “Okay. That’s not an option.” I straightened as another thought occurred to me. “But it doesn’t actually matter.”

  “You dying matter?”

  “No, as in we don’t need to open it at all!” I spread my arms. “He’ll open it for us!”

  Isabella blinked. “You planning on asking politely?”

  “No no, this is a good idea, I promise,” I said. “Consider this; a powerful and crazy cultivator is walking along these roads for some reason. He’s clearly got going on, whatever the important Sect business is. Even if he’s delusional, he’s got some purpose driving him. All he cares about is that purpose.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Okay…” Isabella said slowly. “And you think the bag is for that purpose?”

  “Even more importantly, it’s something he needs to have access to at .” I slapped my hands together.

  “You lost me.”

  “He’s powerful enough to use a flying artefact, or just fly outright.” I gestured back at the woodchips of the tree. “Whatever’s wrong with him, I think it also affects his ability to use those items, or do anything precise with qi.”

  Usually, the signs of a technique’s activations were heralded by the opening of a flow of qi, pouring forth through a cultivator’s body in some specific pattern. But when that technique flared into existence, I didn’t feel like I was looking at a person with qi running through their veins; it felt like I was staring up at a volcano, a torrent of molten rock exploding up into the sky. At no point did it feel controlled, or even purposeful; it simply , an instinctual expression of qi like nothing I’d ever seen.

  “It also explains why he’s carrying a bag in the first place,” I continued. “A cultivator that powerful would surely have access to artefacts to store things for him, like a ring, or some piece of jewelry. But I’m not seeing anything like that on him. So either he’s got something under his robes-”

  Isabella snorted and muttered something under her breath.

  “-,” I shot her a look, “he can’t use them at all. Considering most artefacts need precise qi manipulation to be activated, and his own mental state, maybe the bag is his only option.”

  “That still doesn’t answer what’s the damn thing.”

  “He’s going to open it,” I asserted. “Why else would he have it? And considering he’s giving us about as much attention as the damn trees and grass, all we need to do is be around for when he does.”

  For a moment, I did allow myself to wonder about the contents of the satchel on the Elder’s shoulder. Even if the old cultivator’s mind had left him, he still saw fit to walk these roads and carry with him. If he could no longer make use of artefacts, perhaps they’d been left to collect dust in his bag? A cultivator at his level might not need mortal supplies like food and water, but perhaps he carried medicines and qi pills appropriate for someone of his level?

  … I shuddered at the thought as I cradled my sore wrist. I hadn’t forgotten about the overwhelming sensation of those pills, even if Isabella had quickly and literally knocked it out of me. The sheer surety I’d possessed with the Ruby Tears had given me a glimpse at what it felt like to be immortal, and after the close call with Stag, I desperately wanted that reassurance back in my life.

  Isabella tsked. “Do you know how many cultivators I’ve seen grow dependent on their magical little potions and drugs? You should be careful with those things, Ryan.”

  I stared at her. “Beg pardon, but if I recall things correctly, it was ”

  “Yes, I healed your body and kept you from dying, you’re very welcome,” Death nodded firmly. “So, we wait for him to do the work for us?”

  I sighed, but nodded. “We do.” I watched the cultivator in front of us take another slow step forward. “But in the meantime, we can figure something else out. I don’t suppose you can see anything else weird about his soul, now that we’re just-” I waved my hand back and forth at the short distance between us and the Elder.

  Isabella clicked her tongue. “It’s…weird. You don’t get any feeling from him, do you?”

  I looked at the old man shuffling ahead of us, letting my eyes trail along his blood-stained robes and unkempt appearance. Without the overwhelming impact of his technique, the Elder simply underwhelmed instead. “I felt something when he’d used the technique. Nothing right now.”

  “Right.” Isabella rubbed at her face. ”I said it was like a mountain. You cultivators like to use metaphors for things, right? Run like the wind, flow like a gentle stream, so on?”

  “I don’t think anyone at the Seven Falls Sect has ever used the latter.”

  “Shut up.” Isabella kept staring at the Elder. “The Seven Falls Stance. What does it feel like?”

  I thought about it for a few seconds, shifting my legs and rolling my shoulders as if I were about to enter the Stance. “When I first started using it, I spent more time making sure my qi was flowing properly rather than thinking about being like a waterfall. But now that I can use it for more than a second...”

  “So your waterfall technique does feel like a waterfall.” A frown tugged at Isabella’s face. “Would you happen to describe this guy’s technique like a volcanic eruption?”

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s exactly it. Spot on, actually. Do you get the same feeling?”

  “It’s not a feeling, Ryan,” the avatar of Death pointed the scythe at the Elder, “and it’s not a mountain; his soul a mountain. I’m looking right at it. It’s made of this mottled grey rock, and it’s been piled up higher and higher. And here and there, I can see where it’s been carved or melted, and I can see tunnels leading further into the core of the mountain. And whenever he uses that technique, I see that eruption of qi from the top, and more of it spilling from the caverns in the side as well. And,” Isabella hesitated, “it looks…broken.”

  The road crunched underfoot for a few more seconds as Isabella’s words circled my mind. Once again, I considered the Elder walking before us, the hunched old man still taking step after shuffling step, eyes fixed about ten feet in front of him. I tried to peer deeper, to see underneath the skin of his mortal form and glimpse the volcano again, but it remained hidden from my sight.

  “One moment.” I rushed off the road, approaching the nearest tree and foraging under it for a moment for a fallen branch. Then, hefting it up onto my shoulders, I strode past the cultivator, making sure to keep distance on his left, and tossed the branch twenty paces in front of him.

  “Ryan!?”

  Then, ignoring Isabella’s wide-eyed look, I grabbed her hand and pulled her off to the side of the road behind the Elder. Then, as we huddled beside another tree, we watched as the Elder began his routine.

  “Excuse me. Important Sect business. Please move.”

  The branch did not respond.

  “Ryan-”

  “I need to see it again,” I said.

  “It is best if you move aside now.”

  The stalwart branch bravely remained still.

  This time, I was ready for the eruption. I watched as qi began to flow, and then as the technique morphed into the briefest flash of the cultivator’s soul.

  For that moment, I saw what Isabella told me. I saw the mountain, made of a grey stone with black and brown stains. I saw it sloping up towards a peak, channels carved through it and holes dug deep into it. I saw where the stone cracked and crumbled,and where several of those holes had collapsed, cutting off passage further in. I saw the eruption from the mountain’s very crown, and how even more qi was diverted out through tunnels that had been dug out without thought or care.

  I stared at a mountain that towered above me, and wondered just how hollow it was.

  Then, with a blink, the image disappeared, and the old man was walking forward once more, the branch gone.

  Isabella pulled her hand free and chopped me across the head. “What if that went wrong!? What if he recognised you threw that?”

  I span around to face her. “You said Yun’s soul was like that? Exactly like that!? Was it collapsing? Did it look like it was falling apart?”

  Isabella stuttered for a moment, before rising to her own feet. “No, not like that! I’ve never seen a soul like that before, ever, I promise.”

  “So Yun isn’t…” I swallowed, staring at the walking corpse in front of me.

  “Ryan.” Isabella put a hand on my shoulder. “I promise. I… I didn’t know this was something that could . And Yun’s soul wasn’t like this. His was…injured, somehow, ” She held a hand up to stop me, “But it looked like it had been repaired, somehow. His wasn’t even like a mountain, it was more of a…well, like an ape.”

  “Yun’s soul…” I blinked. “Looks like an ape? This didn’t seem important?”

  “I mean, he a giant ape!” Isabella hastily justified. “He was weird, what was one more thing?”

  . I put my head in my hands and took a deep breath. “Please tell me we’ve learnt one useful thing.”

  “Well,” Isabella paused for a moment. “I can keep an eye out. Someone with a soul like this is dangerous, so if we know ahead of time, we can avoid them, right?”

  I nodded slowly. “I can only see them when they’re using a technique, which is hardly useful if they’re using it on me.”

  “Which saves me the trouble of figuring out how to keep you alive as a pile of ash,” Isabella said, swinging her scythe over her shoulder.

  “How kind of you,” I deadpanned, before turning to where the Elder was a few hundred feet further down the road. “Hopefully we won’t have to risk it for much longer.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Isabella muttered as we started walking again to slowly catch up with the cultivator. “With our luck he’ll only stop in the next week.”

  I huffed a laugh. Then, after a few seconds, I looked at Isabella. “What does mine look like?”

  “Your?”

  “My soul.”

  “Right.” She thought for a moment, rubbing her chin. “It’s really colourful. One of the more colourful ones I’ve seen, actually, like stained glass layered on itself, but it’s surprisingly warm despite that, and soft-”

  “Soft?” I blinked. “Sorry, you can it?”

  “Um.” Isabella froze for a moment, before breaking into a jog, pulling ahead of me as she avoided my gaze.

  “What do you mean I’m warm and ” I began to run after her. “Isabella-”

  “Excuse me-”

  “” I leapt to the side, crashing into a bush. “”

  Isabella ignored my call, still racing ahead.

  I let my head fall back against the shrubbery, looking up at the roadside canopy. I lifted one hand above my head and stared at it, rough knuckles and callused fingers highlighted by the autumn leaves. “Soft? Really?”