Azul jolted up, breath shallow, throat raw. Heaving. He blinked, then stared at the ceiling, then at the many crumpled up designs that littered his bedroom floor.
"Where am I?" He mumbled, looking around some more, then it hit him, it was his home.
The last thing he remembered was the bard, and the drinks, and the girl…the girl!
He had made a promise. He shot up from the bed, but then fell down near instantly, clutching his head like he had just been hit with a hammer.
The drinks from last night had not fully left his body. He opened and closed his mouth, then swallowed, immediately grabbing his neck when he felt a dry, raw sensation at the back of his throat.
He rushed for some water, running on all fours, and gulped it down, getting rid of the stinging pain and his dry mouth.
His mind was starting to clear up. He had made a promise to that girl and that cunning butler, something about a dog? Spirit beast? He had gotten something? Oh no! The Mirror Leopard!
He held his head and groaned, cursing his past self for making him agree to such foolishness.
He had said he would meet the butler at high noon today, at Lady Vespara's estate; he was sure the butler had already told his Lady. There was no way he was disappointing a noble.
He glanced at his empty bed. The sheets, unkempt and stained with piss from the night before. What was worse, Azul hadn't even been able to take the barmaid back with him. "Filthy wench!" the man spat, "After I paid so much." Even as he said it, he knew she'd played him like a flute. A flash of a smile here, a bit thigh there, a whispered promise—and he'd sworn himself into something ridiculous.
He tried to get the thoughts of the barmaid he fancied out of his head.
The night was a waste. He crawled to the window, getting up midway through, so he was eventually in a standing position while he clutched the wall, and pulled apart the embroidered cloth he used as curtains.
The light rammed through the opening like a stone from a slingshot. He immediately fell back, shielding his eyes and hissing out in pain. He maintained this position for a few seconds and looked out the window again.
Azul jumped up in shock. It had to be near noon already! Then got up, ignoring the pulsing pangs in his head. The tanner wiped his face down with a newly dampened cloth ignoring his slight drowsiness, making sure to do a once over on his armpits as well, before putting on a new robe over his old one.
'Good enough.'
There wasn't enough time to get properly prepared. He'd have to walk up to her and hope she didn't notice his breath and the foul clothing under his robe.
As soon as he opened his door to leave, he heard a small horn, like a miniature trumpet. Then a man, dressed in all green, shouted, "Tanner Azul," came a deep, nasally voice, "You have been summoned by my noble Lady, Vespara."
Azul immediately opened the door, noticing all the neighbours peeking through their windows and curtains to see what was going on. Trying to glean as much information as possible without being noticed.
He groaned on the inside. For her to directly summon him, there was no way he was getting out of this.
Azul lowered his head and bowed, the green dressed messenger, barely looking at him as he had his nose up at a slight angle, nodded in appreciation before asking him to get in the carriage.
It was a small, dainty thing. The type used for getting things delivered to people of…higher stock. Not the kind the silver bloods usually rode in.
It was made out of solid wood, and had an insignia on the door, right in the middle of it. An open book with a horned white horse, the background a dull sickly yellow, from age and years of use.
The messenger sat in the front, where the horses were, and Azul sat in the back, looking out the window at the people he passed, briefly going in and out of imaginations where he was Master of some noble house, before coming back to reality and breaking into cold sweats.
A Celestial Mirror Leopard. Those would only be around the city of Lunis during the winter, and even then, he'd have to get someone to catch them. It would be easy work for a cultivator, even a low level one.
The problem was what kind of cultivator would spend his time on such small fry? Especially when they could be going into secluded cultivation or doing something that actually mattered—like finding natural treasures.
Azul started biting his lips. A habit he had retained from childhood, making sure to slow down when he tasted the metallic tang of blood hit his tongue.
There was no way he could call his normal contacts. They were good hunters, but they weren't friends, and if he had a friend who would sacrifice his life to get him a Celestial Mirror Leopard, there was no way he would allow it.
The carriage hit a bump. Azul flew upwards, hitting his head on the carriage ceiling, all of a sudden noticing how he felt during the ride.
He had ridden in these sorts of things before, always revelling in his perceived superiority before realizing how uncomfortable these things were.
Every rock, every hole, every turn, he could feel in his bones, like it was the road's job to remind him of who he really was.
His teeth chattered. He wasn't sure if it was from fear or the route they were using.
###
They were now in Lady Vespara's estate. Azul stood next to the butler in front of those large ornate doors, as they waited for the lady to finish with whomever she was talking to.
Soon the door opened, and they were let in.
Huo Feng sat in the middle of his room. Legs crossed over each other, surrounded by upturned furniture and hastily stacked tables he barricaded his doors with. They'd be useless against any actual cultivator, but it made him feel like he had control. Like he was safe.
The spirit core pulsed faintly in his belly. He didn't have that much time. The more he left the core unassimilated, the larger the risk of the core revolting. It would do whatever to be unassimilated. His first order of business? To fully assimilate the spirit beast core before it destroyed him.
He took a deep breath, hands above his knees.
Huo Feng cycled his qi around his body, each inhale gradually pulling wisps of qi from the core. It fought against the assimilation, like thick, tarred blood being sucked through the eye of a needle. His muscles tensed, he squeezed his eyes tight.
He persevered. Making sure to remove every single morsel of qi he could from the core.
If he was lucky, he may even go up in cultivation? Maybe enough to finally be more powerful than Hung Lee, those were the kinds of thoughts that ran through his mind as he cultivated.
Nearly three full days passed before he finished. His eyes had remained shut the entire time, he ignored the screams of his body as they pulled and fought against the way it was positioned.
But he had to do it. The whole ordeal taxing him more than anything else he'd ever done in his entire life.
When the last trace of qi was finally his, he collapsed backward, gasping like a man just saved from drowning.
He rose shakily, then pushed—his qi surged outward in a smooth, arcing ripple. The air around him warped faintly. Third stage, mortal refinement. He smiled. He and Hung Lee were equals now.
He had previously surpassed Huo Feng in cultivation, which made Huo Feng nervous, doing everything he could to speed up his cultivation.
'That bastard has had so many resources and elixirs to guide him and he still cannot match up to me. Hah! A simple third stage mortal refinement, is that anything I cannot do?' Huo Feng laughed to himself, a little too loud. A little too manic.
But now, the most important part. The part he'd been waiting for. The reason he was now so confident about his chances of revenge. Of leaving this backwater sect and gaining real power.
The sword!
He bent down and picked it up. Holding it like it was his first-born child.
There was only one problem. He didn't know how to use it!
He tried everything from spilling blood on it, to sleeping next to it, he even tried to see if stabbing himself with it would work. The sword refused him.
Every attempt—blood, qi, desperate pleas—was met with silence.
It was at the end of one cold night, when he came to the thought of inserting both his qi and his blood into it at the same time.
He got to it immediately.
He circulated his qi from his qi core–his dantian into his hand, as he gripped the edge of the blade, making sure it cut him, then into the sword.
Nothing happened.
He almost let go. Then the sword started to get hot, too hot. Even for a cultivator like him. He wanted to let go but it stuck to his hands now. Like glue.
He almost screamed for help. Then a bright light shone from the sword, illuminating his fearful visage.
Out came a scroll, a thin, white, paper scroll. And on it, he saw…