Chapter 17: Sect Politics
The morning bell echoed through the outer disciple caves like a disappointed parent.
Tharia had been awake for an hour.
She'd stretched until her joints popped, brushed her hair smooth, fluffed her tail with Serenya's comb until it gleamed in the dim cave light. The bitter tea she'd bartered from the kitchens tasted like someone had boiled regret and called it a beverage.
She slipped into her plain sect robes, the same dull uniform everyone wore for formal lectures. Gray. Shapeless. Everything her illusions were not. 'Tsk.'
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Her heels clicked against stone underneath the illusion. Hidden. A small defiance against monotony.
By the time she joined the others, her tail swayed with too much energy for someone about to sit through what was going to be the most boring hour of her life.
The lecture hall was modest. Wooden benches worn smooth by generations of suffering. Stone walls etched with formations that probably did something. Candles that made everyone look approximately dead.
She'd sat in worse places.
Against the side wall stood Kaela. Arms folded. Several outer disciples straightened instinctively under her gaze — Tharia included, before she caught herself.
t the front stood a man whose expression had apparently been permanently set to unimpressed sometime around his fortieth lecture and never recovered. Hair gray at the temples. Posture flawless. The kind of posture that made you sit up straighter without meaning to.
He let the silence linger until the last disciple settled.
"I am Elder Maren," he announced with the warmth of a glacier. "You will see me often. Here in lectures. At the Resource Hall where your merit points are exchanged for resources you don't deserve yet. My task is simple: to keep you disciplined enough that Duskwind does not collapse under its own weight."
He paused. Eyes sweeping the benches. Counting.
"Today, you will learn the structure of regional sect relations. Even the lowest ranking outer disciple should not embarrass Duskwind by speaking ignorantly when traveling or trading."
Her tail flicked once. 'Hmph, as if I embarrass anyone.'
Elder Maren unrolled a scroll depicting seven sect symbols arranged in a circle. Duskwind's emblem sat apart at the bottom, smaller than the rest.
"Understand this clearly. Duskwind is not counted among the great sects. We are smaller, less resourced, and often overlooked. Our strength lies in endurance, not prestige."
One outer disciple muttered, "And sore muscles."
Another hissed back, "Quiet. Senior Sister Kaela is listening."
The exchange died instantly.
Elder Maren continued without acknowledging them. "Ironfang Pavilion. A martial sect with harsh training methods. They covet our mines and spiritual veins. Their disciples are aggressive. We have clashed with them before and we will again. They are stronger, but arrogance blinds them. Avoid unnecessary contact unless ordered."
He tapped the next symbol with one finger.
"Ember Hall. Fire cultivators. Flashy. Dangerous. Their demonstrations impress crowds, but their methods burn allies as easily as enemies. We trade sparingly."
"Frostspire Sect. Cold order and rigid hierarchy. Their icy arts are precise, but their rigidity makes them predictable. They view Duskwind as beneath them, yet they respect our order. Relations remain formal."
"Dreaming Lotus Sect. Illusionists."
Tharia's ears perked up.
"Subtle and dangerous in psychological combat. Their techniques are one rank above ours, but their philosophy bends toward manipulation. We treat them as rivals."
'One rank above?' Tharia's tail swished. 'Challenge accepted.'
"Stoneveil Monastery. Defensive cultivators. Body refinement and stoic endurance. They rarely involve themselves in politics, but their disciples are formidable walls in battle. We respect their neutrality and occasionally exchange training methods."
"Azure Tide Sect. Water techniques. Graceful, but politically entangled. Their alliances shift like the tides. We cooperate when convenient, but never rely on them."
"Skyreach Sect. Light and wind cultivators. Ambitious and arrogant. They aim high, often too high. Their rivalry with us is less about resources and more about prestige. They seek to outshine even the smallest sects and we are often their target."
He rolled the scroll shut with a decisive snap.
"Collectively, these alliances determine tournament invitations, resource allocation, trade routes, and political stability. Duskwind's voice is small among them. As outer disciples, your influence is minimal. Your duty is to avoid embarrassing the sect."
Several heads turned toward Tharia at once.
She blinked innocently. "I will only ever elevate the sect's reputation."
A hand shot up from the second row. The kind of recruit who still believed cultivation would be fair.
"Elder, I heard the sect holds tournaments. Is that true? Senior Brother Lin mentioned he'll be in one soon."
Elder Maren's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your senior brother is an inner disciple. His participation is expected. Yours is not. Outer disciples will not compete. Your task is to observe, learn, and avoid humiliating the sect."
Whispers moved through the benches before he'd finished the sentence.
"Tournaments?"
"I didn't know Duskwind joined those."
"Inner disciples only. Makes sense, I guess."
Tharia's tail flicked once. Twice.
Another hand shot up. "Elder, is it true the Stoneveil disciples train by standing still for hours?"
Elder Maren's reply landed like the man himself. "Yes."
Tharia leaned toward the nearest disciple. Voice low. "Finally, a sect with priorities."
Kaela's eyebrow twitched.
Elder Maren dismissed them with a tired wave. "Depart in an orderly fashion. Do not shove or sprint."
The outer disciples filed out in clusters — some debating tournament rumors, others comparing notes on vein-opening exercises, a few groaning about sore muscles and questioning their life choices.
One voice rose above the rest. "Why would anyone sprint out of a lecture?"
"I do if Senior Sister Kaela looks like she wants to make us run laps."
"That's... actually reasonable."
Tharia moved into one of the circles forming outside the hall. Flicked her fingers.
Pink light shimmered and coalesced into an illusion of Elder Maren. His robes drooped to the floor like he'd shrunk. Eyebrows stretched into absurd arcs. Expression locked in perpetual boredom so profound it bordered on existential.
She exaggerated his voice. "Disciples. Today we will discuss how to sit upright without expending energy. This is critical to your development."
Laughter erupted.
"Stop, I am going to get in trouble."
"His eyebrows look like two startled birds trying to escape his face."
Another disciple pointed. "Make Senior Sister Kaela next."
Tharia smirked. "If I make Senior Sister Kaela, we all die."
"Do it."
"Do not do it."
"Do it."
Tharia hesitated.
Then flicked her fingers again.
Light wrapped around her frame, reshaping her posture into a perfect imitation of Kaela. Arms folded. Expression carved from marble. One foot tapping with silent impatience that suggested violence was merely one wrong word away.
Several disciples snickered, leaning closer to watch.
Before Tharia could deliver the mock glare, the air shifted. She froze. Her tail went stiff as a board.
When she turned, the real Senior Sister Kaela was already standing there.
Arms folded. Gaze sharp enough to cut through illusions, dignity, and possibly stone.
The disciples around her shifted uneasily, their laughter stopping all at once.
The shimmering constructs broke apart instantly. Pink light scattering like guilty confetti.
Silence held for a moment.
The crowd scattered.
Tharia met Kaela's eyes. Kaela looked at the space where the illusion had been. Then back at Tharia.
"Dismissed," Kaela said.
Tharia fled.
...
Most outer disciples slept or nursed sore limbs or contemplated life choices. Tharia moved in the opposite direction, returning to the training grounds when the sky turned indigo and the first stars appeared.
The formations hummed beneath the stone, their carved sigils glowing faint in the dark.
She stepped into the center. Inhaled.
The System flickered into view.
System
[SYSTEM NOTICE -Progress detected]
Root stance sustained: 34 breaths.
Qi focus: Unstable (but less unstable than yesterday).
Vein resonance threshold: 2%.
Quest: Repeat sequence until stability exceeds 50%.
Note: You are improving at a glacial pace.
[collapse]
Tharia rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. I hear you."
[Good. Now do it again.]
She sank into her stance. Pink light flickered at her fingertips, trembling like a frightened insect that didn't trust her not to squash it. Sweat rolled down her temple as she held the position.
Minutes stretched into hours.
When her body finally gave out, she collapsed onto the stone with a grunt that was half exhausted, half satisfied.
...
Six days.
Morning drills. Evening terrace. Sleep. Repeat. Her tail developed an opinion about stone floors. Her heels clicked through formations she was starting to recognize. The System logged her failures with what she was increasingly convinced was personal satisfaction.
[System Notice: You are still bad at this]
"I know."
[Just making sure.]
"You are exhausting."
By the end of the week, she knew the formations by feel.
System
[SYSTEM NOTICE -Progress detected]
Vein resonance threshold: 12%.
Stability index: 2%.
Congratulations: You have achieved the cultivation equivalent of learning to crawl.
Note: Your squirrel nemesis is still waiting.
[collapse]
Tharia ignored the note. "Twelve percent," she muttered at the sky.
A breeze came through. Her ears moved without asking her. "At this rate, I'll be nothing but bones before my veins open." Her legs shook. Her breath came in rasps.
She'd train again tomorrow anyway.
She kept seeing the same disciple at the terrace's edge, repeating stances exactly as taught. Every night.
'Kaela's pet disciple.'
She couldn't decide if that was admirable or depressing. Her tail flicked. 'Probably both.'
She returned to her own grind.
Eventually she collapsed onto her back, chest rising and falling, and eyes fixed on the night sky where constellations she didn't recognize stared back.
"Tomorrow, fourteen percent," she whispered to the uncaring universe.
The stone was cold beneath her. Her body ached. Her feet hurt.
But she was smiling anyway.
System Status:
Host: Tharia | Age: 18
Status: Healthy
[TECHNIQUE ANALYSIS]
Illusion Proficiency: 33%
Chaos Stability: Fragile (Holding).
Qi Circulation: Vein resonance threshold - 12%.
Achievement: 'Style Over Substance'
Traits: 'The Reluctant Royal' (Passive).
Passive Techniques: 'Shame-Guard' (Passive)
Module: 'Path of the Unseen'
Active Techniques: Illusory Raiment (Rank: E)
Chaos Essence: 45.
Status: Duskwind Sect - Outer Disciple.
Active Quests: Exceed Vein resonance threshold 50%.
[collapse]