Book 11: Chapter 68: Shifting Responsibility
Ten shadow constructs stood in a mostly neat row. Sen considered them with mixed feelings. He’d made them with the express purpose of fighting in the war. Something had proven both easier and harder than he’d expected. It was easier than he expected because the intention echoes inside the cores had already been primed to some extent for violence. Most spirit beasts who grew in power long enough to develop strong cores were forced to fight in the wilds, either for territory or survival. That aligned well with his intentions for them to function primarily as weapons. He wasn’t trying to get them to act against their own essential natures.
However, these cores had almost all come from spirit beasts that were actively engaged in fighting human mortals and cultivators at the exact moment they died. That had left a surprisingly potent mark on the lingering intentions inside the cores. They wanted to kill humans more than they wanted to kill other spirit beasts. He hadn’t expected it because he’d bypassed most of that problem with the shadow wolves. It had still been there, but he’d engaged deeper, more profound intentions that were native to the wolves. Things like pack loyalty and protecting the young.
That hadn’t been an option with these constructs because most of them weren’t wolves, and because he couldn’t focus them on protecting an individual. He had considered making their goal to protect him. That might have let him get around the second problem, but he thought that might make them abandon other fights if they believed he was in trouble on the battlefield. In the end, he’d been forced to suppress the lingering fragments of personality more than he wanted to. The result is that they expressed far less individual will than the ones he’d made for Ai and Zhi. They were better than a static construct that required constant direction every single second.
He still feared that their lack of personality would end with most of them dead after every battle. Without some personality to breed a bit of creativity or very specific instructions, they’d probably run headlong at the enemy. That did have its uses, but it would end up slowing the march down if he had to keep remaking them. Of course, that’s just speculation, thought Sen. Until I throw them at other spirit beasts in battle, I don’t really know anything about how they’ll react. That uncertainty gnawed at him a little. He didn’t want to leave a potentially potent weapon unused, but he also didn’t want that weapon to turn in his hand either.
It would be particularly troublesome if these things reverted and turned on his troops. Particularly if they proved to be as strong as he suspected they were. That was also information he lacked, but at least it was something he could potentially test before arriving back in the capital. Then again, it was all an empty promise if he couldn’t make more than one of these things at a time. They’d be a curiosity, rather than a tool.
“Stop daydreaming and explain this to me,” demanded Fu Ruolan, startling him from his ruminations.
“I have explained it to you. Several times,” answered Sen.
“Then you didn’t do a good enough job of it,” she snapped.
“Probably not, but me explaining it to you the exact same way, again, isn’t going to make it any clearer to you. Besides, we both know that the explanation isn’t the real problem.”
Fu Ruolan glared at him and made a discontented noise. For a moment, he thought the woman might actually stamp her foot. Not that he could entirely blame her. Most of what he was doing relied on shadow qi, which was her area of expertise. He even thought that she could probably do all of that. It was the other part, the part that relied on weaving in other kinds of qi in just the right amounts, that would be forever out of her reach. He wished that he could just write it out for her, all in neat steps like an alchemical recipe.“You damned heavens-kissed geniuses are so frustrating,” fumed the elder cultivator. “What’s the good of accomplishing something like this if you can’t ever teach it to anyone?”
Sen remained quiet for a few moments as he struggled to come up with a good answer. He was confident that it was good for him and his cultivation journey to keep trying to do new things. Succeeding at them was no doubt better. How could it not be? Keeping his thinking flexible now would only help him keep it flexible later. He did not want to fall into the trap of rigid thinking as the centuries rolled by. Yet, none of that really answered her question. Cultivators didn’t usually worry about other people, but sect patriarchs were in the habit of passing down secrets to their sect elders and particularly favored core members.
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Except, Sen couldn’t pass most of his secrets down. There were a few prospects in the sect who were slowly developing the ability to use multiple qi types consistently. However, they were all a long way from being able to replicate anything he did. They just didn’t have the raw power for it, yet, to say nothing of the finesse. He also couldn’t pass along that intuitive sense of how and when to manipulate qi in alchemy or making these constructs. Given enough time, someone might come along who could do it, but probably not anytime soon. As things stood, he might never get a chance to teach anything to anyone, depending on when the heavens forced ascension on him. There was one answer he could give, though.
“It might help me win a war. That strikes me as a good thing, on balance.”
Fu Ruolan looked like she desperately wanted to disagree, but couldn’t quite make herself say the words. Even if she had, they would both know it for a lie. The other nascent soul cultivator went from glaring at him to glaring at the constructs. Then, from one moment to the next, she deflated as if all the indignation was leaking out of her.
“Sen,” she said in a tired voice, “cultivation only advances if some people share at least some of what they discover. That’s why people take on disciples. Hells, that’s why some people start sects. You can do things that I’ve never even heard about other cultivators doing. And you’re going to ascend without sharing any of it.”
Sen was honestly shocked by Fu Ruolan taking this particular stance with him. He’d never known her to be particularly invested or interested in sharing knowledge. When he’d gone looking for her, she’d made him agree to be her student for five years. That particular pact was something that they’d both come to accept he’d never be able to fulfill. The world just wasn’t going to let it happen. Still, the whole thing left him feeling a little wrong-footed.
“You know that’s not by choice,” he reminded her.
“I know that, boy. It doesn’t make the loss any less significant. Imagine how different this world would be if more people could do what you do.”
“I have imagined it,” said Sen. “I sincerely doubt it would be an improvement.”
It was her turn to hesitate.
“No,” she said, her usual cynicism returning. “It probably wouldn’t. People being what they are.”
“Well, even if I can’t teach this to you, it doesn’t stop you from watching. Just because I don’t know how to adapt the method for someone without my peculiar skills, it doesn’t mean you can’t figure it out.”
“Shifting the responsibility, are you?” she asked with a lifted eyebrow.
“It’s just a testament to my faith in your abilities,” he said, drawing an eyeroll. “Also, yes. Of course, I am. I’m a cultivator. You know us. We never play fair.”
“That’s the heavens’ own truth.”
Turning his attention back to the shadow constructs, Sen’s dissatisfaction surfaced again. He shook his head. There was so much ground to explore with this discovery, and he was exploring none of it. He’d just have to accept that for now because nothing was going to change it anytime soon. He focused on the storage ring where he’d separated out all of the shadow-attributed cores and drew out three of them. Fu Ruolan looked at the cores before she glared at him again.
“Are you about to do what I think you are?” she demanded.
“This only works if I can make them in groups,” he answered.
“Well, get on with it. I may as well get all of my crushing envy out of the way now.”
Sen decided that responding to that last comment was unlikely to yield any good outcomes for him and focused on the cores instead. As well-practiced as he was with dividing his attention, he was far less practiced with dividing that part of himself that handled all of those minor adjustments to his alchemical creations. It felt a little like he was straining an underused muscle. It wasn’t painful, but he was definitely aware of the added difficulty. It was similarly straining to impose his intentions on three different cores at the same time. Even so, he managed to form three more constructs.
“That was more taxing than I expected,” he muttered.
“How sad for you. You actually need to try at something,” grumbled Fu Ruolan.
Ignoring her, Sen withdrew five cores from the ring and went back to work. The increase in difficulty from three cores to five wasn’t an order of magnitude, but he thought he’d be sweating if he could still sweat. He decided that he’d only increase the number of cores by one with each attempt. The strain increased swiftly. Oddly, he found it wasn’t a strain on his qi but on his mind and something ephemeral that he could only assume was his soul. When he got up to ten cores, he knew with certainty that it was his limit. It took every last ounce of concentration and will he could muster to finish making them. Even after it was done, he felt wrung out and lightheaded.
“I hope that gets easier,” he gasped.
It took a few moments before he noticed Fu Ruolan staring at him with a strange look on her face.
“What?” he asked.
“If you didn’t look awful right now, I think I’d hit you.”