Sen spent some of those two hours gathering the scattered beast cores. He separated out the shadow cores from the destroyed constructs. After giving it some serious thought, he remade the constructs. However, they got made one at a time to limit the strain on that part of him that still ached. He was surprised to find that the lingering intentions in those particular cores were no longer as resistant to his intention for them to fight spirit beasts. That was helpful, but it gave him pause. They had died, so to speak, fighting spirit beasts this time. The reduced resistance suggested that the shadow constructs’ experiences were affecting the cores. Something he’d thought his suppression would have prevented.
There is clearly more happening here than I understand, he thought. If he had the luxury of taking a few years or decades to study these things, that would have excited the same part of him that loved alchemy. In his present circumstances, it was just another worry on a pile of worries high enough to touch the sky.
“For someone whose experiment just performed so well, you don’t seem pleased,” said Lai Dongmei.
The dozens of pairs of eyes that blatantly stared at the woman did not go unnoticed by Sen. He let a bit of his killing intent slip free. Everyone found something else to look at immediately. She smirked at him.
“Feeling possessive?” she asked.
“No. It’s just creepy the way they stare at you.”
“And it’s not creepy the way people stare at you?”
“It is,” he said. “I guess I just don’t notice it as much anymore.”
“Exactly,” she said. “I’ve had a lot longer than you to get used to it.”
“Fair enough,” said Sen before addressing her question. “I am happy with how they performed. I’m just painfully aware of how much I don’t know about what these things actually are or can do. I never, ever would have imagined that they could form techniques.”
Lai Dongmei frowned and asked, “You didn’t mean for them to be able to do that.”
“It's less that I didn’t mean for that to be possible, then I didn’t think it was possible.”
Lai Dongmei’s eyebrows drew together, and she said, “I can see why you’re less happy than I expected.”
“Look at those three in your spiritual sense.”
Sen pointed to three of the constructs.
“All right,” she said. “Done.”
“Now compare what you’re feeling from them to those three,” he pointed at a few of the other nearby constructs.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m surprised you noticed that. I didn’t until you pointed it out. Still, that is decidedly strange.”
“Right? I expected a bit of variance in the same way you see variance in a formation you set up somewhere new. But this goes well beyond that.”
“And you don’t know why it’s happening?”
“No idea. Not even an idea of how to find an idea. I wish Uncle Kho were here,” said Sen with a sigh.
“Why?” asked Lai Dongmei with a shudder. “That man is terrifying.”
“I’ll grant you that much. He is terrifying, but he’s also brilliant. Even if he didn’t understand what happened or why it happened, he’d probably have some thoughts about how to figure it out. He knows more than I do about, well, just about everything, I expect. If nothing else, though, the process I used to make these things has enough in common with formation building that it ought to give him a handhold for understanding it.”
“It’s easy to forget that he’s a true master of formations. That always gets buried beneath the stories of him using elemental fury to topple sects.”
“Erecting a formation doesn’t make for an exciting story, most of the time,” said Sen. “As useful and powerful as they can be, it’s pretty boring unless you’re the one putting it up.”
“I keep forgetting that you’re a master of formations, as well.”
“Oh no. I am—” Sen stopped himself from using the word adequate. “I am very good at formations. A master, though? I think I’m about five hundred years of practice short of being able to claim that title.”
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“I honestly can’t tell if that’s false humility, or if you actually believe it when you say things like that.”
“It’s true in this case. I have a very strong foundation, but there are nuances you can’t get through anything but years on top of years of experience. I can cheat my way to better results sometimes, but I’ve got a long way to go to get those same results through pure skill.”
Lai Dongmei tilted her head a bit to one side and asked, “And how, my good Lord Tyrant, can you cheat at making formations?”
Sen laughed.
“Oh, my beautiful imperial concubine, you can cheat at anything if you have the right tools.”
“What an interesting notion,” she said before eyeing the constructs. “And what will you do in regards to them?”
Sen answered with a shrug.
“What can I do? I’ll watch them and see how things progress. I’ll study them as much time allows, which won’t be nearly enough. I’ll hope that I’ve made something reliable. For now, they’re doing what I want them to do. If that remains the situation, I’ll move forward with my plans as they are.”
“I suppose that’s as reasonable a plan as the circumstances allow for if you mean to keep using them.”
“I don’t think I have a choice. You saw how effective they were. I don’t know if they’ll be the key to victory. Then again, they might be if I make enough of them.”
“Can you make enough of them?”
“Of the shadow constructs? No. There aren’t enough spirit beasts that have a shadow affinity. But no one said I could only make shadow constructs.”
Lai Dongmei stared at him for a moment before her eyes went very wide.
She moved in very close to him and whispered, “You can make them using other qi types?”
“It’ll probably be a little harder, but I can’t think of a reason that would prevent me from doing it.”
“This could—” she started before she grimaced.
“There it is,” said Sen.
“If they ever turned on us, or if you ever lost control of them, it would mean mass slaughter for mortals and cultivators. They could be an even worse threat to humanity.”
“And now you know why I’m worried about all these things I didn’t expect from them. They could be an extraordinary weapon, but the costs if it ever turned in my hands are almost unimaginable. And worse, I have no idea what would happen if I let them continue existing and then ascend. I can’t take them with me.”
Lai Dongmei looked a little torn before her expression hardened into something truly chilling.
“Win the war,” she said in a tone that almost made it a command. “We can’t win if we won’t take risks, and what happens when you ascend won’t matter if we don’t survive that long.”
Sen nodded. He’d reached the same conclusion, but it was comforting to hear someone else express those thoughts. Looking around, he could see the mortals and cultivators had long since finished eating and were sitting by milling around near the bonfire he’d made.
“Has it been two hours?” he asked. “I lost track of time.”
“It has. Probably closer to three now.”
“Then, we should get moving.”
The rest of the day and night went without any more encounters with spirit beasts. He was pleased the next day to find that the shadow beasts proved as tireless as Sen had hoped they would be. They ate up the miles at speeds that forced the mortals to close their eyes and huddle against the constructs. The cultivators were pressed to their limits to keep up. He was ultimately forced to let all of the qi-condensing and most of the foundation formation cultivators ride on some of the extra constructs. He’d expected it, but didn’t want to let them ride until after they had been pushed as hard as he could push them.
Maintaining those speeds while keeping the mortals from freezing to death also proved too much for them in the end. Sen took over maintaining a bubble of warmth around the mortals. A feat that, in combination with his qi platform that carried three people, drew more and more incredulous stares from the cultivators below as the hours dragged out. For his part, Sen spent most of his time maintaining that state of mind where no thoughts intruded. The reprieve from constant worries was a welcome boon. He also wanted to enter the capital in a calm frame of mind. He was certain that there would be countless things to infuriate him once he got there, so better to start out calm if he could.
It was the middle of the afternoon on the third day when the capital came into sight. Sen looked at the high walls that now protected the city. He considered the vast stretches of scorched emptiness where forests had once stood. They had passed into that area hours before. The cultivators in the city had at least continued clearing the lands in his absence. He knew he should continue on toward the capital, but he remained still for a full minute, head tilted back and looking at the cloudy sky overhead.
“What are you doing?” asked Falling Leaf, as she peered at him with curious eyes.
“I was enjoying my last minute as Lu Sen,” he answered, taking a deep breath of the cold winter air.
“I don’t understand,” said Falling Leaf.
He gave her a sad smile and said, “Lu Sen can’t do what needs to be done. The kingdom, hells, the world doesn’t need him. They need the man they think I am. They need me to be Judgment’s Gale.”
Sen felt his expression go colder and harder. He pushed back some of those feelings he’d allowed himself to have when with his daughter. The mask of a man he hated more than a little fell into place. Then, Falling Leaf snorted in amusement, very nearly undoing the work he’d just put in.
“What?” he asked.
“Silly human boy. You were always Lu Sen. And you were always Judgment’s Gale. Only a human would get so confused that you could believe they were different.”
It was with that unsettling thought and Falling Leaf’s hysterical laughter ringing in his ears that Lu Sen traveled toward the capital and the war.