Two months ago, in Limbo.

“Movement?” Grisla looked as if he’d been given a plate of dung, “Apologies, but I fail to see how moving faster would change anything. When White Tiger said you were going to be my advisor, I didn’t expect you were going to teach me some dance moves…”

That earned him a slap. “Dense fool,” Seri said. “Moving fast is more to it than just mere running. Watch me,” to illustrate, she smoothly transitioned herself from ridiculing Grisla, to doing a back handspring that catapulted her from the surface; twisted her body into a backflip, and then—under the watch of the boy, vanished from his gaze.

“What?” He blinked.

Looking around; there was nothing but the typical nothingness of Limbo in front of him. Seri was gone. “Uh? Mister White Tiger? Where are you? I think my advisor ditched m—"

Grisla’s head moved with the slender hand that forced it. “How dare you call for master unannounced. Anyways,”

As if he hadn’t even noticed he’d been slapped, the boy perked up: “Wait, what? Where did you go? That was awesome! Teach me that, teach me that! I want to go invisible too! Then I can be like,” Grisla stiffed up, “‘Nothing personal, friend.’ As I sit behind them.”

Shaking her head, “That wasn’t invisibility, nor some sleight of hand. It was basic footwork,” she reminded with a foot tap.

“Footwork doesn’t do that.”

“You know what I’m going to say, yes?”

“Something something ‘Your clan’s footwork is like watching babies walk,’ that sort of spiel?”

Seri raised an eyebrow. “That… was almost exactly what I was going to say. Good job.”

“Disciple Grittus lives to serve,” He bowed.

Rolling her eyes, she continued, “The mortal eye falls to illusions and trickery, but also fails to capture high-speed motion very well. You’re aware of that fact even with waving your hand very fast. The effect is intensified to where after a certain point—you might as well not bother trying to see it at all.” Seri did it again; this time she stood four steps away.

Noticing Grisla’s concern, she added: “It’s especially effective on humans particularly. Reasons being obvious. Before you ask—it can be mitigated, with cultivation as the first answer, but that isn’t so clear cut. Prior to the Houtian level your eyes are not any whit better than a non-cultivator. Your core cannot provide the Juva necessary to enhance what your physiology lacks. And, even if it could, what then?” She pointed, “those eyes of yours are untrained to make use of it, like a chimp given an axe. That is one of many reasons you cannot see the depths of the place you stand in.”

“Making it a hard skill to counter, for now,” Grisla said.

“Precisely. There’s always a possibility you will encounter a disadvantage, whether it be in numbers or strength. Knowing how to make use of your feet and agility will provide innumerable benefits to every endeavor you pursue and get thrown into. For example, if I threw something at you right now, are you fully confident in being able to avoid it?”

He shook his head.

“That should never be your answer. It’s the road to a certain end.”

“Reason why I’m giving you this, is your movement is the easiest thing to learn for both your level and it’s my estimate of your comprehension. If you want to hold up your end of the bargain and absorb what you can to become a worthy ‘substitute disciple’ then this shouldn’t be anything difficult for you. Actually,” Seri tilted her head, “your observational skills aren’t too shabby. Despite your hard-knocks.”

Grisla grunted.

That bout of expressive joy he had before, was long ago bussed to his insides. Solemn student on the outside; festival animal below, thinking of how such a long time, it’s been that he has someone offering their marital insights and guidance to him, even if its by way of a third party.

“A question,” Grisla said. “So, I’m just fixing the way that I run?”

Seri instructively said, “Not really. I’m teaching you how to run. This isn’t a rough fixer-upper. No, I’m imparting to you the only movement technique that one of my masters, as he’s known and named as White Tiger: authored, employs, and embodies. You—will be an imitator, always will be, and that’s because its impossible to have a 1:1 copy in the understandings of the one who tailored it; doubly so because master is of an entirely different species and origin from you, therefore many of the finer subtleties will be lost to you. As it is for me. However, to become the Sage means you’ll eventually become the embodiment of the Cardinal Four—in the image of a man.”

To not get his hopes up, she added: “If you become a sage.”

To be, or not to be… What does it matter?

Grisla was sure—there would be no better teacher than the ones provided for him in this realm devoid of life and creation. Sometimes listening to Seri gave him moments, scenes that played out as if he were still just Grisla the first cycle, Grisla the Untalented. A boy intently listening to the doctrine doled out by Elder Jinshi. The two overlapped, and one had its certain qualities over the other, driving the initial one out inch by inch, over time.

“Next morning, get some exercise in and come back. If we start early, you’ll have the expertise in half a year.”

“How long would it take for a basic application?”

“I don’t know?” Seri looked around, a finger on the lip, “maybe three months?”

“I’ll do it in one,” he stood up.

She couldn’t help herself from a snicker. “You think an Esoteric Technique can just be learned with some motivation? A little bit of pumping up and raring-to-go energy? Let’s be sensible here.”

“Never been more like it,” Grisla said.

“I’m far and away from any prying eyes, and no Elders will come look for me, discounting father. Under normal circumstances father would bar me even if he had to break my legs to do it, as you’ve seen him try.” Noticing Seri’s nod, Grisla went on, “Honor’s the best card to play to force a man’s hand, but I don’t want to do that again. Having him worry for me… isn’t what a son should burden his parents—parent, with.”

The two figures stood under the carpet of the sky. From there, Grisla stood in abject silence. Waiting, unconcerned whether an answer will come. It mattered not, because Limbo’s divergent time flow allowed him this privilege. His short advisor strolled to him, and with a wave of her hands a thin tome, spotless and perceivably aged, sat on her palm.

Written in possibly the sloppiest handwriting he’d ever seen.

Steps of the Alpha...

With her consent, Grisla held the tome himself. He couldn’t put a word to it—and describing would be a far cry, possibly an ignorant opinion on just how boundless it felt to him. There was more to it, just like the world of Limbo. Just like how Seri exists. Just like how anything he’d been lost in understanding to felt like at this point. But it was multiplied in this situation. He cracked the book open, and on the foreword page…

“With speed, possibilities are opened. In your quickness, a defeat becomes uncertain. Gifted with haste…” Grisla read.

My confidence will grow.

The child had a subtle grin to his audience.

“Irksome savage,” Sun Yangchen spat. “Dead and you don’t even know it.”

These four disciples had their expectations blown off their hinges. The most obvious of which came from the fact that Sun Yangchen hadn’t even processed his next move, and instead, as if he were one of the involved three spectating, stared at the light-footed boy. His silver sword: entrenched in the bark of the tree for a ghost no longer there.

The wild child couldn’t stifle a sneeze after the scuffle, a nose wipe with no consideration for his situation. He spent time inspecting himself like a feline, each section of his clipped hair made him into a thirty-day savage instead of a sixty. Those ribbon-ends for robes were already haggard from their owner’s primitive life. Presently they’re a sad casualty of battle, taking more eager cuts than it could bear.

Amid that, the child looked over.

Disciples they were, in name and definition, yet their honed skill made them deadly enough to threaten the footing of the ignorant, mortal world. Despite their talent, they were just mere children in the Solidification realm. With such accomplishment, with such raw feats that outstripped any normal person; what was there above them? Just what could surprise the surprisers?

Grisla knew. He saw it with his own eyes. The apex of their savage world. If he were speaking unfiltered, it halfway impressed him. That beating heart below him needed a stronger stimulation. The best rush he’d ever gotten, or ever would feel as he’d expected came from a White Tiger in a world untouchable by anyone in the land. His heart did drum; the tempo was unfortunately half of what it should’ve been. If only he never came across the Cardinal Four in his lifetime. But still…

I would love to fight them; however, these numbers aren’t to my liking.

Overconfident to his audience—uncertainty in his head. Multiple opponents with unknown abilities; that goes for Yangchen too, who hadn’t even revealed a single bit about himself other than his preference for swordplay. His eyes flicked to the once-ago crater, now filled in and part of the pond itself, the hammer which came for his life wasn’t retrieved by any of them; yet it vanished just as they think he does.

Ji Nan’s technique, am I right in that?

The perpetrator had some look of apprehension; no one could blame him though, and that sentiment is shared. But Grisla’s explosive effect had melted in a beat, and the vanity that waited in line reared its head again.

“What trickery is that?” Ji Nan said. “A disappearing third cycle?”

“Must be an illusion,” said someone.

“Or some treasure that’s on him!”

Affirming himself, Ji Nan said, “Of course, how else could someone just vanish from our perception? It’s impossible.”

“Maybe Elder Sister has a better nose for treasure than I thought,” He giggled.

Only, that Elder Sister in question was wordless at present. Her flagpole posture didn’t flinch; those eyes of hers maintained their focus, taking in details that Grisla wasn’t privy to know. She did wince, but it was too vague to be sure.

Yangchen blinked as if he was trying to figure through whatever illusion mentioned. That spiritual sense of his probed Grisla’s strength. He did it again—and one last time in a double back.

What’s up with these guys? Trying to be cordial here… and they attack, even while I’m in talks with them? Then again, they did try to kill me from behind. Such cowardice.

Grisla shot a displeased glance Ji Nan’s way, who—returned the same in kind.

They aren’t the wolves back then. And I’m in a deficit when it comes to knives on hand.

Other than his Juva and clothes, there was no tools to assist here. That brought about a furrowed brow for himself, this would be the first time he’s encountered an errant cultivator; not one, but instead four. Hailing from a Sect they had loose ties with no less.

The Jade Fate Sect from his recollection was a hub for martial education and training over the Serrated Mountains which delineated the border between them and the Grittus’ holdings. The first point of difference was the fact that the Jade Fate Sect was a assemblage of all the unaffiliated cultivators under one name, they weren’t bound by ties of family or descendancy, rather through the united pursuit of following the Path. An encouraging thought that to them, there were more important things than who you descended from, and what talents you carried with that. Instead—talent was first. Always.

People like Grisla were born to be a Grittus clansman, then a cultivator afterwards. He was fully aware of his privilege over the common man, in the awareness of that, sometimes the discrimination against him wasn’t too bad, if he kept it relative. Cultivators hailing from broken or unequipped families and organizations would find it an uphill battle to fund the development of a warrior. That’s one reason why sects are so alluring. The benefits of having a clan while not being part of one and tied to inconsequential things on the pursuit of the Path like rank and status—only accomplishment and talent were foremost.

Second, the Jade Fate Sect was a few steps away from his Grittus clan's political weight in this region. Hell, it is a fact itself; although they are an independent organization and have their own sovereignty, the bigger picture is they’re still a satellite group under the umbrella of the Grittus clan. Grisla wasn’t too sure of the details, but through diplomatic (Grisla can’t confidently say one or the other, but,) negotiation the Jade Fate Sect pays tribute and loyalty to their betters, and weirdly enough that counts for Grisla too.

This was an incident that preceded their childish spat, as Grisla thought.

Should the clan find out about this…

He rolled his eyes. Why should I even give a damn about that? This’s the first time my legs get to stretch in quite a while! I’ll enjoy myself and find a way out before I get seriously injured.

A pop sounded out. Grisla’s neck, like taffy, moved for relief.

“Listen,” He said. “I’m not interested in fighting, but…” A classical sneer stretched his face, “I’ll dance if you want to. What you saw before wasn’t a trick, unfortunately I don’t have any on hand.”

“Yeah, sure.” Yangchen spat. He yanked his sword out the bark, and in the steel’s absence its sap for blood filled the void. “Like we give a damn what you want. You’ve kicked the lion, savage. I’ll lay the choices out for you.”

Grisla looked him up and down. “From who, you?”

Yangchen swiped the air, “Haughty brat! Enough!”

The swordsman’s feet delivered him to Grisla’s proximity. A sword, again in déjà vu attacked in witless understanding. Their silhouettes played cat and mouse around the pond, in the forest and sometimes above the tree branches. More than a few trees they passed were left with scars fit for a four-war veteran; The bark mutilated and exposed for the world to see its nakedness in parts.

Grisla’s robe fared better the longer their tussle went about, dodging a stab. His eyes didn’t miss a detail from the start. A requirement if he enjoyed breathing. With a grunt, Steps of the Alpha made Grisla’s figure vanish once more in Yangchen’s vision; reappearing at his back, fist balled and ready.

“My turn,” He smirked.

A whimper of pain bounced off the forest trees. When Grisla’s fist landed on Yangchen’s exposed back, enhanced with his Juva, it sent him into a pathetic tumble over the foliage. Grisla saw the opportunity while he was dazed, and his speed drove him close by. Wisdom guiding his thoughts, a short skirmish to end him as quickly as possible would be in his best interest, for Steps of the Alpha consumed Juva like a junkie. There weren’t any laws of man or codes of honor anywhere here—if there were, it died in the wake of their first attempted assault on him.

Grisla intended to disable him in his second strike.

It’s over for you!

At least, that’s what would’ve happened in a perfect play. His spiritual sense hit the alarm; three presences and their Juva flared up like fireworks over yonder. A new priority hit the desk, with that known Grisla’s body used the full potential of the Esoteric Technique to seemingly teleport him a ways away.

“He dares! He actually dared to injure you,” Ji Nan screamed. “To disrespect our Jade Fate Sect in this manner means there’s no path left for you!”

Grisla frowned blatantly. In the snapshot, Yangchen was struggling to pick himself up while encircled by his fellow disciples, ready and eager to pulverize him. Ji Nan and Mu Yin as the vanguard—their auras flared together made Grisla balk at the foreboding event.

“Is this how the Jade Fate Sect works?” Grisla spat, incensed, “He gets up on the backfoot and you’ll spring in to save him like he needs it? I’m the one a cycle lower, remember?”

“Shut your mouth. We’ve no idea of what trickery you employed to do such a thing, for all we know we’re the ones being thrown for a loop here! As if I’ll allow you to shame my fellow brother any further!”

Grisla ignored him, looking to Mu Yin. “What then, you’ll come at me together?”

Frowning, “If necessary, then yes.” She said.

As they stared him down, keeping their senses locked on and picking at him like crows, Grisla… under angered eyes, let out a breath. A soft breath, unworthy of even being mentionable. However, it did a smooth transition to a giggle. From a giggle to a chuckle, and then—heartful laughter.

Since when was I worthy of being ganged up on, by objectively stronger martial artists, no less?

“Alright, that’s fine.”

Grisla made a beckoning motion. “My shadow can’t be touched. Do you want to prove me wrong?”