Everyone froze, plus one individual.

“I think that’s enough for one day.” The third party swept in, and both of their auras were canceled out as if a blaze had met a hurricane. In the shadow of his hood, a subtle smile. “Wouldn’t you say, Xinrei?”

Xinrei barked, “Who do you think you are to speak to me like that, you raggedy old—” The boy was slapped into unconsciousness more thoroughly than Xinrei ever tried to do to Grisla. Not by him, his father took that honor.

Without hesitation, the old man sheathed by robes, companioned by a white crow, stood in front of the Patriarch of the Grittus clan and was surrounded by all the High Elders; the latter had their auras bursting out, consequently many in the stands toppled over from vertigo—the weakest passed out entirely. Others who managed couldn’t help but shoot their expressions, expecting a quick dosage of schadenfreude. A cracked old man who stumbles onto Grittus land, and thereafter, strikes the heir? Death would be an easy out for him.

One of the High Elders spat, “Regret in hell!” and darted forward.

The Patriarch, calm, said: “You’ll do no such thing Fang Gu, if you wish to continue living.”

“What?”

“I concur. You’ll die instantly if you dare strike me junior,” the old man chuckled. “Well, not like you could. But it’s the thought that counts,” his finger went to pet his crow.

“Junior?! I am one of the High Elders of Clan Grittus, sovereign rulers in this region!”

“And I’m old enough to have bedded your mother, probably have at one point, what’s her name again? Wait, you’re from the Fang clan? Oh, I definitely did.”

It seemed like the Elder in question was tripping over himself in a rage he likely hasn’t felt in a long, long time. A rage unbecoming of someone of his station. Then, before it got out of hand—

“Nobody will make a move. Should you do, I will kill you myself before my father does.”

The air froze once again.

“Wait,” the color from the Elder’s face drained. “My Patriarch, did you just… say, ‘father’?”

Patriarch Meng groaned, “I did not stutter.”

The audience; The High Elders; The Elders; The stands. All eyes widened, their thoughts in sync as a conclusion was hit like a dart to the target. Only one man it could be, a title thought lost to their people—Ancestor.

Once Patriarch Hao, now Ancestor Hao, stood in front of the whole of the clan.

“Is it you? My Patriarch,” the Elder’s tears wiggled down.

“Ancestor,” Hao corrected. “Some respect, please.”

Under a stare by both of his superiors, he fixed his composure. “Yes, please forgive me. May I ask though, why are you here—I mean, why now?”

Ancestor Hao averted his gaze, and instead turned to the Patriarch. “Why indeed.” He nodded, “That’s a good question. Maybe because if I hadn’t, my grandson would be dead.”

The Patriarch didn’t bother to act surprised, “I understand. My negligence has forced your hand. It’s my turn for a question, what was it? A treasure of some sorts?”

Before them, Grisla looked to have lost all control of himself now. His body was in a violent seizure on the floor, smearing blood wherever he laid.

“It’s not a treasure, more of a strange technique.” the Ancestor said. He watched Grisla’s sudden jerks. “No need to worry about it. An infant can only do so much, with so little understanding,” after laying a hand on the boy, his jerking, little by little, subsided. He then slept peacefully.

Ancestor Hao swiveled his head.

“My boy!” Gihren bucked against the Elders holding him, “What’ve you done!”

“Nothing much,” he said. “He’ll need some rest, and, in time, he might be back to fighting, possibly.”

“What?”

The Ancestor imitated the “What” face Gihren showed him, “Don’t you see? His cultivation’s a mess. I suppose, that’s what happens when one uses a forbidden technique.”

Gihren’s face paled. “Nonsense! There’s nothing the boy could do to cripple his own cultivation… it-it was you! You people!” His aura flared up, and the Elders’ muscles were in partnership with their Juva to keep him placated, even they had to expend effort to keep the former star, Gihren Orlith contained. “What else do you want from us?! He’s a child, my Ancestor! A child! He doesn’t want a part in your schemes or be used as a pawn in intrigue!”

Veins bulging, “We had a deal!” he roared.

Patriarch Meng, who had his face averted from the scene, shook his head. He picked his unconscious son up off the floor, as if he were a newborn again. Without a glance spared to Gihren, he muttered, “My Ancestor,” and vanished.

At present, the crowd lagged minutes behind the action, trying to absorb all information at a piecemeal pace. They muttered between themselves, and strange expressions were now thrown Grisla’s way as the cultivators amongst them caught a whiff of his Juva now.

One muttered, “But that’s…”

“First cycle? Barely could be called as such,” another said.

The Chosens' eyes bulged. Every individual within the stands scanned his cultivation, sweeping over it multiple times in disbelief. They exchanged glances with each other, all asking the same question: How? Grisla Orlith was at the seventh cycle, a finished battle and he’s at the first? They hadn’t heard of such a thing possible.

But they, like the rest, were tricked by the Ancestor’s selective choice in words.

Forbidden Technique.

They do exist. Though, for a young warrior like Grisla to be in possession of one? Well…

The Elders raised eyebrows; it was plausible. They saw the battle seven years ago, the strange techniques Mira possessed. It wasn’t that far-fetched a thought. Still, for the Chosen One to be pushed to the point of using some… peculiar technique that drops cultivation? Who would ever think such a thing’s worth?

Ancestor Hao waved a hand, and a released Gihren bolted to his child. Cradling him as if time never changed Grisla.

“I’d like you to know Gihren, your child fought well. Had it been another day, he would’ve…”

“Cut your lies! You’ve seen his core! He was fine just hours ago, and now he’s like this? It’s impossible,” Gihren’s words sent spittle flying on air. “Besides that, Xinrei should be disciplined! He obviously was trying to kill my Grisla!”

“…We both know,” the Ancestor sighed, “that won’t happen.”

Gihren’s voice quaked, “So, what about my boy? His foundation’s so damaged I don’t know if he’ll last a night.”

A ball shot towards Gihren, and he deftly snatched it.

“It’s a Soul Cleansing Pill, from Olimuth’s best batch. Make sure he ingests it. The way things are, he’ll be subsisting on it for the rest of his life. If he desires to continue fighting.”

“No way,” Gihren paled.

“After he recovers, it’ll be an uphill battle to try to regain what’s lost, if he can at all. Materials with high amounts of concentrated Juva will be able to gain him the jumping power needed to carry his core over to the next cycle. You feel it, don’t you? The leakage from him. That’ll be a permanent disability, I’m afraid. To gather Juva himself and advance is beyond him; inefficient at best, impossible at worst; forget that, not worst, the likeliest outcome.

“Ancestor… there’s no way anyone can afford, especially myself, the amount of cores and pills necessary to maintain that!” he held up the core to eye-level, “This’s a top grade pill! How much do you think I make a year to purchase enough pills to get him over the hump? Which will undoubtedly increase at an exponential rate with every cycle reached.”

Ancestor Hao leaned, “In your case? Well, not very far, if at all. A sad tale, really. The Northern Wilderness offers what you need, but even then, how many trips you’ll need to take, and risk yourself just to get him to a measly…second cycle?”

Behind him, an Elder or two shook their heads.

“You’re suggesting that I tell my son to give up? To just, let it die because your grandson’s an animal who can’t control his insecurity?”

“Watch your mouth, cripple,” an Elder said.

“I’ll do no such thing! You’ve all seen it—Xinrei is not a match for Grisla Orlith normally, just in the same day he took a defeat to him! And you all believe and accept that my son would go so far as to damage his own foundation in a duel?”

The spectator’s expressions flickered. They wanted to mutter certain words, phrases that’ll offer their condolences. But they wouldn’t; couldn’t. Not under the scrutiny of the supporters amongst the crowd, and some that stood with the Ancestor on the stage. Was it foul play? Possibly. Or was it as the Ancestor said? Possibly as well. Who were they to argue, and speculate for the truth? What would it do for them, even?

A ruined boy and a ruined father. Such a tragedy.

“I am sorry, Gihren.”

The white crow cawed overhead.

Gihren had a glance at Grisla, and a look back at the Ancestor already had the upcoming conclusion painted in his mind, how could he do such a thing? “No…”

Ancestor Hao cleared his throat before facing the crowd. “Chosen One, Grisla Orlith has fallen in battle against Chosen Two, Xinrei Grittus. In accordance with the conditions of the duel, Chosen One will be demoted to Chosen Two for failure to uphold his title. Additionally…”

“Chosen Two, Grisla Orlith. Will be removed from his position, stripped of all rights, privileges and status, effective immediately. Obviously, Chosen Three is now Chosen Two, and so forth.”

The stands hit a turbulence, especially at the Chosen section, where the members couldn’t help but take in a delight at another’s misfortune. Nobody expected it, prepared for it, but a sudden bag of gold dropped in their laps.

“Chosen Two?” Fang Lai grinned, “I like the sound of it.”

Rei Rangwha shot him a venomous look. “Excited you’ve gotten a handout? Disgraceful.”

“If only I cared. It’s Grisla’s fault for going to the extreme.”

“There’s no way you honestly believe that.”

Nang Herma, under his hood said: “Other than outstanding qualities to become a Chosen, we’re also vetted for our quality in character, and alignment with Grittus doctrine. Whatever our Ancestor says is truth, is truth. Or are you saying our Ancestor is a liar? That he would stoop so low as to denigrate a junior? Do you wish for us to kill you, Rei Rangwha?”

The remaining three all had an eye on her. Their Juva was primed to explode at any time, given the word. She could fend two off, but three she’ll certainly be slain. They may have their private loyalties to family, or whomever else. Regardless of all of it—not the Grittus family—the Grittus clan came first. Had anyone mentioned what she’d said, she would be saying the same as Herma; she sighed.

“It’s just… unfortunate.”

“I agree,” Herma whispered. “Though, I doubt it’ll be the last we see of him.”

“Huh? What makes you say that?”

He shrugged, “No reason. It’s a feeling, is all.”

Fang Lai scoffed. “I’m feeling like a celebration is in order, how about it, Rangwha? There’s a new place in the village and—”

“I’ll pass,” she denied vehemently.

It was, the very same as a death sentence.

Grisla was glued to the bed. Listening every word that was carefully, soothingly, and sympathetically spoken to him in a way that wouldn’t destroy him as he comprehended. But it was too late, that motivation. He was already bedridden and defeated. What could words do to him that action and consequence didn’t before? His father wept. He knew. Although it had happened either just minutes ago or further back, the traces of it lingered and were undisguised. Nobody would blame him. Others would turn to extremes upon hearing such a thing.

The examiner finished a stroke with her pencil, looking up, “What happened to you after you pulled some, Forbidden Technique is an aftereffect of it. In all my years, I haven’t heard of a Forbidden Technique that demolishes the user’s cultivation. Was it a price, or a consequence? May I inquire that I be detailed about such a skill, could it be that—”

Gihren clapped her shoulder. She got up, bowed, then left the room.

He took her former seat, then stared at a point in space. Grisla mirrored his father.

“I’m… a genius,” Grisla’s eyes crawled to Gihren’s, “right?”

Gihren... nodded. Just... nodded.

“Before you go,” he waited a brief moment, “you… had something to tell me.”

He shook his head. “No, not anymore. It’s unnecessary, have a good night son.”

“We’ll be training in the morning.”

Grisla closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him.

“You said your memory was tampered with, then…”

“Yes,” Grisla finished lacing his boots, “it was tampered with. I always thought it was odd father didn’t tell me much about her, now I understand. It was out of fear, that my curiosity will bring further undeserved misfortune down on me. Father shut down anything that might bring up inconsistencies in my memory, took time out of his day to check my loyalties to the clan, all because of that… because of them. “

“Before my departure to the Wilderness, he told me about my mother, then dispelled the weakening seal. I guess he figured that there’s no more point to stopping me, that, despite all the roadblocks he and the clan put in my way, I’ll still come to the same road,” he spat.

Seri crossed her arms behind him. “I see.”

He rolled his shoulders. “You wondered why I was so anxious to battle, the answer’s simple.”

“My mother needs to be found; there’s men that deserve to be killed.”

His ghostly advisor’s lips moved, making a sickle-like shape. “And you’ll be the one to deliver it to them?”

“Death is the sole recompense I desire. The Patriarch was right to fear me—I am not my father,” his frown chilled even ice, “I’ll be worse, I swear it.”

“What’s next, then?”

He offered her a light smile, “Need you ask?”

“My mistake,” Seri returned the gesture.

When he stood under the doorframe, his thoughts ran.

Xinrei Grittus. Meng Grittus. Hao Grittus. I've signed their death warrant. But, in order carry out judgement... I need power. This will take quite a while, and I need answers about my mother. The two go hand-in-hand almost. It matters little. No matter the years, no matter what suffering I must undertake, I’m promised to kill them. The Ancestor's softness will be the undoing of his line. Time is, for once, on my side.

Grisla Orlith the Untalented sneered, “Let’s go train."

THE CURSED CHILD ARC – END.

THE ROSEWATER EXCHANGE – BEGINS.