I don’t get him.

Seri, arms held behind her back, had a quizzical face. Her eyes traced a figure, moving fast, sometimes slow, and other times in-between. She couldn’t lose track of that person even if the world was crumbling. He was just too slow. Every time she thought he was dead, he managed to delay another execution for a few seconds. Some improvement, but…

It’s slow going.

When he asked of her for this request, if she had a tael for every time he proposed some inane idea, buying her way out of servitude could be a real possibility. Though, she did have no use for mortal currency. However, watching him take a leap of a step back, it wouldn’t be too disrespectful to assume he might’ve gotten dropped on his head seriously. Grisla Orlith was blinded—literally this time. A dodge too late stole his sight; if he wasn’t somewhat experienced with ‘Steps of the Alpha’ he’d be a headless thing on Limbo’s floor.

She flicked an eye to someplace, then looked back at his motionless figure. He wasn’t ready for another assault. The strings holding him up were frayed, sad things. Whatever pool he sipped his endurance from could be construed as a devil’s trick. For who, she wondered, could be this masochistic for uncertain gain?

This paradoxical play is, in many ways a reminder of why she picked him in the first place.

She’d almost forgotten that. It hasn’t been a full year yet, and still, sometimes it was hard to connect him with the stringy boy she had discovered months ago. There were times his simple nature exposed his weakness, allowing outside forces to meddle with a leaf barely kept whole. On the other hand, as she found out, that softshell exterior came to be a trap for the former predators to wander in, feel comfortable—then the sheep laughed as the cave’s exit closed.

It was hard for her to pin down which was the real Grisla. He hadn’t met her expectations, for any candidate under her responsibility yet. Still, he had something.

Everyone has something.

Grisla’s fist penetrated air to touch nothing. He spread his stance wide, an attempt to preserve flexibility and alertness which he so requires. It mattered little. The imitation crab she created on request was equivalent to the strength it depicts in the real world—a beast with physicality on par with a fifth cycle Shade Beast. She didn’t tell him that, though.

This would be the first time Grisla’s encountered an opponent he doesn’t have a countermeasure or option for beforehand, as she recalls. The wolves were dealt with by cleverness, the disciples by surprise, and Hu Wing by raw skill. She’d wonder how long it would take till a day like this would come. Grisla didn’t have a clue, but it was also a test from her, to him.

After blinking, he was bisected at the hip. No matter how many times he was impaled, sliced or crushed his yells wanted to pierce the veil of their sky; even with the situation evident. She paused the imitation out of concern against needless agony. His veins looked as if they wanted to explode.

Seri came close. “Done?”

Conscious, but unresponsive. His own eyes couldn’t focus on a point, darting around like he was in the midst of an electrocution instead of a faux hemorrhaging.

“…gan,” Grisla whispered. “A…gan.”

He muttered it, on and on he recited. As he did the last four times. She was so familiar with his dying throes that Seri could tell the exact point when his brain shut off visual processing, and whatever spilled out of his mouth was more for himself, and not for anyone else.

The light faded from his eyes. The body dispersed into little motes of light, vacuuming to a point in space serving as the ‘door’ to this empty realm. He will return, she’s sure of it. Six hours in Limbo meant a day in his world. Slowly, his brain will realize it’s alive, and that everything’s alright, during that anything can happen and he’ll never come awake. It’s a process that must be completed before the coma can break. In a way, his death is her lunch break.

It wasn’t long since he left, when—

A jolt came to her. She looked up to the featureless sky.

“I’ll be there right away.”

Seri was walking. To where? Nowhere specifically. But walking was the way there, and so she does as she must. Crossing a space ranging from vast to infinitesimally small. Her phantomlike form leaves no sound, creates no trace; even air has disdain for her. That frosty expression of hers carried itself all the way from Grisla’s departure, to the sudden chair in the middle of nowhere specific.

As she sat down, Limbo’s sky warped.

From their point of view, they were descending from a heaven above, falling at a fixed velocity. Going towards a chair that looked like the smallest grain of rock amid an ocean of featureless land. She’d seen this spectacle so many times it bored her beyond redemption. They always had nothing to do and flaunted it at her expense. Then again, did she herself have anything better to do? Some thoughts floated by as she waited.

Their Spiritual Senses’, that casually landed on her shoulders made her very being shiver. Being the only entity outside of the four here made it so only she, had the truest sense at how terrifying they really are. If they willed it, she can be erased without ever so much of a hint at her existence—the tightrope she’s always been standing on. A unilateral decision from any of them if they, for example: didn’t enjoy, like, respect or care for the work she does on their behalf. What chilled her is that there’s a possibility a sudden erasure can happen without any reason at all.

Just because. Much like life.

“My Masters,” Seri said.

Half of them cared enough to give a greeting.

“Seri,” A voice she recognized. “How’re things?”

Her head turned, “His progress is… interesting.”

White Tiger absorbed that scrap, visibly turning it over in his head for meaning. “Correct me if I’m wrong, I’ve never heard you tack that word to a mortal.”

“It is not a light assessment; I believe he can be of use to us.”

Azure Dragon snorted. “Oh? I’d have assumed you’d have grown tired of this little experiment as of now.”

Seri’s fingers tapped on the chair’s arm. These creatures weren’t newborns—wordplay and deceit were beneath them, and her by extension. Keeping Grisla around meant always having to convince them their agreement isn’t misguided.

Immortal creatures that’ll live and die with the world if such a thing comes to pass, yet some of them are in such a hurry when eternity is on their side.

“I am also perplexed at your defense for this boy,” the Vermillion Bird said. The firebird snapped its wings, looking down on Seri with the most acute angle it could muster. “He’s unimpressive as he was months prior. The human child’s training is dependent upon his success at reaching benchmarks satisfactory for our ends. I am not like the other two. I have been watching you.”

Seri’s expression was unchanged; her voice worked, “He’s had a rough start. But in a brief evaluation I can conclude that his strongest point is his observation and comprehensive skills. You dismiss him as an average child, and that point is true, but—” Seri’s eyes contacted the Vermillion’s hell pits. “From the memories you’ve gave me, he took a handful of months to perform a technique that his predecessor could not without years of closed-door training. How is it not noteworthy?”

“Grisla, is that right? The child does have that going for him,” Black Tortoise interrupted. “The runt getting a one-up doesn’t change anything in the slightest. His mind works brilliantly while his body pulls him back to earth. It neutralizes that point, making him not a tinge better than the child you rejected. If they were to duel now—”

“He will lose. Decisively, in fact.” She said.

White Tiger rolled on his cloud. “It doesn’t mean much. Though, it is something to note. He’s a sophisticated individual, I’d give him that.”

“Really? In what aspect?”

The tiger grinned, “His taste in women, of course.”

Seri cleared her throat.

“It is evident, on both sides that there needs to be more time to come to a final evaluation of our ‘substitute candidate’.”

“More time?” The dragon snapped. “What else do you need? How much time do you need to buy for this child? Furball of the West told him that his training won’t even begin till he reaches Houtian. At this rate, he’ll need at least a year or more to get there! Do you not understand our haste construct? Arilmark is still alive!”

Proceeding that, a solemn silence.

The Cardinal Four exchanged glances; for the first time in quite a while, their thoughts are in alignment. Distributing crates filled with worry between them. And also, Seri’s expression—changed.

She wondered if this is how Grisla feels sometimes. “…Who’s Arilmark?”

Realizing his slip, the Azure Dragon curled up. “Nothing of your concern, Herald.”

“Moving on,” White Tiger said. “You have a year. If he doesn’t reach Houtian—I cannot help you. Moreover, there won’t be a second or minute over pass that deadline—you will return to your duty immediately on failure.”

“Understood. But—” She grinned. “It’ll be done before then.”

The sky rumbled. “Shameless boasting! From our own Herald, even!” Black Tortoise said.

“I do not approve of braggart behavior and I also cannot substantiate my claim… faith is my witness.”

Three of the four were frozen stupid at what they’d just heard.

“Enough!” Azure Dragon said. “We do not have time, or the luxury to hinge on such trivial things as that! Faith and belief do not kill your enemy, nor will I sit with a council that doesn’t take anything seriously!” His head floated down, gigantic whiskers defying gravity, the dragon’s shadow was big enough to cover her twice over.

Seri’s body began to feel mild discomfort; like someone put a hot poker through her chest, with its searing tendrils spreading. She asserted her grip on the chair, grinding her teeth while a divinity’s pressure built over her shoulders as if someone were laying bricks of it.

“Who do you serve, Herald?”

The rhetorical hung around and nailed itself to the space like an inert gas. Her hair curtained her eyes as she curled up.

She lifted her head. “There is one other,” during their confusion, she said: “I bring my masters honor by delivering to them a seed. The sprout will be pathetic, weak. Day by day, it inches up. The roots dig in and create a foundation; above, the little twigs defined as branches could be snapped by just a change of mood with the wind. The sprout knows its weakness, rests at night and absorbs strength by day with that fact at its side. Never forgetting the thing at which it originates. Still, the seasons change. Time passes. A sprout into a tree; the bark hardens with the passage, branches grow into long roads in and of itself; later, it’s unshakeable. The wind holds no power over it.”

“I believe,” She says, “with everything that what the Cardinal Four needs is not a disciple, but a tree. Forever appreciative of its origin. Never to buckle as it grew in windless lands.”

“Is that tree right for you? Nobody knows. However, one cannot predict a tree’s endpoint from the thing pointing out from the dirt in no way dissimilar to a blade of grass. Everyone’s aware of it: that if one tree can grow someplace, a successor can. It may be related, or of an entirely different offshoot. But still, it takes time to see the endpoint. Grisla Orlith’s potential has yet to be realized. And I find myself fascinated to see how the boy’s story will end. To the extent that I will cajole and spin longwinded euphemisms for you to sympathize with my interest.”

Seri wanted for her prompt extinguishing. Never, since her creation had she stood in opposition to her creator’s whims. All for a guy she barely knows. The Cardinal Four exchanged glances. White Tiger chuckled to himself. The rest weren’t as amused.

I’ve cast my bid. There’s no coming back from this. Grisla, sorry but—

A finger tapped Seri’s shoulder.

“Psst—Hey,” A whisper tickled her ear. “Heeey. Seri.”

The Four’s expressions changed, gazes snapping to the space adjacent to her chair.

“…You dare interrupt our meeting whelp!” Black Tortoise said.

Seri was stupefied, “How’re you awake? It hasn’t even been an hour yet…”

Grisla Orlith, crouched behind her chair like a child at parent-teacher conference acted as if he hadn’t even seen the four above. “Dunno’. That’s not important though. Can you set me up?”

She didn’t follow.

“What?”

“I mean, y'know, like, get the simulation going? I’m feeling sort of pumped. Also, greetings, Mister White.”

White Tiger flashed a toothy grin. “It’s been a week since I’ve seen you.”

“Uhh, not really?” Grisla shook his head. “Last time was a couple months back.”

“A week.”

“Nah, like four months ago.”

“Limbo time, boy.”

“Yeah, but real-world time is more important, no?”

“There’s multiple realms out there. How can you say its ‘real-world time’, what is that, exactly?”

“…Mister White I’m not keen on diving in this rabbit hole with you.”

“Understandable,” the tiger nodded.

Seri knew he hadn’t heard a thing since his intrusion. Though, she wondered how true it was. The Cardinal Four dispersed much the same as they did the first time Grisla met them, only that they couldn’t even spare the words to reprimand him, barring Black Tortoise’s scathing insults. Grisla didn’t look like the dying child she presided over a time ago, rather it looked like his first day attempting this experiment again.

Was his excitement some weird, strange psychosis that’s blossomed during his recovery? She pondered as she traced out the crab again. There’s no explanation she could conjure that would shed light on the situation. Or was she the insane one? Namely for approving the practice in such a short time. If constant simulations of death didn’t break him, she was sure this would drive the stake in.

Grisla was standing still again. The creature stalking as its instinct told it to do. She’s seen this play enough times to know what’ll occur—in exchange for not being divided in half, his arm eats the price. A cultivator’s instinct goes beyond Spiritual Sense. A sort of feeling for danger, it borrows its intuition from it but still it is an independent sensation from it. A thing only warriors mired in blood have. Most cultivators have this so its assumed as a given. But the number of pampered “warriors” without it is a non-zero.

His resistance is due to this gift. However, it is not the same as being able to sense souls. A soul naturally repels outsiders from observing where they shouldn’t. Which is why only a rare few can bypass this restriction and bring the shy thing to light.

Grisla backstepped away from being bisected again. Better than before, she noted. But…

It’s only a matter of time.

The creature, smelling some nonexistent blood, went into a fury trying to secure its kill. Grisla’s departure was already written; she sighed. It raced for him, two claws desiring evisceration. His outmatched senses are blind to the sudden danger.

Watching him risk himself again, she couldn’t do it. A strong apprehension from nowhere seized her and controlled her mouth. There was an unsaid agreement that she wouldn’t intervene or give hints, but— “Careful! Watch out for—”

The boy whipped around to shoot his arm in the crab’s center mass. It froze. His face, working up a primal savagery, grunted. An invisible explosion of Juva blew the crab’s body into multiple pieces. Leaving Seri in dumb shock at what she just witnessed.

This clinches it. I don’t get him at all.

“Oh, that was kind of cool,” White Tiger, from nowhere said. His form at the side of Seri would make a mortal wonder at how a thing so large could be so stealthy. “It seems he’s gotten a tickling; a hint about souls.”

“That’s… impossible.” She blurted. “I know that he was trying to force himself to break past that restriction, but still…”

“Battle instinct is a sense that many warriors are gifted with. However, what is not public knowledge is that battle instinct, is just a sense in its nascent stage. There’s virtually no difference from the one used to detect, read, and decipher souls and the one that saves a man from a fatal blow. Your reaction is unsurprising. You wouldn’t be too educated about this, as you weren’t born a warrior. With nothing to rely on but his instinct, he was putting the blade to the grindstone.” White Tiger squinted. “Albeit it just required a horrible loop.”

She blinked. “I see.”

“You’re right. He is… interesting, I guess.”

White Tiger’s head crawled close. “What trumps that is my question of what’s going on in there.” An endlessly sharp nail pointed to her chest.

“I don’t follow.”

“’Course you don’t,” He offered a half-laugh. “Anyway, call him over here. There’s something that he needs to hear.”