Two hours ‘till the Markets open and Dorian had run out of bodily fluids to sweat out. He’d been given a rib-crushing celebration hug by Kaya, a thorough interrogation about what’d just happened (most of which he answered with some variant of ‘I don’t know! Just did it!’), gotten a Tribe-wide ovation, and fended off Kaya again (‘we’ll celebrate tonight,’ he’d said. ‘I have to prepare.’ To which she’d called him dry as a hide and went off to drink with the other Rust Tribesmen). Now he was cross-legged on a mat, alone in his tent at last.

This whole time he’d been lightly steaming—not with sweat but with qi. It was a relief valve, releasing all his unspent qi to the air. The rest raged down his bones until all of them glowed with qi, humming like strings in harmony. Just a little more, and—

[Level-up!]

[Vigor Realm] Lv. 1 -> 2

Dorian smiled, baring teeth that were now a few shades whiter than before. Two days in and he was a fifth of the way through Vigor.

In theory the purifications of bone, skin, inner organs, muscles, and brain could be done in any order, but the System was not fussy about such minutae. It was simply a log of status and progress based on the thoughts of the user, which were then shaped by the culture he or she was enmeshed in; it’d display different languages and realms if Dorian had been born on another plane. One of Old Man Fate’s disciples—a fellow Godking, older than Dorian by a few Chaos cycles and a real stickler for organization—had snuck it into the laws which governed the Multiverse, no mean feat. He’d been driven mad by the lack of codification across planes, or so the story went. They’d all been stuck with it ever since.

After Dorian had returned, one of the first things he’d done was down a few elixirs made from rock-lotus and chrysanthemum, flowers which boosted the soul. It also helped him dissolve the Golden Roc bloodline—an heinous waste of strong blood just to patch up temporary soul damage, but a necessary one if he was to shave off a few months.

His soul bandaged up, his body pulsing with energy, he tackled the next of the Vigor Realm purifications: skin. It’d be hours upon hours yet before he fully resolved the egg’s energies. Even now he could feel them seeping into his soul and body, imprinting him with fire…

***

His cultivation carried on uninterrupted; he’d half-expected a fuming Pearl at his doorsteps, but it appeared that he’d slipped beneath the man’s suspicions. Hours later he’d purified an arm’s worth of skin and arrived to reopen shop at the Markets. As it turned out, his marketing worked.

The starting line was enormous, stretching and snaking in on itself so much that it threatened to crowd out several adjoining stalls. To Dorian’s pleasant surprise, he saw Zhang standing near the front, looking merry; several officials from other higher-up clans were here too, no doubt to scout him out. None of their Young Masters came save for one: Young Master Kono of the Xiamen stood still with his arms behind his back, eyes closed. Dorian frowned at him. Something about the boy still gave him a bad feeling. And with an intuition honed across millennia, Dorian had learned to trust his bad feelings.

He let none of his thoughts show on his face as he opened up shop. “Thank you for waiting, dear patrons. Hu’s Superb Elixirs is now open for business!”

Salesman-mode was on. As it turned out, he barely needed it. In the first half-hour Dorian was swamped with money.

The free-samples system, to a populace that had never seen the like, was like bait to fish that’d never seen fake tackle. Add on to the fact that he’d won and the reception was already fervent. Plus, news of the elixirs and their efficacy had had many days to spread; in his nights Dorian had concocted as many exclusive brews as time allowed. Which was all to say that Dorian was making money faster than he would if coins literally rained from the sky.

On top of the usual clientele, Zhang came in, snooped around, even tried a sample cup—he drank an Enlightening Potion with his pinky up—and promptly bought up a dozen. “This is extraordinary,” he said. Then he paused, and in his eyes Dorian saw the familiar mechanisms of plotting and devious calculation. “You have true talent; when the time is right, you may wish to expand your horizons beyond the bounds of your tribe. When our paths cross at the Tournament I may hire you again,” he mused with a plastic smile. “I sense a fruitful relationship in our future, Io Rust.”

“I’d be honored,” purred Dorian. But inside he was triumphant. He’d expected an offer to defect to the Oasis after he’d won the Tournament, but the inklings of one here were a very good sign. Zhang didn’t literally spell it out—he was too much of a politician for that—but for a man like him, it was almost as good as a formal offer. Dorian would need a place to go as Rust Tribe rapidly grew obsolete. Where better than one of the true powers in the region?

The other high-tribe emissaries all bought a few potions. Narong Clan’s almost bought a third of Dorian’s healing potions stock. “Most useful for our training,” the man mused. “We hone our limbs to be sharper than adamantine blades. We temper ourselves against the fangs of Emperor Basilisks.” Then he looked to Dorian for signs of fear, but all Dorian gave him was a smile with just the barest hint of contempt and a “thank you for your patronage.”

Another peculiar customer was Kono. Rather than buy any in bulk, he took a potion off nearly every shelf and section. Some he only glanced at the description for. Some he didn’t even look for the price tag. There were so many of all kinds—offensive, defensive, restorative, cultivation-boosting, pleasure-based, even cosmetic, that Dorian felt almost sheepish when he finally came up to checkout. What was he playing at?

“Young Master Xiamen! How nice to see you again,” he said. “Do you plan on purchasing all that stock?”

“Yes,” said Kono serenely.

“Far be it from me to dissuade you, but are you aware how much it’ll cost?”

“Not really,” said Kono. He smiled like a child.

Then Dorian brazenly quoted him a thousand Lira. Which was about double what it actually cost. An outrageous sum by any measure.

Kono didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even blink. Instead he simply tapped his Interspatial Ring and drew it all out in two very heavy bags. Not even the top clans had the coffers to pay that much for such a purchase on a regular basis, surely? Kono didn’t look strained at all.

Dorian took the money with an incredulous stare. “Many thanks.” Kono nodded pleasantly, and a suspicion struck Dorian. “Might I ask why you’ve made such a purchase?”

Kono laughed. “That’s easy. Your elixirs are of superior quality. My Elders and Chief have told me to purchase some, that we might study them to discover their formulas.”

“I… see.” That was almost certainly the actual reason why he’d bought them. It was a terrible reason, of course—men smarter than any in this desert had tried and failed to reverse-engineer his potions—but stilll… “Why would you tell me all this? It was like this earlier too—you told me you attacked me in the Trial. For what possible reason?”

For a few seconds Kono thought, putting a finger to his lips. He shrugged. “The world is filled with suffering and deceit. I try not to contribute to it, where I can. It’s all any of us can do, right?” With a weak smile, he left. Watching him go, Dorian got the strange feeling that he was being sincere. How did such a pansy idiot ascend to his role? In Rust Tribe such an attitude would’ve been beaten out of him very quickly. Strange.

Even Pearl ended up stopping by, albeit near the end, when the sun was halfway through setting and the crowd was finally starting to thin. He bought nothing. Instead he marched up straight to Dorian and gave him an appraisal, eyes narrowed. Dorian smiled back and let none of the tension in his mind infect his face. “Welcome. How may I serve you, Young Master Pearl?”

“I’m not here to buy. I’ve just come to say my congratulations! You put on quite a display this morning. Well-earned, well-earned.” Pearl held out a hand, grinning ear-to-ear.

“Many thanks,” said Dorian with a deep bow. He pretended like he hadn’t seen the hand—of course he couldn’t risk shaking hands with this maniac. Dorian’s soul was still in repair. If Pearl had inscribed some soul-searching technique, or worse yet if a smidge of that god still lay within him, Dorian was as good as dead.

Hopefully it’d look awkward and oblivious rather than incriminatory. As he came back up, Pearl retracted his hand with a short chuckle. “It was nice to meet you at last. I’ll see you at the Tournament!” He walked off casually, hands behind his head.

The day wound down, sales wound down and at last the Festival officials signaled for the markets to close. The grand sum that day, shared between Hu and Dorian: 6,188 Lira.

As Hu cackled and Dorian raised a toast, they both knew what the number meant. It was enough for them to shed the support of the Tribe for good, should they so choose.

***

“He’s got us exactly where he wants us,” said Rust, pacing about in front of his bone desk, hands clenched to fists behind his back. He was as tight as Tuketu had ever seen him.

“That may be,” said Tuketu, holding up his hands, “but he can still be an asset to the Tribe. He’s just made the Tournament! His popularity has never been higher.”

“Neither has his influence. His power.”

“Old friend,” said Tuketu soothingly, trying to appease him with a thin smile, “The best thing we can do now is to strengthen his ties to the Tribe. Uphold him as a model for the Tribe’s future.”

Rust stopped dead. He turned his harsh eyes on Tuketu. “You’re a good reader of men. Tell me. Where do you assess his loyalties now?”

To which Tuketu could only pause. Then, reluctantly, “Admittedly, there’s not much keeping him, now that his sister’s qualified too.”

“And what good is an asset if we cannot control it?” Rust was working himself up. He seldom let his emotions leak out like to this degree; Tuketu had only seen it twice before, and both times heads rolled as a consequence. “Don’t you see? You’ve let your fondness for a protege blind you. You pride yourself in recognizing weaknesses in others and yet you fail to see your own.”

“That’s quite enough.” Tuketu’s eyes were starting to ice over. “Of course I see the danger in this path. Of course I see our positions undermined. What else do you propose we do, precisely? His popularity rivals ours right now—perhaps exceeds us. The people are behind him. Let’s not be rash.”

“The people are behind him,” breathed Rust, “but the fighters are not. The Hunters are still ours. And a fair number dislike him.”

“You suggest we…kill him? Is that it?” Tuketu folded his arms. “That’d waste all our investment for no reason at all. We’d gain no benefit—we may even lose men. Come now, Rust. It’s an extreme line of thinking.”

“No benefit?” Rust stopped now by the wall, inspecting a Vordor-claw held there by strips of leather. “What benefit do we gain from slaughtering Spirit Beasts?”

“You’re suggesting we refine his body into treasures.”

“Not merely that.” Rust’s breathing sped up. “With all the resources he’s consumed, imagine the qi held in that flesh. That skin. It’d be enough to push us to Profound!”

“You are the last person I’d have thought needed this advice,” said Tuketu slowly. “But you are letting your emotions drive your judgment. He’s grown strong, has popular support, and he has an ally in his sister too. The costs of such a thing—“

“It is not so complicated, Tuketu.” Rust stopped and speared him with a gaze. “Either we recoup some of our investment or we let it walk free. Neither of us could’ve foreseen his rate of growth. If we don’t act fast, we’ll be left with nothing.”

Tuketu’s brows pinched. He breathed a long, measured breath. “Let us wait on this,” he said at last. “We needn’t come to a decision now—at least until the Festival’s over, when both our heads cool. This is a path we should not take unless absolutely necessary.”

Rust came up to him so that their faces were inches apart, so that Tuketu could read clearly the hard intentions in his face. “Well then,” he said. “We’ve heard reports from Kuruk that he and Hu have made a killing at the markets today. Let us meet them now. We shall see if the boy truly cares for his Tribe. We shall see if it’s absolutely necessary.”