Unintended Cultivator-Chapter 21Book 10: : Fitting Punishment

Chan Dishi once again contemplated the benefits and pitfalls of abandoning the capital and heading north. By all accounts, Judgment’s Gale was building himself a stronghold up there and taking in wayward cultivators. I could be wayward, thought Chan Dishi. It’s not like I’ve got some commitment to a sect. I haven’t sworn any oaths to the king. He could just collect what he was owed and leave. It might create some hard feelings, but the king had more pressing problems than one cultivator coming or going. Little things like the kingdom shredding into pieces all around him and the very real possibility of an assassination attempt. It might have been an even bigger disaster if it was only happening in this kingdom. Weakness did invite invasion, after all. Yet, it seemed the madness was everywhere they could get word from.

The biggest benefit of fleeing north was that he’d be in the company of people he knew were powerful, and some he at least suspected were terrifyingly powerful. If nothing else, it would increase his odds of survival. He doubted Lu Sen would turn him away. They’d left things on good terms, and Chan Dishi had a lot to offer someone like that. He wasn’t a nascent soul cultivator, but he was a potent core cultivator with a lot of eclectic experience behind him. He would prove at least adequate at managing paperwork or leading others into battle. He could be counted on to reliably finish assigned work. It might not be as fast or as brilliant as someone else could do it, but fast, brilliant people were notoriously unreliable. Reliability often trumped talent in times of crisis.

Yes, he’d give himself very good odds of being accepted into the fold of whatever kind of academy, sect, or cult it was that the Hand of Chaos was building up there. Just as importantly, Lu Sen had actually taken the fight to the enemy. People willing to do that were in desperately short supply these days. Most people were looking for a wall to cower behind. Chan Dishi didn’t even blame the mortals for that. Aside from the army, few mortals had the necessary skills or training to fight even weak spirit beasts. Finding a wall to hide behind was probably the smartest choice those people could make. Unfortunately, Chan Dishi knew what cost that was coming at, since he was constantly leaning on a wall during boring meetings like the one happening at that very moment.

“Your majesty, we must cut the rations for the refugees,” pled some functionary whose name Chan Dishi never bothered to learn.

“You suggest we should starve them slowly?” asked Jing in a lethally cold voice.

The functionary shrank back from that tone but persevered.

“Your majesty, if we don’t cut the rations, there won’t be enough to feed them through the winter. If more refugees come in, even cutting the rations might not be enough.”

Chan Dishi watched the king close his eyes and take a steadying breath. The man looked exhausted in body and soul. He was constantly pale, and there were pouches under his eyelids so dark they looked like two crescent bruises. His hair was graying at an astonishing rate. Even if we all do somehow manage to survive this war, I bet he’ll die a good ten or twenty years faster than he would have, thought Chan Dishi. While sympathetic to the king’s plight, there wasn’t much that he could do about it. He could fend off assassins if they ever came, but he couldn’t provide the king with the thing he really needed. True power. It had always been a fact of life that mortal royal families were only, at best, in charge of the mortals in their respective territories. Fighting this war required someone who could bring mortals and cultivators to heel. There just weren’t that many people in the world who could reasonably pull that off.

They existed. Every now and then, a new story about Fate’s Razor or the Living Spear would crop up. Cultivator myths like that could achieve that goal if they were of a mind to do it. Of course, they were also legendarily disinterested in mortal affairs and even the affairs of the sects. When they did intervene, it almost always meant that some sect or kingdom was being relegated to the annals of history, so he saw it as a mixed blessing that they weren’t getting involved. At least, he did at first. Now, though, he would welcome them with open arms, shower them with liquor, and fetch them any damn thing they pleased if meant that someone would take charge. There were a few other nascent soul cultivators out there that styled themselves in the same mold, but their continued failure to act put the lie to that posturing. All of that served as additional motivation to pack up and leave.

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Of course, it wasn’t all good news on that front. Getting to Lu Sen and his stronghold meant crossing a not-inconsiderable distance in territory that was either contested or overrun. Sure, that was a lot of area and the spirit beasts couldn’t be everywhere, but they were somewhere. He’d have to be very good and very lucky to make it all the way there without coming up against opposition he couldn’t hope to overcome. Then, a thought made him smile inside a little. What was a cultivator’s life if not a series of almost but not quite insurmountable challenges? It would make one hells of a tale if I did make it, he thought. Not good enough for songs and legendsbut probably good enough to keep me in drinks for a good long while. That momentary lifting of the dour mood was immediately suppressed when Jing spoke again.

“Very well. Cut the rations,” said the king.

Chan Dishi could almost see the king sag beneath the weight of that decision. It wouldn’t make him popular. Less food would make for more suffering among people who had already lost their homes, livelihoods, and family members. They would see it as a cruel gesture by a cruel ruler. How could they not see it that way as their children begged for more food that they couldn’t buy? Chan Dishi had seen cities under siege before. That desperation and hunger would lead to many ugly things. Some would starve. Some, the young and attractive, would sell themselves into slavery in all but name. The criminal element would thrive, and a black market for food would spring into existence almost overnight. Mortal fortunes would be made while annihilation loomed and humanity sold off pieces of itself for a bowl of rice.

“Your majesty,” said another functionary, “I know we’ve discussed this before, but I must urge you to reconsider conscription. The forces we have will not be enough to hold the city and the surrounding land.”

Jing barked out a bitter, mirthless laugh and said, “Conscription? And what do you suggest I pay them with? How shall I arm them? What will I feed them? When and where will I train them? Are you entertaining some fantasy that putting a spear into a farmer’s hand will magically make them into a soldier? It takes years to turn a conscript into a real soldier. Or are you simply hoping that some of them will die and reduce the demands on our supplies?”

The functionary did a pretty good of hiding the flash of guilt that crossed his face, but not good enough to hide it from cultivator eyes or, it seemed, the king’s gaze. Jing’s hand crashed down onto the table as he stood. For a man of average size, Chan Dishi thought the king did a remarkably good job of looming with menace. Jing’s glare bored into the functionary before he spoke in a soft voice.

“In that case, Wu Bo, consider yourself conscripted into the army. You will report to the barracks immediately and tell them you’ve been conscripted for the crime of inhumanity. You will be a spearman. Guards!”

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Several guards rushed into the room, their eyes scanning for threats. Wu Bo was on his knees.

“Please, your majesty! I beg you! Do not dishonor me this way! At least give me a swift death!”

The king was not moved by these pleas. He repeated the instruction for the Wu Bo to be conscripted immediately as a spearman and for what reason. As they were dragging the still begging, crying functionary away, Jing called after them in an icy tone. 𝐑𝘈Nо𝐛Êʂ

“Instruct the army that if he flees, he is to be recaptured alive and publicly executed by flogging.”

Chan Dishi lifted an eyebrow at that. It was a particularly harsh and brutal way to end someone’s life. Then again, Wu Bo had made an astoundingly ruthless and cold-blooded suggestion that would have certainly ended a lot of innocent lives. Chan Dishi supposed the king’s orders were at least partially a sign of the king’s exhaustion. He’d been increasingly short-tempered as time wore on and the reports of destroyed towns and villages became almost routine.

“Get out,” ordered Jing.

“Your majesty—” one particularly brave or stupid functionary started to object.

“Get out! Or you can join him!” roared Jing as pointed at the door that Wu Bo had been dragged through.

The room was silent and empty save for Jing and Chan Dishi within a minute. Jing pressed his hands flat on the table and just stood there for a time, head bowed, and his thoughts a mystery.

“Did I go too far?” he asked.

Chan Dishi gave the question more thought than he might have in less fraught days.

“I don’t know that I’m the best person to ask, but I don’t think so.”

“I never dreamed that I would reign over the destruction of humanity,” said Jing, sounding like he’d lost the will to live.

“We’re not all dead, yet, and it could be worse.”

Jing turned a stunned look on Chan Dishi and asked, “How could this possibly be any worse?”

“The spirit beasts could all be smart.”

“That was not comforting,” said the king.

Chan Dishi scratched his chin and nodded.

“Yeah, that sounded way worse when I said it out loud.”