Mask of the Fallen: A Cultivation/Progression Fantasy Series: (War Priest Book One)

by Harmon Cooper

  “Where did Hojo find this guy?” Meosa asked, verbalizing the disciple’s thoughts. “Maybe he dug him out of that distinguished home for the elderly yesterday when we weren’t looking. Terrible. This man shouldn’t be fighting. He should be enjoying his golden years in the company of his family. Try not to hurt him too badly, disciple. I can’t bear a pitiful sight this early during the day.”

  Arik brought his sword to position.

  He then remembered he was trying to adapt his fighting style to be more like water. If possible, he would attempt to disarm Akamatsu using one of the forms of the Autumn Leaves Strike. He could also practice the Body of Glue now that he had an opponent who appeared to be much slower than him.

  Maybe this is a good choice after all, he thought.

  But then he remembered that Hojo mentioned that he would be fighting the man for the rest of the day, which led him to believe that it wasn’t going to be as easy as it seemed. Yet another thing that had changed about the disciple since the calamity back at his school— he knew better than to be overly confident.

  I’ve been needing to go against someone who could wield two weapons, Arik thought as he observed his opponent, Akamatsu now with two wooden weapons.

  The likelihood that the upcoming tournament would see him facing off against someone who was trained with two weapons was high. Then again, his opponents were supposedly chosen from your average citizen of the Crimson Realm, where Nobunaga liked to recruit.

  Either way, it was good practice.

  Without further ado, Arik came forward ready to test the old Crimson fighter out.

  The impact of Akamatsu’s wooden sword against his chin had Arik worried for a moment that the man had dislocated his jaw. He was sent flying backward, where he landed once, nearly doing a complete somersault.

  “Holy hell, he can hit,” Meosa said, his voice jarring Arik as he tried to get his wits about him. He looked back up at his opponent. Hadn’t he just been moving slowly like an older man moments ago? Was he really that fast? That strong?

  “I’ve got this,” Arik said under his breath as he pressed to his feet.

  He brought his hand to his jaw and rubbed it for a moment. Not dislocated, but definitely bruised, he thought, the pain dying down.

  He approached his opponent yet again, a smile taking shape on Akamatsu’s face. The man hadn’t shaved in a number of days, white and black hairs tracing along his jawline. He was bald on top, but he had long hair on the sides, which he had braided behind his head, the top of his skull shiny with a hint of sweat now that the sun was out.

  Autumn Leaves Strike, first form, Arik thought as he attempted to disarm Akamatsu. He was once again struck by the older man’s wooden blade, Akamatsu hitting him hard enough that he could feel it in his bone marrow.

  Arik went to the side, but didn’t fall as he slipped away. He couldn’t heal, not in a situation like this, not in broad daylight.

  Even though it was barely visible, if he healed himself, a vaporous, nearly translucent wave of water could be seen, and with the sun in its current position it would likely create a rainbow effect. But he could still absorb the wound, which created less of a visual.

  Arik lowered his sword arm and placed his wooden weapon in his other hand as he brought his palm up to his right shoulder. He absorbed just enough of the wound to stop it from pulsing, and then prepared to strike again.

  And so it went, the disciple never able to get a strike in, never able to disarm the semi-retired Crimsonian blade or get the upper hand.

  Of all the experiences he’d had so far, by the time their sparring drew to a close, Arik felt as if he had learned the most from his matches with Akamatsu. The older warrior was classically trained to use Thunderaura and never seemed to skip a beat, making it seem as if he had an almost unlimited stamina. When coupled with his decades upon decades of training, he became an incredibly formidable opponent.

  As they bowed to one another, Akamatsu finally spoke.

  “There were a few times when you were close,” he said. “Perhaps there will come a day when we train together again. But until then, never stop trying to achieve perfection.”

  “Thank you,” Arik said, bowing his head.

  Had the Crimson Realm been smarter, had Nobunaga known what these men were capable of, Arik’s quest to stop an impending war would be that much harder. He could only imagine an entire group of these men in a battle, the damage they would be able to do collectively, their experience leading the charge.

  “Remember, I’m going to follow Hojo tonight,” Meosa said as they reached the cobblestone road outside, several of the vendors in the process of closing up shop for the day. It was only then that Arik realized just how long he had been sparring with Akamatsu, the sun already starting to set, his energy levels surprisingly low.

  Has it really been all afternoon?

  Rather than respond, he simply made a noise with his throat, indicating he understood.

  “Good,” Meosa told him secretly. “We will see what this master illusionist is really up to. You seem tired. Need any assistance walking back to the inn?”

  “No,” Arik told him. “I’ll make it.”

  .Chapter Eight.

  “Gathering information is like watching a still pond. Every once in a while, a fish breaks the surface of the water, creating a ripple. The pond is society, and the fish is a piece of information that can provide insight. Keep your eyes on the surface of the water.”

  –A quote carved into bone by Hidden Warrior Hirata Masuhiro de Iga of the School of Illusion, and later published in a collection of his carvings, Hirata in Stone, First Edition, Yoshimura Books, Year 1019.

  Once again, sleep came easy to the disciple, his worries rolling away as he fell into a deep slumber, likely one fueled by sheer exhaustion. The training for the day had really taken a toll on him, Arik truly feeling it as he ate a simple meal back at the inn, once again impressed that Akamatsu had been able to keep up with him for so long. It surprised Arik to some degree that he had been able to run across the desert, yet had nearly passed out from exhaustion due to an entire day of training.

  It was clear to him which one was harder…

  Before Hojo had stepped out last night, and before the aqueous kami snuck away with him, the master illusionist told Arik they would learn yet another new technique in the morning, followed by another pilgrimage.

  Arik awoke the following morning to something akin to whispering in his ear, one that he had grown increasingly familiar with.

  “Good,” Meosa said, growing louder with each word, “it’s about damn time you’re awake. Hojo has already left and asked that I tell you to meet him outside, you know the drill by now. But he can wait another moment.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “I’m getting to it, disciple, I’m getting to it. Is that all I’m good for to you? Espionage? You fancy me your little information gatherer? You do realize that the techniques you are learning should allow you to get this information without the aid of a remarkable being such as myself.”

  “You are the one that had the idea of following him…” Arik said as he ran his hand through his long hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.

  “I guess I’m just disappointed that I didn’t discover anything, it was like he knew I was tagging along.”

  He probably did, Arik thought.

  “Anyway. Nothing really to report. He went to a tavern and sipped on a small saucer of rice wine for a while, just moving around the room every now and again, listening to what other people were talking about. Then, weirdly enough, he made his way to the rich side of Iga, where he kept to the shadows of a series of estates, just walking in silence and dropping stones every now and then. I couldn’t figure that part out. He just walked and occasionally dropped pebbles. How we have tied our shared destiny to him is beyond me.” Meosa sighed. “Finally, he went to the area near here, where people set up for warrior pilgrimages. And that’s pretty much it. He came back he
re after that.”

  “You still think he’s up to something?”

  “There hasn’t been a moment since meeting him that I didn’t think Hojo was up to something, my boy. I know it to be a fact. And if I were us, and I am—yes, that sounds strange—I would continue to be very cautious of the man. Never forget what he is, disciple. As much as you know about healing, and using your power for good, it likely pales in comparison to what the illusionist knows about deception. And then there’s Chimaura, which he hasn’t discussed with you yet.”

  “I still would like to know more about that,” said Arik as he started getting dressed.

  “Wouldn’t we all. What I’m trying to say is that he has more experience than you, like that fellow you faced off against yesterday, Akamatsu. And if you ask me, Hojo is up to something. As soon as I know what it is, if it puts either of us in harm’s way, I will act.”

  Is Hojo really up to something? Arik thought as he looked across the other side of the room and saw the master illusionist’s things nicely arranged on his bed. It was natural for him not to trust the man considering who he was, but he was starting to like Hojo, and he didn’t want to believe that the master illusionist was trying to take advantage of them in some way.

  Time would tell.

  As he had the last several mornings, Arik met Hojo outside, the mysterious man seated on the ground and polishing his blade with a cloth.

  “I have an interesting challenge for you later today,” he said without looking up at Arik. “Both of you. But we can get to that later. First, I’m going to show you an old technique that the southern combat schools no longer teach their students. Oddly enough, illusionists picked it up years ago and we made it part of our own repertoire. I highly doubt you will meet many like me, not that I’m unique or anything…”

  “Well, when you start a statement like that…” Meosa chimed in.

  “What I mean is I highly doubt you will meet another Hidden Warrior, those who have been trained in the same way that I have been, before the School of Illusion was disbanded. If you do one day meet someone like me, you will notice that there is a part of our training that allows extreme adaptability. Remember my wind statement?”

  Arik nodded.

  “So, if something works better, or if it is something we can adapt into our own practice, illusionists will do so. And that is how we come to the technique known as Body Replaces Sword, and alternatively, Sword Replaces Body. I will tell you what I mean, and then I will show you.”

  “Body Replaces Sword,” Arik said. “Right.”

  Hojo remained seated, just a sliver of light now crossing his face. “Normally, when you are cutting into an enemy, the movement of your sword and body are not unified. Body Replaces Sword is a concept that is contingent upon the way your opponent approaches. Your sword will strike regardless, as long as you maneuver your body into the attack first.”

  Arik didn’t quite understand what he meant, but he nodded anyway.

  “The other option is Sword Replaces Body, in which you strike your opponent with your sword without moving your core at all, just your arms. This one is for a more advanced student and has some nuances and challenges. But the first, Body Replaces Sword, is perfect for someone like you, someone that is learning new techniques and a new way to fight. Consider combining this with Body of Glue. You move your body forward before your sword, your weapon naturally following, your opponent perhaps able to repel it, but you’ve now intimidated him, you are now in his space, and you follow up with either Body of Glue, keeping on him, or if the opportunity presents itself…” Hojo ran his hand on his blade, finishing up with his cloth. “Autumn Leaves Strike, first form.”

  Arik got into position, naturally feeling where this was going now.

  “I will show you what this looks like, and then we will work on it the rest of the morning. You will also add in Body of Glue, and Autumn Leaves Strike. Prepare yourself.”

  Hojo stood, and when he was ready pushed forward almost as if the ground were shifting toward the disciple. The movement really was intimidating, initially causing Arik to prepare to block. By the time he had a sword up, Hojo had the tip of his weapon pointed at Arik’s stomach.

  “Step back and watch my movement again.” Hojo motioned for Arik to step aside, and as he did he demonstrated the Body Replaces Sword technique several times.

  Arik noticed that his chest came forward first, his core shifting toward an invisible opponent as he then, and only then, prepared to strike.

  It’s so subtle… he thought as he watched Hojo do it again, not unlike the Body-Body Initiative Master Nankai taught me.

  “This is particularly useful in fighting someone with two blades. You won’t be able to strip them of both their weapons, but you can perhaps strip them of one, then follow up with Body of Glue, keep the pressure on, and win the fight before you have the chance to lose. That should be your goal, disciple. You aren’t skilled enough to best someone in a prolonged battle. Now, let’s begin. Your fight tonight is going to be quite the challenge.”

  ****

  The first thing Arik noticed that night as they approached a grotto surrounded by buildings was the flicker of orange light, telling him that the space would be lit by fire.

  Or worse, fire would be involved.

  Burns and the like weren’t something he was opposed to handling, but the smell could be overwhelming, and with fire came smoke, heat, and general terror, which could make the situation much worse.

  Over the course of the afternoon, Hojo had drilled Meosa and Arik on working together, the kami more than willing to finally step into the fight. The kami strengthened Arik to an insane degree, but his assistance was too visible during the day, which meant that they were only going to be able to work together at night or in dire situations.

  Arik had experienced it several times now, but he still found it fascinating how Meosa augmented his own power by using his natural reserve of Revivaura. Oftentimes, his movements felt just as much as his own as they seemed otherwise, a true symbiotic relationship.

  He also discovered that while usage of Meosa’s power was visible during the day, if timed correctly, he could get small boosts from him, like when Arik jumped, or just as he was about to land a strike. A definite advantage.

  Arik was just seconds away from pressing into the grotto, where he knew there would be people waiting to see the match, when the master illusionist stopped him. “Are you familiar with any other legendary weapons, aside from the Mask of the Fallen?”

  “Sort of. I’m interested in another one,” Arik told him, remembering the pages that had been ripped from the biography of Coro Pache. “The Whispering Sword. Have you heard of it?”

  “The Whispering Sword…” Hojo stepped aside, allowing two spectators to pass in front of him. “Huh. The man you’re going to face tonight is from your realm. From Sunocea.”

  “I’ve been there,” Arik said, referring to one of the northernmost cities of the Onyx Realm, set along the sea and known for its ice fishing.

  “So that is where you picked up that poem,” Meosa said, referring to Arik’s attempt at impersonating a woman back in Avarga.

  “This man has a legendary weapon, a hammer,” Hojo said, not skipping a beat.

  “A hammer?”

  “A large one, as long as your sword, not one used for rudimentary construction. His hammer allows him to wield fire. Be wary of this.”

  Arik nodded.

  “Your opponent goes by the name Istvan, and the stipulations of his pilgrimage are forfeit or death, so good luck, disciple, remember what I have taught you: don’t reveal your powers in public, and don’t lose sight of your training in the heat of the moment.”

  “Right,” Arik said as he mentally prepared himself. He was going to have to walk the fine line of potentially getting burned and not immediately seeing to the wound, which was hard considering what it felt like to have one’s flesh scorched.

  As soon as he stepped into the grotto, h
e saw the man he was to face, Istvan shirtless with a haori cape tied around his waist, the ends of which were burned black. He was a little older than Arik, just a few years at most, his head completely shaved, no eyebrows, and no facial hair. Resting on his shoulder, and gripped by his right hand was an enormous hammer, the ends of which were currently flickering with fire.

  That wasn’t the only fire in the vicinity.

  A rim of hot coals surrounded the combat backgrounds, illuminating the faces of the spectators, many of whom looked drunk, the crowd brimming with anticipation of the fight to take place.

  The fire is burning right next to his ear yet doesn’t seem to be hurting him, Arik thought as he observed his opponent, already feeling the heat. How is that even possible?

  “I would say the best thing for me to do would be to put out all of these coals,” Meosa said in a low voice, “but without the waterskin, my power isn’t as amplified as it normally would be. Still plenty to feed off of with your Revivaura, but…”

  Arik nodded. “I’m not worried about the coals, nor am I worried about getting burned. I just don’t want to be hit by that hammer.”

  Meosa chuckled quietly. “Yes, that looks like it would be rather unpleasant…”

  The head of Istvan’s hammer was about the width of Arik’s torso, and it was thick, Arik well aware that one wrong strike from a weapon like that would kill him, no healing possible.

  His opponent brought his hammer to the ready and Arik withdrew his blade, remembering to be as fluid as water.

  Attacking Initiative, Body Replaces Sword… Arik thought, also realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to go for the Autumn Leaves Strike due to the way that Istvan was gripping his hammer, which was akin to the way that Nyoko had gripped her axe. While Hojo had said it was possible to perform the technique on someone wielding a sword with two hands, the sheer weight of the hammer actually made it much more difficult when mixed with the way his opponent was holding the weapon. Instead, Arik hoped to simply overpower him, using Meosa’s energy alongside his own.