“There are ways to also be given a cultivation technique, so you just know what to do. However, that’s limited to those with significant funds or Guild access. Even if you had the funds, we’re in the Fringe. None to be bought. Not that I’ve ever seen one for sale.”
A tired-looking Artorian nodded with languished effort. “Tell me of your spiral whilst I fall asleep.”
Tibbins sighed but obliged, “My spiral is a thread of Chi, essentially Essence that I shaped. It’s called a spiral because it spins and spins, separating Essence from corruption and letting ever more refined Essence remain in my Center. A Chi spiral in the body feels like it is beneath the heart, almost against the spine—near the center of the body. However, once you’re able to visualize your Center and step into that space, it looks more as if you’re in a big nothingness. Corruption is easy to see and difficult to work with.”
Tibbins was interrupted by the injured background priest, but the man wasn’t wrong, “You mean impossible to work with.”
Artorian still kept his eyes slightly open. “Mhmm. It just… spins?”
The Acolyte ignored the Initiate and kept up the explanation, “It spins in a very specific way and at the best speed I can manage while keeping the technique stable enough for it to do what it should. All the Essence is directed into my Center, where it is refined and then stored in my spiral. The most refined Essence I let seep into my body, which can more efficiently store the energy instead.”
Tibbins stole a glance, noting the old man was still awake. “The older you start cultivating, the less Essence your body is able to store. My spiral refines drawn-in Essence, preventing corruption from being absorbed. I do have some corruption the Guild couldn’t get out with the Beast Core. I threw it up too early, and some got left behind. That little bit of corruption is responsible for keeping me stuck in the F-rank—or failure-rank, as it’s called by many.”
Tibbins stopped, the old man was frowning. “What?”
Artorian lolled his head from left to right. “Prevented, not purged? You can’t push the existing corruption out using your spiral?”
Tibbins almost had a laugh, stopping himself. “No, no spirals can’t do that. That’s why it’s such a constant chore to keep on top of things with refining. Now, there are different kinds of techniques, and I’ve heard Royals have the best ones, methods that are a hundred times more potent—if not a thousand times—compared to the little Chi spiral I have going on. Our superior—the Head Cleric—is in the middle or late D-ranks, so he has managed to turn his spiral into a fractal.”
The old man was at risk of waking back up. Tibbins could tell by the visible reaction he’d gotten from throwing that information out. He soothingly slowed and continued, “A fractal is a more advanced and evolved version of the basic spiral. It can do everything I can do, just an unknown amount of times better in every respect.”
Tibbins started to get nervous, and ah, yes, there it was. More questions. Drat. He’d hoped the soothing segway would have gotten the Elder to slumber.
“How do I do that, my boy?” The thin line of ‘I don’t want to deal with this’ almost squeezed out of Tib’s lips.
“I…” He didn’t bother looking at anyone, momentarily very interested in the floor. “It’s not good for me to tell you this… but there is really no point in hiding it. Making a cultivation technique takes years even with a master helping you, and then you’d make progress only after the corruption has been stripped out of you. Nobody can do anything with that sloshing mess mucking around uncontrolled inside of their Center.”
“I have all the time in the world, my boy. Have some faith, cleric. Nothing but rest, a good lad to take care of me, some good souls for company and stories, and all the time I would want for this cultivation business.” Artorian chuckled gently. The nearly asleep, mumbling man retained his smile. “I’ll think of something. Before I close my eyes… what affinities do I have?”
Tibbins still wore his trademark thin line expression, disbelieving the very words he was about to say. “Fire, water, air, and… celestial.”
Yup. Still couldn’t believe it. The bestial snore that erupted from the resting figure let him know the old man had checked out. Tibbins couldn’t wait to make himself scarce. This was awful. He was giving an old man false hope and knowledge that was useless so his superior could gain something. This wasn’t how the Church should operate. He kicked an apple after crossing a small stream he’d slipped in. Soaked in salty Fringe water, he stared at the fallen fruit as some cogs turned in his head.
An unnatural influence struck him. Thinking a distraction would be good, he stomped to the orchard and pushed up his sleeves. If he was going to have a bad day, he was going to have a bad day with apple pie. He’d wanted to cook for weeks, and the sudden drive spurred him forwards. If there was one thing Tibs could do, it was cook!
Chapter Eighteen
Artorian would say he was having terrible dreams—except he was very much awake, and they weren't dreams. His perception dabbled in a deep void, boundless… yet confined.
The masses of… he was going to call it filth, twisted around in a sickening cascade of colored maelstroms. The hues outright refused to settle or get along with their counterparts. Only the brightest component seemed as if it was particularly distanced from the other three yet, in some way, fully inherent in all of them. It didn’t remain that way for long as all four ‘corruptions’ swirled about inside what must be his ‘Center’.
Artorian had been given beyond-adequate information in order to start constructing what was likely a more accurate tale than the loaded words his young priest had provided him. While finding the Essence may be impossible for the moment, he also had no need to focus on it. He had something far more wild and unruly to observe. Artorian likened it to a moving stomach ache, an itch behind the sternum that couldn’t be satisfied.
Whatever corruption was, it was part of him, and it made him think and feel in vastly different ways depending on which bit of it was on top. Even then, chunks of corruption vanished into holes otherwise invisible, spilling free from other directions that coincided with some of the common pains he felt travel around his organs. Discomfort was awfully easy to track. Having been provided a mental sketch of what to look for, Artorian was informed enough to construct the basic idea. It had taken him an hour of not-feeling—just lying and being—to follow the discomfort and pain.
He’d occasionally felt the empty void behind the sternum but never thought much of it until now. The wandering pain always stopped to gather below the heart and near the spine, but it diminished there so he’d previously considered it a minor boon and reprieve from suffering. He’d never have noticed that specific location if it hadn’t been pointed out or been concerned about its significance.
The mental gymnastics needed to understand how to inwardly self-reflect was not all that complicated. Especially given he had such solid proof that others were already doing it on a far more advanced scale. Since proof of concept had long since passed, what he was doing amounted to playing catch up, or at least, that’s what it would seem like he was doing to everyone else. Self-reflection was to quietly think about what you’ve done, why you did it, and if you liked the outcome so you could do something else next time if you didn’t.
Inward-reflection was like being in the building of self-reflection and going to the basement. It involved sinking into the mind rather than sitting at the table atop which one organized their ‘did stuff’ papers. At first, the vast emptiness seemed endlessly deep. A void of depression and bleak pulling sensations from the beyond haunted you there. It wasn’t uncommon for people to avoid it, but he had no such luxury. Within this mental vacancy, even a minor distraction resulted in a great cacophony, so strict was the sensitivity to the otherwise unnatural.
Artorian had certainly not found Essence, no. Corruption, on the other hand, made its presence known with all the subtlety of a drunk, opinionated significant other. Four of them in his case
and all equally unwilling to compromise or back down in their thrashing outrage. Artorian didn’t try to interact with the corruption; he just watched. It took maybe a few minutes to understand why his heart hurt at random or parts of him ached. The majority of the massed corruption was quite literally in that part of his body at the same time he felt the unpleasantry. That gave him some good, correlating information to work with.
*Psst*.
“Hey,” the hushed, whispering voice of the Initiate that had constantly interrupted Tibbins peeped up, trying to remain quiet. “You awake?”
Opening a cautious eye, the academic squinted into the darkness. There was nothing to see but replied in whispered kind, “Hard to sleep after that lecture. I think you may have annoyed that Acolyte, my friend.”
Even without being able to see, the motion in the dark of a comment being waved away was telltale. “I’m Kota, and he should have known better. I’m an aspiring scholar and couldn't help myself. My stint in the ecclesiarch is temporary. I’m not going to be cleared for additional duty anyway. My cultivation is stuck. Spat the corruption-siphon out too soon, so I’ll never leave F-ranks. You mind a question?”
It was never a bad time for scholastic lore for Artorian. “Pull that bowstring and fire away.”
Kota bundled up in the dark. “Did the basis of how the Acolyte explained Essence and corruption seem… odd? Indicative of a stark viewpoint? I’m holding this ‘Guild’ in scrutiny. Tibbin’s explanation had been colored by a perspective that—all things being consistent—was either incomplete, inadequate, or wrong on a fundamental level.”
Artorian nodded in the dark, then verbally confirmed, “Indeed. Corruption by itself seemed to be vastly misunderstood if the explanation given was the general understanding of the ‘corruption stuff’. If everyone got rid of it right at the beginning and did all they could to keep it out and away from them, then efforts in understanding are not going to be too fruitful, are they?”
He had a different theory already in the works. “Based on the initial explanation, Essence is mutable, adaptable… changeable. Corruption, as described, is just a misunderstanding. Instead, would it be that which Essence was not? The immutable, the unchangeable. Both of these concepts have some identity already applied to them in order to give them these defining aspects.”
Kota responded with what he had in mind to try and help, “If it’s anything like ordinary refining, I imagined corruption as sand being shaken through several sieves with holes of decreasing sizes. Everything that falls through qualified as a particular grain that could be known and identified based on which sieve corruption could move through, while the ‘stuff’ originally added in the sieve was an unknown energy of a categorically higher purity. I have a water channel, and all my corruption is liquid. So, when Tib said it was supposed to be solid… that threw me.”
Necessity demanded Artorian return to the academy one of these days; his theorems on Essence needed recording. On one hand, you had ‘the stuff’ that was intended to change, intended to be worked with, intended to be given form either by inaction or the action of an outside will. On the other, you had ‘the stuff’ that refused all of that. The difference appeared to be the one type of stuff knew what it was and didn’t want to change, while the other didn’t and changed happily. The lynchpin there must have been the presence of identity. Luckily, he knew a thing or two about that topic.
“I think it may heavily have to do with what the energy thinks it is. There are some requirements to assigning identity if Tibbin’s example on rocks is to be believed. I’m of the current opinion corruption is merely that which could no longer change. Its properties are set, and all it wants is to settle and simply be, refusing all change from within or without. Anything it applied to would be forced to take their qualities rather than the other way around. I’ve got some proof of this.”
Kota shifted to sit up in his cot. “How are you putting this together so fast? He told you a scant few hours ago. You shouldn’t be able to even find your Center yet.”
Some pride fueled the academic. “My boy, this just happens to be something I’m exquisitely skilled at. I compose philosophy like a seasoned bard strums a lute. The Acolyte earlier told me enough basics for me to figure it out. I spent years of my life trying to pick the universe apart. I failed, only to have new building blocks fall into my lap, the missing pieces of an existential, cosmic puzzle. This topic is one of the things I live for, and I have scoured scrolls for the most esoteric of tidbits in search of my answers. For a boy who spent the majority of his life with his head in the clouds, this is child’s play. Here, I’ll explain what I mean.”
His pillow propped him up, and it was getting difficult to whisper. “There are several corruptions running rampant in me, and they’re easy to find. They cause my pain and grief. When the redder corruption stuff was in my stomach, I feel it burn. The various shades of blue strike my sinuses, and I have a sniffly, sneezy nose. When the flighty variant is abundant near my organs, I feel those agonizing air bubbles. Those are some of the individuals. Mixed masses remain in my wrists. My fingers uncontrollably tremble as result, and abyss, do my bones hurt. When it passes through my head, I have a migraine. Such seems to be the observable nature of corruption.”
Kota took the listed examples and found they matched things he’d heard. “Do you think the knowledge intentionally hidden, or do people simply not know due to inherent bias and rejection? Certainly, this stuff is terrible to have inside of you, and knowing about it honestly makes it worse.”
Artorian stifled a grumble, as that was true. What also did not help was that currently, he had no method of influencing or altering this sloshy, wild, childish, chaotic energy. A thought struck him. Acolyte-boy had said convincing, not ‘willing’. This was getting him nowhere at this point, and he shook himself from his looping thoughts.
*Hmm*.
“Probably, but let’s consider something else. Why would Essence need an identity at all? There’s nothing wrong with simply being. However, even if something is different, you cannot differentiate if you don’t also have terms that show this.”
The aspiring scholar extrapolated, “So, language is a necessary component?”
Artorian pondered that and swiftly reached agreement. “Let’s take the route that it is. If Essence is incapable of being by itself, there likely would be no earth to walk on or air to breathe.”
Kota shot a quick confirmation query, “‘Being’ as in existing independently?”
*Mhm*!
Artorian had long wondered why humans existed or where they come from, a common existential query. Could it simply be that Essence formed us over a long process of randomization, and once we were formed and intelligent, we began to do the rest? He considered the defining feature of a human to be its ability to self-reflect.
“Language requires creatures smart enough to make one, use one, define one. So, what then were things called or known as before the first language-users walked the dirt? Likely, such concepts didn’t even exist, unless there’s something other than a human with human-like ability to think, reason, and reflect. If not more-than-human.”
Kota cut him off there, “That’s speculation. Let’s stick with what we know.”
The old man grumbled a touch, but the young man had the right of it. He returned to their prior topic, “Essence is meant to induce change and means to be malleable. Why would a world give its creatures the toys of the universe to craft with? The cosmos is allowing identities to be shaped and reshaped until you have corruption, which is so fully certain of the exact thing it is that it refuses to be anything else.”
He considered a child, and a light blazed into being in his thoughts. “If the universe itself was still learning and trying to set identities… what better way than to let an entire species of sentient good boys and girls do it for you? If humans are good at anything, it most certainly is bickering and argument. Having other minds do your consistency checking for you is very helpful
in setting a stable order. Abyss, it’s the entire point of peer-review when it comes to releasing scholarly articles!”
The Initiate liked that and continued in the same vein, “The immutable is likely that which the universe has decided it is content with. That which needs no further change. So, corruption is immutable or unchangeable because it is something the universe does not want changed further.”
“Possible!” Artorian was sleepy but excited. He half-woke some of the others nearby; that had been too loud. Dropping back to a whisper, “Let’s work with it as that and alter it if we run into a fact wall. Let’s hold to the theory that corruption is likely set this way, due to the base structure of pre-existing creation being reliant upon it!”
Kota pulled the blanket over him, curling back up now that his thoughts had settled and the question was answered. Even if it left him with several more. “Let me think on it and come discuss it later. I need sleep.”
Artorian’s hands quietly wrenched together as he dropped into his Center. This was certainly quite the experience. Not only did he know he was awake, but he also knew the rough location of where he was in his body. All of this was using a part of his mind he’d not properly used before, which made for a new and exciting experience. If everyone could do this, it meant the body came pre-equipped with the ability to do this particular kind of thing; otherwise, it would not be able to do it at all. Still… it was new to him and enjoyable.
Artorian observed for a while longer before the edges of this view began to dim. He’d fallen asleep while in his Center, but it didn’t appear to fully let him. Mentally pulling back, he returned to the perspective his eyes were used to seeing as the blurry tarp of a medical tent returned to his view. That was enough for now. The plan was simple, but it had some flaws.
Artorian's Archives Omnibus Page 14
