The five mounds of fresh earth sat in the shadow of a weeping willow, far from the prying eyes of the Great Clans. There were no ornate headstones, no grand inscriptions of martial rank—only simple wooden markers and the scent of wildflowers.
Merun stood before them, his head bowed. He wasn't a particularly religious man, but in this world of blood and bio-organic nightmares, the silence of the dead carried a heavy weight. He offered a quiet prayer, not for their souls to find a heaven, but for their rest to be absolute.
He hoped that wherever they had gone, the air didn't taste of iron and the ground didn't tremble with the footsteps of monsters.
Beside him, Bankei stood as a silent pillar of grief and relief. He didn't speak, but the way his shoulders finally unburdened themselves told Merun everything he needed to know.
"I apologize for saying this late, thank you for saving me, Merun. I had totally given up on hope, and you've given me just enough to live."
Merun smiled. "Of course. What kind of student doesn't save their own master?"
The two men stood there for a long time before finally turning away.
"The Sect has been good to me, Merun," Bankei said as they walked toward the treeline. The "Demon" was gone; in his place was a man who looked like a simple old man, though his eyes held a new, quiet spark. "They've asked me to teach! Not martial arts—but ki! A healing framework for the non-martials!"
Merun looked at him, surprised. "Teaching? To people without a martial path?"
Bankei nodded. "Ki is completely separate from the martial path, this will become the sect's future. It has the potential to change the world."
"He showed me the future..." his eyes had serene look. "It will look... peaceful."
Merun felt a surge of genuine warmth seeing the old man so settled. "Don't work too hard, Bankei."
With a final nod, the air burst around Merun as he took to the sky.
Bankei shook as he remembered something. "AH! WAIT!"
He quickly turned to Merun, "Who is Master Roshi? What is that transformation—", but his voice reached no one, Merun was already miles away.
He scratched his head, "Oh well. There's always a next time."
"For now... time for a nap?"
———
Merun's destination was Wakaza, a coastal fishing village that had become the newest pressure point in the regional power struggle.
The recent loss of the Mizunori Clan against the Kinzoku Clan had sent ripples through the underworld. To the surrounding "sharks," the Mizunori were no longer a wall—they were a meal. The Tanaka Clan had been the first to strike, targeting the fishing trade in Wakaza to choke the Mizunori's remaining resources.
This was, of course, on the scale of Martial Apprentices and Martial Squires.
As he flew, Merun's mind drifted to the missions the Beggar Sect had offered him.
He had been meticulous in his rejections. He refused to go anywhere near Kandria as it was too close to Rui. This was the same with the other memorable places Rui would visit in the future, such as: the Shadow Trails (Basara Mountains), the Serevian Plateau/Dungeon, the Shadow Isles, the Shionel Confederation, the Great Forest of Hypnonarak, and many more.
Stepping into those places would create a butterfly effect he wasn't ready to manage.
Of course, he didn't tell that to the Sect. He just made up some bullshit reason and it seemed to piss off the Beggar Sage quite a bit... keeping secrets drove him crazy. But he seemed to have something cooked up and gave me this mission.
There was a time when he thought to himself that if Rui's martial path is all about "Adaptive Evolution", would it matter if circumstances change? He can just adapt, right?
But then he remembered that the main reason he doesn't want to affect the story too much is because he wants to keep his information of the future accurate. He needs to keep the canon events to stay as they were.
After all, knowledge of the future is one of his trump cards to request stuff from the Beggar Sage.
And so, this first mission of his was to protect Wakaza. Usually, the Beggar Sect commissions outsider Martial Artists for these types of missions, in the form of Martial Services in exchange for 'information' of the same value.
But in this situation, the Beggar Sect can't intervene properly since it's a political war. Sending martial artists from other clans, or even non-affiliated martial artists to protect the village will most likely cause another war… or, with the latter approach, spell suicide for the mission taker.
A few kilometers outside Wakaza, Merun landed. He stuffed his weighted white cape and the demonic mask into a burlap sack, swapping his black dougi for shabby, salt-stained peasant garb.
He walked into the village, and the tension was obvious. The ports were empty, the fishing boats bobbing aimlessly. Families huddled inside their homes, the silence only broken by the distant, rhythmic sounds of combat.
Merun climbed onto the thatched roof of a house to get a clear view of the beach. In the distance, hundreds of martial artists were clashing. One side wore the familiar ocean-blues of the Mizunori Clan; the other was draped in the deep purples of the Tanaka Clan. High above on the cliffs, two small clusters of figures—the Martial Masters and Seniors—watched the carnage like gods observing ants.
He scanned the Mizunori front lines and saw a familiar, massive figure. The Thing. His old rival looked thicker now, his muscles bulging with new grafts, but his movements were the same—brutal, direct, and increasingly desperate.
It wasn't that long ago when he struggled to fight him. Now he was quite literally a pebble on the road.
The Tanaka Clan, however, fought with a terrifying subtlety. According to the Beggar Sect's intelligence, they focused on hypnosis and mental manipulation styles.
Merun watched as The Thing swung a massive fist, only to stop mid-motion, his eyes glazing over as if he had forgotten where he was. A Tanaka squire in purple silk stepped inside his guard, tapping a pressure point that sent the giant crashing to the sand in a fit of drooling paralysis. It happened everywhere—Mizunori warriors lagging, striking at empty air, or simply standing still as they were clobbered.
The battle didn't even last until sunset. The Mizunori, already weakened by their loss at Odani, faced a catastrophic defeat. Their squires were broken, their apprentices scattered.
Then in the air, the opposing Martial Masters shook hands to signify the end of the war. After a brief verbal dispute, each Martial Master and Martial Senior sky-walked away from Wakaza.
As the purple-clad Tanaka warriors began to march toward the village, their expressions filled with the predatory hunger of victors, the sun dipped below the horizon.
Merun reached into his sack and felt the cold esoteric material of the demon mask. He focused on suppressing his ki to a level of a Martial Squire.
He tapped it twice.
"Let's go save some people, huh?"