Chapter 10: The December Sect

The rustling of the forest swirled above them. Perhaps an entire night passed, or perhaps longer—long enough that they began to run out of things to say.

Zora: "How is your name written?"

Vane: "Vane, like a weather vane caught in the wind. And yours?"

Zora: "Zora, like the dawn..."

She faltered for a moment, her mind unable to pivot quickly enough to find common words to describe the characters of her name, so she simply traced them with her finger on his back.

As the shapes were slowly outlined, Vane felt a light, itching sensation across his back. He lowered his eyes to conceal his emotions, pretending to guess. Once she finished, he murmured, "Zora? The one that means dawn's first light?"

He had once broken into the home of a deceased demon cultivator. He hadn't just searched for food; after teaching himself to read through a single book, he had devoured whatever other texts he could find. Even his basic knowledge of cultivation had been pieced together from fragments he glimpsed in those books.

"No," Zora said, a bit dazed as she recalled the origin of her name. "It was because my mother had never been to school. she only knew one line of poetry about the falling flowers, so she took the surname 'Know.' When I was born, she named me 'Know-Fall'."

"It was only when it was written down that the character was changed to 'Zora'."

Vane: "..."

Having held each other for so long, their bodies were no longer stiff or freezing. Their senses, previously numbed by the cold, began to slowly stir.

Zora: "It's warming up."

Soon, the forest returned to its tranquil state. The slanting sun poured down, and warmth rose from the earth. They stopped their dry, forced conversation and quickly packed their things to set out.

It felt as though the transition from winter to early spring had been accelerated. They shed their layers as they walked, eventually returning to their original light blue dress and black martial attire.

Along the way, the path was lined with the frozen, purple-faced dead. Their expressions were filled with grief and indignation—some curled in fetal positions, some sprawled flat, others frozen in mid-prostration. When death arrives, even those without faith find themselves gripped by intense longing.

Zora kept her eyes straight ahead until she spotted a woman hunched over in a kneeling prayer.

Vane climbed step after step. Suddenly, he saw the girl a few paces ahead stop and turn to look at the frozen figure. Her face remained as it always was, without any obvious emotional ripples, yet she did not seem cold. The golden radiance outlined her soft features, catching the fine down on her skin, making her look exceptionally serene.

He paused for a heartbeat, then stepped up to her side, looking at the figure as well.

The hunched woman’s skin was pale, her lips colorless. The only thing that set her apart from the other corpses was the child she held in her arms, pressed tightly against her as if trying to grant them her last bit of warmth.

Zora asked, as if out of curiosity, "Are there many like this? Carrying children up the Cloud Stairway, hoping to enter the immortal gates together?"

Vane: "Likely so. Entering a sect while young offers a broader future. The current head disciple of the Sword Gate was like that. She climbed the stairs at age seven, escorted the whole way just like this."

She stood there watching for a long time before turning to leave. There were so many corpses on the stairway that some even blocked the path, forcing travelers to step over them one by one.

When Zora was captured by an illusion, she was in the middle of eating a steamed bun. She had just finished it when she was pulled in.

Vane was tending to the wounds he had received during the various scuffles of the past few days. No matter how skilled the two were, flaws were inevitable against superior numbers, and with the exhaustion of the journey, their injuries had begun to mount.

Zora had simply tied off her wounds to stop the bleeding and ignored them, focusing on eating her bun instead. In the blink of an eye, she was caught by an illusion, her eyes losing their focus. Blood began to seep slowly from her injuries, completely soaking through the roughly tied bandages.

Vane: "..."

He couldn't just leave her like that; on the Cloud Stairway, any worsening wound could plant the seeds of death. He watched her for a moment, then sat beside her and pulled her arm toward him.

His movements then froze. The boy hesitated, staring at the girl's forearm covered by the blue sleeve, his brow furrowed. It wasn't until a drop of red trickled from her wrist that he gently lifted her sleeve.

What met his eyes was a fair forearm, appearing even more translucent against the contrast of the blood. Vane timely averted his gaze, not lingering, and focused solely on the bloody wound. He applied ointment with his fingertips, dabbing it bit by bit around the edges of the injury. He had never bandaged anyone else's wounds before; for a moment, he was even more cautious than when he was applying it to himself.

When Zora opened her eyes, she was standing on a marble-like dueling platform. The surrounding spectators were hidden in the darkness, their forms invisible. A yellow light illuminated the ten-meter diameter stage.

Opposite her stood a man with muscles like mountains. The Arena usually matched opponents based on win rates; only a balanced fight provided a good show.

—Unless there was an exception.

After all, a one-sided slaughter was also something a certain segment of the audience loved to see. And Zora was the chosen sacrifice.

The opponent was too powerful. After years of honing, he was in his prime—a famous figure in the Arena, like an immovable mountain. In an instant, he pressed her head into the ground, leaving her unable to move.

Her internal organs were screaming in warning as Zora uncontrollably coughed up fresh blood. The stands erupted in cheers, and countless gold coins were tossed onto the stage with a crisp, clattering sound.

"Make her eat the corpse from the last match!"

"Scar her face! Cut off her limbs one by one like carving meat!"

...

When one side suppressed the other, a choice arose.

—Kill the opponent directly, or follow the crowd's demands and do whatever they wished. By letting the audience decide how to "play," the victor would receive extra tips from the excited crowd, meaning more gold.

The people in the Arena were mostly kept like livestock, tools for dueling who could never obtain freedom. However, if one was skilled enough or earned enough money, their lodging and food would be upgraded, turning them into high-level tools. But no matter what, no "tool" could ever step outside the Arena; they would stay there for life.

The only way out was to be chosen by a wealthy aristocrat as a personal slave. But such people were few and far between; if one appeared among three hundred expendables, it was considered a miracle. Most were just struggling to survive, living mechanically like unrefined beasts, in a constant daze. Killing, eating the provided meals, and sleeping—some reached their teens without even knowing how to speak. Nor did they need to.

Society was polarized, and those at the bottom were always the most numerous.

Zora had always been on the winning side, the one making the choices. She always killed her opponents directly to avoid further complications; a situation where she was suppressed like this had never happened before.

Yet now, she hoped this man would do as the crowd said. She didn't want to pass up any chance for a counter-kill.

The man was so tall he blocked almost all the light. He looked down at the youthful face beneath his hand. Those brownish eyes were staring up at him through the gaps between his fingers, red blood constantly spilling from her lips. Even in this state, she showed no hint of resentment or savagery—only a focused, staring gaze, as if she didn't understand anger or know how to hate.

The man heard the increasingly vile insults from the stands and the constant sound of coins hitting the floor.

The man ignored them. "Goodbye."

With a loud thud, her head was lifted and slammed down again, her skull caving in instantly.

Accompanied by a wave of boos from the crowd, Zora snapped awake. Before her was the sight of the Cloud Stairway stretching downward.

"You've broken free from the illusion."

The boy's voice sounded in her ear. Zora turned her head; Vane was applying ointment to her wound. He seemed to pause in hesitation for a second. "I saw the blood soaking through. I didn't know how long you'd be in the illusion, so I did this."

Zora gave a small grunt of acknowledgment. Her arm resting on his knee didn't move, clearly indicating, "Since you've started, keep going."

Vane: "..."

He lowered his head to continue applying the medicine, his fingertips pressing lightly on the skin around the girl's wound. The touch was soft and delicate.

"You calmed down very quickly in the illusion," Vane remarked.

Zora thought for a moment. "Indeed."

She was already dead; how could she not be calm? All emotions had been swept away.

Zora asked: "Are we almost there?"

Vane: "Should be soon."

The two experienced several more layers of illusions, waking up faster each time. On the tenth day of the third month, they reached the end.

At the end of the Cloud Stairway was a blurry, misty expanse. Two massive stone pillars stood on either side, their surfaces wrapped in heavy, dark chains, radiating a crushing pressure. Occasionally, the mist between the pillars would ripple.

"Let's go," Zora said.

"Mhm."

The food in their pack hadn't been exhausted yet, but they had already arrived. Zora stepped through the rippling barrier, and her vision broadened instantly.

A scene like a painted scroll unfolded. Beneath her feet were bluestone floor tiles, and the area was so vast that the end was nowhere in sight. In the center of the empty flat ground, the emblem of the December Sect was carved, seemingly coming to life as it slowly rotated. Looking at it for too long brought a sense of dizziness and fascination.

The sky had changed from the daylight of the Cloud Stairway to night. In the night sky, there were exactly twelve full moons hanging in an orderly fashion, emitting a faint, shimmering glow. They looked no different from real moons—like giant night-pearls floating in the sky, yet far more staggering.

It was quiet and cool. Looking up, one felt like a grain of sand in a vast sea—so small that it was impossible to harbor any grand thoughts; one could only stare in a daze.

Zora counted them. There were indeed twelve.

So many moons.

The bluestone ground was too vast, and since it was night, looking into the distance only revealed the endless floor and the deep darkness of the night.

Within the sect emblem formation, a figure appeared. A man in white stepped forward, a sword strapped to his back, his face like frost. He approached the two, cupped his hands and bowed his head for a second, then straightened up. "I am He Songning, a disciple of the Sword Gate. I am here to settle your lodging. Once the Cloud Stairway trial ends on the fifteenth, the Sword Gate recruitment will begin. For these next few days, please simply rest."

Vane also cupped his hands and bowed his head, saying, "Vane. Thank you."

Zora watched the movements twice and imitated them. "Zora."

"Please follow me." His sword was drawn from thin air, growing larger and hovering by his feet. He Songning stepped onto the sword.

Zora followed and stepped on, finding it quite steady. Vane stood behind her.

The sword soared into the air, the fierce wind blocked outside by a barrier. He Songning flew toward one of the moons, his back to them as he spoke: "From now on, you two belong to the December Sect. During the recruitment, if you are chosen by the Sword Gate, you will join them. The result of your talent test will determine whether you become an inner disciple or a regular outer disciple. Then there are selections for the other gates. If you enter none of them, you will remain in the sect as laborers."

Vane: "How is the Sword Gate recruitment conducted?"

He Songning: "You will find out on the fifteenth."

As they neared the moon, the emblem in the center of the field glowed slightly. They were instantly transported into the sect by the formation. The view before them turned bright as day, revealing another scene of stunning beauty.

Zora looked down. Rolling peaks were nestled in the mist, towering steeply. Lakes and streams flowed through the mountains; both peaks and waters were beneath their feet.

Green mountains and white waves, a thousand layers stretching for miles. To the left, a massive boulder stood majestically; they were only flying at half its height.

On the stone, bright red calligraphy was written with powerful, dragon-like strokes.

—The December Sect.