One Year Ago
The sun rose over the Eastern Ocean like a great baleful eye. It stared unblinking over a seemingly empty domain untouched in untold millennia, an endless expanse of blue stretching over nearly half the planet. Red and orange speared through the clouds and waves in a silent warning: beware all who travel here.
Yi laughed in the face of such a warning. The Sword God of Murim paid heed to no-one.
So why, oh why, was he being forced to pay heed to this group of overblown lizards.
“All I’m saying, Master Yi, is that you need to slow down. The enchantnts on this reef aren’t going to break simply because you swing your sword at them.” The red dragoness lounging on the surface of the sea below him said with a laissez faire attitude that demanded extra ti in secluded cultivation later. Or it would if he wasn’t fully aware that she’d just nap through it.
“I was breaking formations before you were born, disciple. This is just another kind.” Yi said with a level of dismissal that didn’t quite match his current frustration. He focused his sword intent again, trying to find a weakness in the formation that had thus far thwarted his attempts. He felt his qi slip off the strange eldritch shapes once again, and cursed. With a deep breath he tried a few of his new… Abilities as well. [Eye of Weakness], [Martial Aura], and [Blood Sense] – they all did nothing.
It all did nothing. These Abilities were a crutch, one that was clearly responsible for the pathetic state he’d found his new people in. The ocean around them teed with scales and fangs as dragons lounged, dove for fish, and generally complained that it was too hot, too cold, too humid, too busy. Complain, complain, complain, complain!!!
He ground his teeth, swearing an eternal oath of vengeance on the one who’d so ignominiously thrown him down into this personal slice of Nether.
After his… unfortunate death in Murim, so close to ascension to godhood, he’d found himself in the body of a sickly and starving white dragon in this strange world. His first few months had been spent training his inner qi to qi-breathing level, and eliminating his monstrous new body’s constant need for sustenance and dicine.
After that, it’d been the work of a couple years to bring his qi back up to a more respectable nascent soul level. His new body truly was a wonder, with a natural power and strength that multiplied his abilities to a profound level. It’d only taken a short while for him to make the ntal leap necessary to consider his claws as a ‘sword’, which had finally propelled him to a cultivation level he wasn’t ashad of.
Then he’d had a eting with that so-called God. Solen.
THAT had been an eye opening and teeth grinding experience. One he never cared to repeat.
He surreptitiously patted the shimring mithril blade at his side for comfort. He didn’t really need it, but he felt naked without it, even with his claws. He knew that the other dragons mocked him behind his back for preferring to spend his ti in man-dragon form, but even after his soul had fully lded with his body he still felt more at ho in a humanoid shape.
He was quite statuesque if he said so himself. A well-muscled and toned physique, enhanced by his body cultivation, with long straight black hair, and a pair of wicked silver horns that stretched a third of a zhang over his head. A pair of golden eyes that blazed with the inner fire of his qi and an arched brow capable of expressing a deadly level of disdain. His skin was fair and unblemished, with a shade of off-white that would’ve been the envy of any courtesan.
… he missed courtesans.
He took a deep breath and sheathed his intent before he accidentally turned it on his lazy and incessantly chattering disciple – Primus Annabeth Angolion the Red, Fla Princess of the Black Spine. Or just Annabeth to her friends, of which there were few. Even he did not rit that honour, though as her martial master he was far above any label so mundane as friend.
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He schooled his tone to one of disinterest. “Very well, disciple. I’m willing to hear your proposal. I shall consider it and make a decision.”
Annabeth made a lazy spin in the water and held her red maw slightly ajar, an expression he’d co to recognize as a grin. “If you give everyone a year here, with permission to fly back to that island to hunt and sleep on the sand, the mages should be able to break the enchantnt by then.”
Yi scoffed. “I’ve been told that dragons are the ultimate beings of magic. Why do they need so much ti?”
“Were. Still are, but much was lost on purpose by our ancestors. Those sa ancestors that set these enchantnts up in the first place. We told you, Yi. They didn’t want us going back and mixing with the mortal races. They were afraid we’d get… ideas again.” The dragoness shivered, not from the cold, but from a deep ingrained racial fear.
Yi stared at his disciple, and a smile slowly stretched across his perfectly sculpted rosy lips. “A year. That sounds like enough ti to practice the skin – *ahem* scale hardening – technique.”
“Please no, Master. My scales are still itching from the last lesson.” His other student, the dashing Darkanen, complained as he approached in the sky on slowly beating black wings.
“That’s just because you didn’t properly cycle your qi to your scales. If you do, the pain and the resulting bruising are reduced.”
“It hurt! And he died!”
“The hurt is what helps you direct the qi. Or would if you weren’t completely hopeless.”
They all were. They were all hopeless. He’d taken over a hundred dragons as his outer disciples, forcefully and otherwise, after taking Annabeth and Darkanen under his – heh – wing as inner disciples so many years ago. And to this day, not a single one had managed to properly circulate their qi. He’d forcefully open their ridians. He’d helped them shape a dantian.”
He could. Not that he survived long enough to gloat.
But they simply could. Not. Do it.
And he was losing his mind over it. Even the lowliest rabbit in murim was capable of cultivation, and yet here, the great mighty immortal dragons of legend, could not even manage the basest level of cultivation.
He would have laughed if he wasn’t the hapless master of those legendary failures.
Hopefully going back to the ‘Mortal Realm’ of the western continents would finally kick so sense into their scaly behinds. Seeing so combat that wasn’t just dragon on dragon, adjusting to et the unique challenges of other martial styles, and seeing the world. Wasn’t that what the jianghua was about – broadening one’s horizons? So, he was going to broaden their horizons whether they wanted it or not.
But first they had to get through all the hoops that the ancient dragons had set for their people. Between enchantnts, strange and eldritch monsters, and confusing riddles, their attempts to cross the ocean had been stymied for what felt like aeons, but was closer to a couple years.
He frowned. “All this effort, because of eight lowly beings. When this is all done, perhaps I will go and pay the Gods a personal visit and voice my displeasure over their treatnt of my ancestors. Yes, a lovely face slapping is in order, I think.”
As a bonus, a revenge arc was classic Jianghua. He hadn’t had a proper vengeance in decades.
“Shhh!” Darknanen whispered as he held a claw over his lips in a hilariously human fashion. “We told you master. ntioning the Gods is taboo amongst dragonkind. They can never know of your – you know.”
His you know. That was what they called it. As though being Chosen by a God, like a common labour, wasn’t an insult but a thing of horrible beauty.
But fine. He wasn’t doing this because the one called Solen had asked.
He was doing it because he wanted sothing more than sitting in the wilderness eating wild ga and lazing about learning magic through the expenditure of ti rather than effort.
He wanted so fine food and fine wine.
He wanted a warm bed with a warm body to share it with.
“Look at that fish! Isn’t it beautiful? I’m gonna eat it!” Annabeth shrieked, diving into the water. Yi winced at the sheer volu that only a dragon could provide.
He wanted to talk to soone who wasn't a dragon.
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