THE GOLDEN SPIRE was on the edge of the restaurant district, bordering the seedy brothels and dive bars on the bad side of town. Roughneck cultivators from unknown sects gave long and uneasy stares as I pushed through the dingy curtains that served as a door to the place.
I was imdiately hit with the pungent aroma of Qi-infused herbs and cheap wine, the stench a visible haze that shrouded the already dimly lit interior. Shouts and yells stood in the place of music as a rowdy crowd took to cheering an arm-wrestling match that was center stage for the hundred or so patrons within the shoe-box sized establishnt.
Despite the few stares I got, no one seed to recognize thanks to my [Mask of the Despised] technique. And by the looks of the crowd that was just fine with . I couldn’t even tell what sects anyone belonged to, their robes all tattered and mismatched. If not for the display of weapons on the walls and the battle-hardened look of the patrons themselves, I would have pegged the bar for any other in the district. A cheap place for the less fortunate of the city to get drunk and high.
But there was no desperation to be felt in the place at all.
There was instead raucous laugher and mirth.
I weaved through the crowd of n and won alike, so of the won so burly and scar ridden they reminded of Threja. There was definitely a mixture of cultures here as well. A stark contrast to the Yee-dominated society of the Imperial City I’d recently visited. Although I seed to be the only Terran, there were plenty of people from other worlds that were long since conquered by the Yee Dynasty. Tan-skinned Dharmians, folks that looked like Master Edrik and Lysa. I even spotted a grey-skinned giant the sa race as Threja and Sumatra…Sullied I think they were called.
“Chun? Is that you?”
I was taken off guard by the sudden call of my na and looked behind to see a small figure in a wide-brimd bamboo hat. I recognized him imdiately. The old dude from the square. My very first supporter and the one who ca looking for to bring back to the final showdown with Hein.
“Old man?”
“I thought it was you,” he said with a laugh. “And I told you to stop calling that. My na is Sung Wei, dammit.”
I laughed, giving him a short bow. “I know. I know. Old habits die hard. What are you doing here, Master Sung Wei?”
“I was about to ask you the sa,” he said, sliding off his stool to stand next to . Under his hat, his bushy gray brows bunched together with curiosity as he stared up at while stroking his short beard. “How do you even know about this place?”
“I was invited here for a drink,” I said. “By Iron Pot Wong. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
“Ah,” he said. “That makes sense. You won’t find him out here. He’ll be in the back. Co with .”
The place took on an even greater sense of oddity as I followed Master Sung Wei. He never spoke much while in the square and to co across him in a place like this was surprising to say the least. The more I studied the patrons, the less I saw in terms of congruity. There were young and old, various different sects, yet sohow, they all shared a commonality I couldn’t quite place.
One that even Sung Wei shared.
“Hey, what is this place exactly?” I asked, leaning down to Sung Wei.
He chuckled. “Don’t you know? It’s a veteran’s bar. Everyone in here is a soldier who’s fought in so war or another.”
I blinked shocked. “Wait. You’re a soldier?”
“A long ti ago, yes,” Sung Wei said and then lifted his sleeve to reveal a dragon tattoo with a set of numbers below it. “8,254th Battalion, Imperial Army Infantry.”
“Holy crap,” I said. “I had no idea. You’ve been to war?”
He shrugged. “Nothing special about surviving. That’s what we all have in common here. We simply survived. But as they say. Once a soldier always a soldier. Don’t matter where from. Even if you were enemies on the field, all are more than welco here. You’ll find a place like this on every world.”
I looked again to the crowd and the obviousness of it now hit like a slap to the face. It wasn’t that they all looked or dressed the sa, far from it. It was their attitude. Their unabashed comradery. A rugged, ‘I don’t give a shit because I’ve lived through hell kind of look.’
I envied them imdiately.
Sung Wei led through another set of curtains guarded by a burly dude in gray robes and into an even smaller back room with a group of people sat around a table playing cards. I spotted Iron Pot Wong imdiately. He was thin as a rail, sans his bulbous black iron armor, with a thick white beard, bushy brows, and a completely bald head. The four gentlen with him looked much the sa. Veterans amongst veterans it seed, all of them looking like they were in their sixties at least.
As Sung Wei approached, he offered a bow. “Brother Wong, you have a visitor.”
“Eh?” Wong looked up at , confused. “Who’s this?”
I removed the cowl about my face and dropped the [Mask of the Despised] technique and recognition lit up on his face imdiately, as did the other four n around the table with him.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Wong shouted, rising from his chair to slap on the shoulder. “You finally decided to show up! Boys, welco the Iron Bull!”
A salute of praises and lemonade went up at that and the entire room threw toasts of cheer.
“To the Bull Man!”
“Kick those bird bitches out of the tournant, you hear!”
“Soone get him a drink!”
Wong pulled up a chair beside him and pushed a cup of wine into my hand. “As promised, my friend. Co join us for a bit! You too, Sung Wei! Didn’t you even know who this was? You’re such a damn recluse! You really need to get out more.”
“I knew him before you did, you old bastard,” Sung Wei said with a laugh as he pulled up a chair beside . “Back when he was just a dumbass kid picking fights in the street. Now look at him.”
“Aye,” said one of the other n at the table. “Picking fights with the ruling clan now. Bull’s balls indeed, my friend. Cheers to you!”
I sucked up the praise along with the wine, cultivating both within my spirit.
“Thanks for the invitation, Master Wong,” I said clinking cups with him. “I realize this is a special place that I haven’t earned the right to be here.”
“An honorary guest for certain,” Wong said. “But I thought you’d be here sooner once you took off that damn mask.”
“He unveils a face like that in the ring, and you think the first thing he’d do is co running to see the likes of you?” a gruff old woman with dirty blonde hair said from behind the bar. “He probably had half the won of Jurin to bed first.”
That got more laughs and praise, and I couldn’t help but blush a little.
“You’re just jealous you’re not one of them, Ingrid,” Wong said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You old bag!”
The woman laughed. “That I am! Can’t deny.”
Wong nudged . “Stop listening to her and down your drink, lad.”
“Aye,” one of the other n said. “It’ll make her look better at least.”
Ingrid threw a chopstick that lashed the man across the forehead and he laughed.
I grinned and downed my drink, feeling imdiately at ho as the fire slipped down my throat. The heat of it ward my gut and Wong quickly poured another.
“Drink, drink!” he said. “Tonight is all on . To the only man to ever break my armor. The Iron Bull!”
“The Iron Bull!” everyone at the table echoed and raised their cups.
The card ga and banter continued and I beca a spectator to a world I never even knew existed before. It was more akin to when I went drinking with my fellow handlers. Co-workers sharing funny stories about their day on the job.
But instead of stories about minding dumbass cultivators looking to nearly get themselves killed by spirit beasts, it was stories from far-off worlds. Massive battles where the armies were either quelling uprisings and defending cities or even entire planets from a scourge of demons or giant monsters.
“It was a teor strike from one of them Cursed Stars,” Wong was saying. “Overran half the planet with demons. Our Battalion was stationed two planet hops over, the closest to respond. My platoon was riding the first skiff down and right when we were about to launch this guy Li Gong puts his hand up and asks the sergeant to go to the latrine. I’ll never forget his answer. ‘You secure that shit until we reach the surface, Li Gong.’ ‘But I won’t make it, Sergeant!’ he goes. So then the sergeant says, ‘Well shit your pants then. You’ve done it hundreds of tis as a damn baby. What’s once more?’ The whole skiff starts laughing and halfway through the descent the guy starts crying and shouts, ‘I can’t hold it!’ Then he damn well does it! Shits his pants right there on the skiff, farting and stinking out the whole damn place!”
Everyone laughed like crazy.
“So from then on, he was known as Shitpants Gong,” Wong said with a smile. “Last I heard he made general. But people who know him still call him Shitpants to this day.”
They all laughed so more.
All the stories were like that. The horrors of the battles and atrocities they faced re context to the more interpersonal jokes and tomfoolery of soldiers on the edge of war. It was riveting to say the least and a glimpse into a private club that I desperately wanted to be a part of, if not to just be able to share in their comradery and laughs alone.
“Any of you guys ever fight on the Hell Worlds?” I asked.
“What? With the Legionnaires?” Wong said before letting out a chortle. “You wouldn’t find us slumming around here if we did!”
“Aye, the poor bastards,” one of the other soldiers, whose na I’d learned was Boros said. “They say only one in twenty return from a tour. Probably even worse odds now. If you’re the lucky one you’re set for life, kid. Damn near a Warden in status. If you’ve got a soul left to enjoy it, that is.”
“True,” Ingrid said from behind the bar. “I t one of those poor devils once. The lass was hollow. Like a deaf mute or sothing. Couldn’t do naught but eat and stare at the walls. Not sure what they see down there, but it can’t be nothing good. Even the best of them co back broken.”
“I hear that goes for the High Marshall too,” Boros said. “A damn sadistic prick he is. Or so they say.”
“Well, you’d have to be to run a school that sends people through that kind of hell,” Ingrid said. “Maybe the worlds twisted him, or maybe he was so twisted already that it didn’t affect him at all.”
Wong slapped on the shoulder. “Point is, never get drafted, son. Stick to the ring, my boy. A much safer path to the stars.”
The others all laughed.
“Wong and his damn ring fantasies,” Boros said. “You should be encouraging him to face a real battle not live his life forever a ring flower.”
“A ring flower?” I said.
“Pay them no mind,” Wong said. “They’re all just jealous they couldn’t step foot inside a tournant.”
Boros blew a raspberry. “Piss on that. That ain’t real fighting. All pomp and show. None of that fancy crap will work when you got a thousand demon beasts swarming atop of you in so dankass cave.” He then looked to . “You see what I’m saying, lad?”
Strangely enough, I did. Fighting against those demon hordes each night, or even hunting giant spirit beast felt like a whole different skillset. Far more raw and visceral. Instinct and intuition over technique. I preferred it actually.
But that was also exactly why I had co here.
I needed new skills to wield Threja’s sword properly.
I smiled. “Well, speaking of being a ring flower, I was hoping you could help with sothing, Master Wong.”
He raised a bushy brow. “Eh?”
“I’m looking for a teacher,” I said. “Soone who can teach the basics of Glaive wielding.”
I was going to ntion the Phalanx Glaive specifically, but knowing what I did now about the Cursed Stars and how they all felt about legionnaires I figured that detail best be shared later, or perhaps not at all if I could manage it.
Wong responded by slapping the table. “Now that’s a real weapon! Good on you, Iron Bull. Do away with that toy hatchet of yours.”
I laughed. “So you’ll train ?”
“Hold on now,” he said. “These are still the sacred arts of the Iron Crane Sect we’re speaking of here. They don’t co easy… or free.”
I felt suddenly embarrassed and realized I was perhaps asking for sothing way out of line. I was taken back to my first foray into the Jiangu where I had to barter with Hong Feng for my training manual full of Axe techniques. I’d perhaps gotten too comfortable with my recent success, taking for granted that asking such a thing might not be out of the question.
I bowed respectfully. “Forgive , Master Wong. I did not intend—”
He suddenly burst out laughing, slapping the table again.
“You’re such an asshole, Wong,” Sung Wei said sipping his wine. “Making the poor kid think you know anything worth knowing.”
“Hey, I know a lot of useful things!” he said in retort. “And as for you, son. It’s free of course. But to learn from a master like , it’s not without initiation.” He slapped the table again. “Ingrid! A jug of my special please!”
“Oh gods,” she muttered, but disappeared behind the bar as she ducked down to retrieve sothing. She reappeared a mont later with a familiar-looking gourd, the sa as he constantly sipped when out in the ring.
“What’s in that?” I asked.
“What’s soon to be inside you,” Wong said, slapping the table again. “I’ll train you on one condition. Finish that gourd in a minute and I’ll train you all you like.”
“Deal!” I said with a laugh.
Ingrid brought the gourd around and shook her head as she set it on the table. “The dumb gas you n play. Go on then. Drink up and make yourself sick. Just don’t do it all over my bar.”
Everyone laughed at that and I could only imagine what kind of foul concoction was inside it. I cycled my Frenzy, preparing to detoxify myself as if it were a poison. And I guess for all intents and purposes, it was. I took the gourd to my lips and to my surprise the liquid was cold like ice as it went down, but then, like a bow being sprung the sensation changed to roaring heat.
I coughed and sputtered and that got another round of laughter.
I raised a hand to silence them, fortifying myself with [Struggler’s Resolve] as I downed the icy-hot beverage, gulp by painful gulp. I finally finished and slamd the empty gourd on the table to resounding applause.
I belched what felt like literal fire from my throat and coughed. “I’m going to feel that in the morning.”
“Indeed, you will,” Wong said, slapping on the back. “That ans we’ll start your training tomorrow afternoon then. et here, but around back. We’ve got a little ring back there that we can use.”
I gave him a sloppy bow, already feeling the effects of the concoction despite my best efforts to purify my system. “Thank you, Master Wong. You won’t regret it.”
“Aye,” Boros said. “But I think you will, mate. Better get him ho before it really kicks in, Sung Wei. Unless you want to be carrying the big bastard all by yourself.”
“Let’s go, Chun,” Sung Wei said, standing imdiately. “No way in hell I’m carrying you.”
I laughed. “I’ll be fine. I am the Iron Bull, after all.”
“We’ll see,” Wong said patting on the back again as I left. “See you tomorrow, kid.”
* * *
My words ca back to haunt as we neared the halfway mark to ho.
I was walking on rooftops and laughing my head off.
Sowhere, Sung Wei was trying to hold upright as the world spun.
“Co on,” he said with a grunt of effort. “We’re almost there. And you’d better not tell your sister I was responsible for dragging you to that place.”
I couldn’t care less though and stumbled all the way to the square, singing so song I didn’t even rember I knew. Sohow Sung Wei got to my small tent outside the new building and I crashed into the ground without feeling a thing.
“Thanks, Old Man,” I mumbled, and Sung Wei didn’t even bother to correct as he stumbled off to his own cot for the night.
I laughed at my predicant.
It was well past midnight and I was stone cold drunk.
And I had not one but two serious training sessions starting first thing in the morning.
I gave myself a thumbs up. “Way to plan, Chun!”
I chuckled at my own stupid joke and then burst out laughing, waking so of my neighbors. They all told to shut up and couldn’t help but snicker as I tried to comply, literally laughing myself to sleep as visions of Legionnaires, Hell Planets, and soldiers shitting their pants filled my mind’s eye.
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