(Yellow)

Cultivators. Caste.

Experts, on par with the average strength of Clear Sky Empire Sect outer disciples.

Few appearances have our intelligence scattered, and the information henceforth is collated from small sample sizes.

Those of the Yellow Caste are predominantly of a heritage with the One Hundred and Eight Seeking Vajra. (Middle Likelihood)

Observations have placed no scrutiny on an average Path of cultivation, and with the variety seen it is estimated that no limits exist on what they might follow. Be that [Body], [Mind], [Spirit] or Harmony. (Middle Likelihood)

Notably, no Yellow Caste cultivators have been encountered below the [Core Formation Realm]. (Truth)

[Spirit Beasts] appear to have no limitation as the lower Castes hold, and exist outwith beasts of burden or mundane, lower aggression species as shown with Red and Yellow. (Truth)

Within all recovered documents there is no mention of restrictions placed upon these Yellows beneath Imperial Law. (High Likelihood)

(Marches of Yellow).

[Core Formation Grade] realms.

Ambient Qi Density is comparable to that of average prefectures within the [Clear Sky Empire].

* As with Marches of Orange, the projected growth rates for cultivation mirror this. (Truth).

Only from readings have we gleaned the existence of Repositories, believed, with conjecture, to be a counter to Clear Sky Empire Sects. Houses of learning as mandated by the false Imperial rule, wherein a strict regimen is adhered to.

Marches of Yellow possess numerous establishments of this type, if reports are to be believed. (High Likelihood)

The Marches of Yellow’s juxtaposition within the [True Orchid Path] fragment intersect with the main [True Orchid Path] by a mere handful of connections, if still prohibited from direct entrances as the higher Marches suggest. (High Likelihood)

“Report: Yellow,” - Disciple Wen Pinxiu of the Wayward Winds.

He wove his trail as a bloody constellation.

Eastmost, screams rose.

West, specks of dissipating [Spirit Beasts]. Throats spilled so that death would come slow.

Gurgles. Choking, drowned things.

North held less concern, more a stockpile of bodies to be splattered from on high. Ink stains in crimson where the ghost and his junior presented corpses atop the enemy Warship’s deck.

Then on to South. To Fu Gao’s [Half Cloud Step] that danced him to the belly of an orange-robed cur, delivering a slit that spilled and saturated the Caste-defining cloth.

Chaotic repetition felled five, becoming ten and twenty when Anfang revealed her talent for cruelty. The valai-tadar was a silent scythe, severing limbs in place of the instant death her senior could dispense.

And so the screams sang until a resonance was sent through the brooch, drawing all into stillness.

Both ghosts fled into darkness to observe a misery of retaliation. How orange robes flocked from each corner, abandoning their ailing comrades; the crippled; the broken; the few that gurgled blood some few paces from where the initiates knelt. These ghosts observed it all, and absence showed the depths of fostered fear.

“Useless, un-enlightened dogs!” snarled the Yellow at Udvah’s fore. “Why do you cower? What life do you hold to be fearful of losing it? End this farce!”

The spears in each orange-clad grip rose. Authority clear, for Fu Gao knew these were no rallying words, reflecting a problem that he had not foreseen.

Blindness.

So said, for he saw not resolve in the tightening grip and readying stare of each. But hues of resignation that held no instinct for self-preservation nor honor. Merely the obligation that each of these orange held.

To the Yellow’s rear further weapons were levied, dropped aside the necks of each captured initiate. Warning motions as guessed by their leader’s impression, now primed to cut should a single word be shared.

Udvah had stilled, appearing aged as his gun bore all weight. “Master Yellow,” he said. “This humble one has no eyes for Martial talent, it was how his vessel was commandeered beneath his notice! But- but are others of your station within? Mere orange cannot defeat this spectre!”

My junior digs. Let us see what he finds.

At his side, Mangalam heaved a farcical croak. Well laboured, as it was inspected by the Yellow’s [Spirit Sturgeon].

A circling, violent looking beast of noticeable [Air Qi].

“Fear not, cousin. These wither-touched and sun-scorched fools will break the tide! Even a rotten ship holds its value in nails.” But the Yellow’s jian emerged to punctuate this, ensuring steel was to hand as he strutted to Su Sai’s fray. “Submit, dog of the Clear Sky Empire.”

That held interest.

However, Fu Gao’s terror had yet to reach its peak. With an impression to his [Spirit Crab], mist rolled. No blanket, but a vast skirting at ankle and paw that had both disappear as the orange-robed fools dared wade forth.

Three notables walked through this mire.

A [Spirit Boar], ensconced in teal Qi. The amaranth-hued bird- a [Spirit Crane] of some depiction whose motions directed those about her. And the simple cultivator of highest realm, broaching the middle stage of [Core Formation].

[Hundred Poisons Synthesis] delivered the Asp Paralysis tincture to his blade. Slathered as oil might be atop pork.

His feet blurred. Tentacles blurred.

These next delves drew a different breed of cruelty. Tendons so none might stand. Violent, pain-inflicting scores upon spines, necks, scalps, and in Hushi’s grip: manglings that delivered poison where inner bone twisted to penetrate outer skin.

The three of note- these pairs turned swiftly in the low slung mist. Whorls pushed in their wake, rounding as all did to glean where the next strike might appear.

Anfang’s valar-tadai yet flew. Across the deck came numerous shrieks as flesh was bitten, or gouges were torn before the weapon returned to her hand. Some [Art] or talent that even Shuidi’s [Senses] barely placed.

But- “[Imperial Art: Moonsong].”

Qi-rich flares inked light across the skies above, drowning the deck and balconies in undeniable light. Orbs, amaranth as the [Spirit Crane] that enacted it, hung in opposition to Fu Gao’s plan.

Their orange foes took heart at this, though their Path of [Body] stalled further manifestations from vexing his slaughter.

Light serves only to lengthen the shadows. This is a single reprieve, nothing more.

So passed long breaths, percussed by Su Sai’s nearby clash. Each meteor a drumbeat to shake the air across decks. Then, slowly, the tempo rose. Closer sounds, prefaced by grunts and groans as the villain that inflicted them observed from shade.

Paralysis claimed a score of orange, clattering each empoisoned foe to the deck. It drew the eyes of his chosen marks, and his next descent began.

A [Half Cloud Step] as any other, brushing his whisper in the [Spirit Boar] cultivator’s ear. “Serpents do not fear the light.” He felt then, the incoming blow. One propelled at a speed imparted by this brutish, tusked creature.

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Sluggish.

Fu Gao suffused his [Spectral Qi], and three motions began. That of the spear through his chest, incorporeality having it retract with no injury. Second returned his body, and had his chain fly so swift it became anchored in the man’s forehead.

Third came the [Epiphany].

Heaven-gifted, or intrinsic to his soul, for he did not devolve into a bout of madness upon the battlefield and succumb to visions of what was to come.

He simply knew.

The mist adopted it. Wisps and low tendrils slithered forth as serpents, honing in on the meaning he had gleaned. All birthed from a single breath. How the [Spirit Boar] had gasped. No demure affectation as Aarushi presented, nor of base shock.

An intake where it caught in lungs. Cold and fearful. Dread-soaked of the kind that thundered hearts and had skin turn glacial.

His [Ink] burned, and yet he felt no warmth. He knew only the mists about him, intimately, and how his tendrils stole into open maw and nostril to seize the breath there. Suffocating those upon the ground without use of his [Intent].

Bolstering his [Might]. His [Control]. His [Insight]. [Capacity], [Pull], [Senses], all. Fu Gao harvested the lagging breath, tasting their terror, and in turn, bolstered more as [Spirit Beasts] and cultivators alike succumbed to it.

Hushi blurred, maiming the [Core Formation] orange before the blade finished him. The [Spirit Crane] then.

A scythe fell thereafter, palmed by his trailing ghost. Bloody work that crippled the remnants in turn, tarnishing the air in myriad dissipating wisps.

Fu Gao nodded approvingly at his junior, and paced. With chain unslung, he turned his passage slow and purposeful. “Leap,” came his command, projected across the marrying bridge.

Maddenned eyes returned. Orange hanfu quaked. Knees met the deck. Submissive bows, and tucked tails. These dogs drove to supplication, allowing the initiates to break and stand free from peril.

“Leap,” drove the second command, and [Killing Intent] stained the air in bloody hues. The amaranth orb behind, quashed.

“Mercy, master cultivator! These lowly souls of orange beseech you!”

Bold.

[Half Cloud Step] spilled four throats in a single, metallic snap, and rounded. Such bloated [Control]- no, so bloated had this [Dao] made his strength that a mere heartbeat later his blade had skewered the warring Yellow’s [Spirit Sturgeon] ahead.

Shallow, in testament to his [Resilience]. A puncture that merely hooked. But the act that followed was simplicity itself, for Fu Gao reeled, delivering the beast into Hushi’s waiting arms.

Quiet fell upon the circulating mists, as terror still gripped the hearts of many. And yet-

“Senior. This sixty-first Aarushi extends her awe and apologies in equal measure. That we could not fend…” His doctor potentate was silenced with a wave.

A smile passed as Fu gently elevated the brim of his douli. “Gratitude, disciple Aarushi,” he greeted, feeling Anfang arrive at his rear. “But awe is best saved for our betters. We are mere ghosts, no? Now, come, if any are able. Reds yet claim this ship, and I would test if any here are diligent enough to put observation into practice.”

Thirteen cultivators bowed low.

The cousin disciple, perhaps, dipped his head.

Behind, Udvah stamped his gun. “Amituofo. As our senior says. Descend.”

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Benefits. Opportunity. These terms came to Fu’s mind as he dismissed his [Ink].

As his initiates harvested from the fallen, this hundred and more, a notion came that he had indeed grown. Yet, to look upon the tarnished deck and the moon-bright stains of Fu and Anfang’s handiwork showed more orange than naught.

Hushi felt a similar sting to their progress.

The Heavens smiled, for we did not face any foes of true talent. Oranges, for as little as we know despite Pinxiu’s compiled reports, are no true experts.

The March of Serpents grew imperative.

His next march took him into the enemy’s interior, where brutality was painted in sloppier strokes. The training hall mats were as gruel to walk on, layering blood atop his soles as he sunk into a saturated floor. On, the canteen held taint in the half-eaten bowls there. A map room, half-ruined, the small archive - less so, for the recently slaughtered Reds were not permitted entry.

Pinxiu’s swarm laid claim to the store. Two scores of [Spirit Ants] that poured and classified the brimming contents of crates and sealed spatial containers. “Senior,” came her greeting, injected with chicken blood.

“Disciple Pinxiu. We hold a bounty then?” Fu gestured.

It was a room some twenty paces wide, shelved where mundane containers did not hold the bulk of its contents. Rice would be a fisherman’s guess, though he hoped for resources more integral to cultivation than mundane wares.

Impressions between Pinxiu and her swarm had them stay. A novel sight came then, for from the folds of her hanfu emerged a great violet bulb. Regal and slow where her cultivator possessed such jittering energy that Fu might say the room itself shook.

“I greet you, disciple,” extended Fu, his hands clasped towards the small queen.

A twofold bow returned. “Muqin extends greetings to her senior,” shared Pinxiu. “And we would share a thought if it might be considered.”

Trails of her [Spirit Ants] moved by, presenting articles of note for both cultivators inspection. Herbs, the likes of which his [Old One’s Whisker] had yet to learn, if of a low enough realm for certain educated comparisons to be made.

“Speak free,” smiled Fu.

Pinxiu shivered. Or- her mannerisms were an oddity, and no draft reached here. “There was a toll to be appointed as head. Unknown. Fascination, yes, but equal parts uncertainty. We long to progress our cultivation and study of the alchemical arts. [Arrays]. [Dao]. All promised. Is this not a disciple’s dream? My foundation comes from the Third Heavenly Records, where competition is opportunity, and where unparalleled geniuses have mosts’ merit seem trite.”

The name conjured a recollection, for Zhu had a sister in the same archive.

Her point yet to be made, Pinxiu continued after a single breath. “From my departure there, to the initiation within the Cloudy Serpent Sect, the difference is something long pondered. How high a ceiling? What differences? One tome-bearing shelf cannot differ so greatly from another, no? Then the honor senior Gao Fu granted, to lead, with all the weight carried. Miqun and I had thought ourselves blessed, then troubled, and now, witness to such a deft stroke, humbled.”

Fu considered smiling as his mind caught up to the volume of words. “Humbled?” he said, feigning interest in a proferred vial of [Pills].

A middling, toxin-riddled pip. Bastard cousin to [Qi Condensation].

“The bar is set,” nodded Pinxiu. “Your expectations, the duties of each appointed, these are small troubles. Low standards. All have seen this now. Gratitude, senior. A thousand-fold, for this glimpse into true serpents.”

The following hour saw this Warship stripped and his own, flourish. Lists were made, and words traded in the company of Pinxiu to inform Fu of their gains.

[Spirit Cores] in the hundreds. A wealth of spirit stones, five thousand lower-grade, both to surprise and settle him as he discovered that the currency was shared between Empires. Weapons in myriad forms, able to equip the bare hands of his initiates once their training was complete. [Pills]. Small treasures. Components best suited for [Array] maintenance and integral for the continued health of their Warship.

More in a wealth of necessities.

Indeed the Wayward Winds left a bare husk adrift before their own vessel. Abandoned, against better judgement and caution, for their future plans would render its discovery obsolete.

To these thoughts he turned.

To these thoughts he steered.

So it was that some bare hours beyond the slaughter, Fu stood at the bow of Udvah’s smaller vessel dispensing words to those upon the Warship. Quiet orders. Questionable orders, truly, but not indicative of any growing madness.

Exchanged over a cloudy expanse.

Anfang knelt there, Pinxiu aside. But both held silent under their senior’s command. Resolute in gaze despite all they heard, though Udvah’s presence might have lent to this.

“The Imperial’s attack drives this, but so too must our action be swift,” shared Fu. “Brother Udvah has walked this path, thus I leave you in his care.”

Breath puffed from Su Sai. Already at protest atop Fu’s smaller vessel. It drew Shuidi’s ire, and only an immense force of will restrained her [Killing Intent].

Few courses are better. His strength is of benefit, and to keep him close is to remove his access to the ship while we do not walk it.

As parting words went, Fu spoke neither grandly or at length. Indeed his final act was to signal the helmsman, Xiong, to depart. The deck beneath thrummed as they unmoored, descending through the clouds to begin this next step.

His show of slaughter allowed this. Some twisting of faith.

Fu breathed deep as the vessel lowered. [Mist Qi], or its composites, nourished him. Clouds imparted a welcome that might see him lost in embrace.

But he gazed.

Pondered.

Saw their purity and tasted no crimson among them. Nor did Hushi hear the splintering of bone echo where thunder might sleep.

What aspect of a cloud might terror be? This [Dao of Plundered Breath].

A curious mirth warmed his chest, stirring both partners upon him. It called Hushi from his midden, and Shuidi, pitting both on the vessel’s open bow.

“An answer to be found,” he said. “One opportunity upon this dangerous wind.”

Here Aarushi surfaced, showing diligence for what she mistook as summons. Gently, she bowed, a sleeve across her face. “Senior Gao Fu, might this sixty-first rate seeker aid you in any way?”

Turning showed all this vessel’s occupants. Three cultivators, if Xiong was included for his efforts with the [Core]. Blurring wings circulated him as his [Spirit Cicada] fussed, but alone in a far flung cabin.

Aarushi, here for the uncertainty ahead, and Su Sai, for only a fool turns his back on a dog baring fangs.

He addressed the former. “Lend your eyes, disciple. That is all. Foreign lands hold foreign looks, and we must begin progress on our [Reliquary] before Brother Udvah completes his own.”