Cultivation of Ten Thousand Forms

Xilian had heard countless versions of his origins from the townsfolk. Stripping away the embellishments added with each retelling, he could be sure of one thing: Nuen had found him among the corpses of a traveling caravan.

In the years that followed, Xilian had formed plenty of theories about his past. His parents had probably belonged to the caravan, traveling between city-states to trade. Now they were nothing but bones in the Wilderness.

Xilian remembered nothing from before Nuen found him. Perhaps several days and nights in the Wilderness had left his mind damaged by Chaos and robbed him of his memories.

People instinctively deceived themselves, and Xilian was no exception. After turning it over in his mind for so many years, he had long since convinced himself he knew where he came from.

Until tonight.

Xilian had imagined being angry with Nuen for hiding the truth. He had also wondered whether the tattoo was some kind of ill omen, one that would make Nuen draw his sword and chop off his left hand the moment he saw it.

But Xilian had never imagined Nuen would say this.

Xilian stared blankly.

"An iron coffin? What iron coffin?"

However optimistic Xilian usually was, he felt a powerful sense of absurdity, just as he had when he first realized he had crossed into this damned world.

"That was more than ten years ago."

Nuen spoke without hurry.

"To resolve White Cliff Town's predicament, I planned to cross the Wilderness myself and reach Her City. But one night along the way, I encountered a Source-Energy Tide."

Seeing Xilian's confusion, Nuen explained. "The Origin Sea has tides of its own. As they rise and fall, they trigger immense fluctuations in Source Energy. Those fluctuations pass into the Spirit Realm, which in turn affects the real world."

"The clearest sign is that when a Source-Energy Tide rises, more power of Chaos seeps into the real world, making the Interstice Gray Domain several times more dangerous."

"That night was a nightmare. The sky was so black I couldn't see either moon. The Soul Marrow Flame in my hand flickered again and again, going out several times, while the bitter cold left frost on my brow."

Nuen searched his memories, speaking slowly.

"A colossal Chaos creature, a Chaos Follower, or perhaps one of the legendary Abominations?

Beings that hide in the Origin Sea and the Spirit Realm for years can easily be pushed up into the real world by a Source-Energy Tide. I was ready for a bloody fight that night."

Nuen shrugged. "Unfortunately, I didn't encounter a single enemy. The Interstice Gray Domain was empty, as though some force had cleared it out ahead of time."

"Except for you." Nuen traced a rectangle in the air with both hands. "More precisely, the iron coffin holding you."

"I'm certain there was nothing in the Wilderness but stones and weeds before nightfall. But after dark, an iron coffin suddenly appeared beside me. It could only have risen from the Spirit Realm."

"It was an extraordinarily heavy iron coffin, covered in writing I couldn't read. Judging by the shape of the characters, I guessed it was an ancient language, one from before the Noonday Calamity. An Ouroboros was imprinted on the front."

Xilian instinctively looked at his left palm. The tattoo was still glowing.

"When I pried the coffin open, you were lying inside. You looked about six or seven years old, sleeping as peacefully as a baby."

Nuen recalled what he had felt at the time. "Even after everything I'd been through, I'd never seen anything like you."

"Mind you, no monster appearing in the Interstice Gray Domain would have surprised me. But for it to suddenly deliver a child...

I considered killing you, or leaving you there and pretending I'd seen nothing."

Nuen said that, but he had brought Xilian home and raised him.

"I lifted you out and checked you over. You were healthy. Even with the Grey Fog rolling around us, you showed no sign of corruption... I'd never seen a child like you."

"When I turned back, the iron coffin you'd been lying in was slowly sinking. I mean that literally.

Only then did I notice that dawn had come without my realizing it. The Interstice Gray Domain was receding, and everything in it was sinking back into the Spirit Realm."

"You know the rest of the story."

Xilian said nothing. After thinking for a long while, he asked his first question.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Knowing more isn't always a good thing," Nuen said. "My childhood wasn't a happy one. I didn't want you to spend your whole life burdened by some grand mission and a mystery."

"Think about it, Xilian. Have you ever wondered what your life would have been like if you couldn't become a Torchbearer?"

"You'd patrol the high wall night after night. One day, when you were grown, you'd start a family with a girl from White Cliff Town. The days would pass, and you'd grow old and die.

It sounds dull, but you'd have no great burden. You'd only need to live your life."

"Now that you're a Torchbearer, you won't just be patrolling at night. You'll have to cross the Wilderness with a sword in your hand. And before long, greater trials will be waiting for you."

Nuen gave him a faint, helpless smile.

"Besides, I'm no good with words. I didn't know how to explain where you came from. The townsfolk might have seen you as a child of Chaos and thrown you into a fire.

Better to tell a kind lie."

Nuen's rough hand closed over Xilian's left hand, his thumb gently brushing the glowing tattoo.

"I suspect this tattoo has something to do with your origins. You can investigate it in the future, but don't show it to others lightly, just as you shouldn't speak lightly of the Sunflower Clan."

"Mm..."

Xilian nodded, but he still had many questions.

"Teacher, why was I in that iron coffin?"

Until now, Xilian had believed an accident in the Wilderness had erased his memories from before he was six or seven. It seemed the truth was entirely different.

"I don't know."

Nuen shook his head and explained. "After the Noonday Calamity broke out, many city-states sank into the Spirit Realm, only to rise suddenly into the real world centuries or even millennia later.

Some still stood; others had become ruins. But the Spirit Realm had preserved them all remarkably well, just as they had been when they sank."

"And not just city-states. Books and technology were preserved too. Naturally, that includes... people."

Xilian asked, only half understanding, "You mean... I might have lived centuries or millennia ago?

Then I was put in an iron coffin and kept asleep until a Source-Energy Tide brought me out of the Spirit Realm, where you found me?"

Nuen nodded. "It's possible."

"The tangled relationship between time and space in the Spirit Realm is more complex and more insane than you can imagine.

According to rumors from the Ember Remnant, when they ventured deep into the Spirit Realm, they even encountered troops lost on earlier Expeditions. Those troops knew nothing of the Expeditionary Pathfinder's disappearance or the outbreak of the Year of Rebellion. To them, only a few years had passed in the Spirit Realm, while the world outside had entered a different age."

"That's also why I still hold out hope for Captain Frey," Nuen said quietly.

"Perhaps the siege that began a century ago is still going on, and Captain Frey is still fighting a battle without end."

Nuen tried to give himself hope. "It's all possible."

The fire before them died out. The Demons gnashed their teeth, licked at the blood, and poised themselves to strike.

Nuen fell silent again, caught by his memories. Xilian took a glove from his pocket and covered the tattoo on his left hand.

In the days to come, Xilian would often walk through the Interstice Gray Domain. He could share this secret with his teacher, but not with anyone else.

"Come, Xilian. We still have a lot of work to do."

Nuen raised his longsword and beckoned to Xilian.

Xilian did not refuse. He drew his sword and cut into the Demons.

It came as naturally as breathing: killing, fighting through blood, dancing among the hideous horde of Demons.

Like swinging a sickle through a wheat field.

Xilian swung his sword without tiring. Amid the bloodshed and brutality, he even felt a faint stir of joy.

And as Demon after Demon fell, the burning pain from the Ouroboros Mark changed, confirming it was no illusion.

It was a strange satisfaction, like venting a long-held hatred or gorging oneself after starvation.

Xilian could not say whether it was "pleasure," but he found himself giving in to that "craving."

Slaughter and blood. Death and purification.

The more Xilian raised his blade against the forces of Chaos, the more satisfied the Ouroboros Mark became.

In that moment, Xilian suddenly understood.

The burning pain was not a warning to him. It was...

An urging.

It urged Xilian to take up his sword and kill, to set fires and burn, to drive out every trace of that forbidden evil.

In a daze, Xilian heard those voices in unison again. And at that moment, he knew almost by instinct what power the Ouroboros Mark now held.

Blessing: Nurture Myriad Forms.

Strangely, Blessing: Nurture Myriad Forms granted Xilian no special ability. It only craved the slaughter of Chaos.

Perhaps, as its name suggested, it was nurturing something unknown through an endless blood sacrifice.

Only at dawn did Xilian return to the high wall, bloodstained and exhausted.

Sunlight fell on him, bringing waves of warmth and a crackling sound.

The Demon blood and scraps of flesh clinging to Xilian turned into wisps of smoke in the sunlight. The mountain of corpses piled beneath the wall met the same fate.

They burst into clusters of flame. A passing wind scattered them into ash across the sky, and when the ash fell, it became dust and returned to the Wilderness.

Xilian stood leaning on his sword and murmured to himself.

"Cultivation of Ten Thousand Forms... just what are you nurturing?"