By the time they were halfway through the trail, he'd come to a realization. He was going to have to get a dagger at some point. He didn't yet have a clue how, considering the only ones who carried daggers were the Honor Guard, and the only way to become one of them lay a year or two in the past.

  That wasn't as much of an obstacle as it would otherwise be, but Wu Hao felt absolutely no desire to die that much.

  Below his feet the miles of mountainous terrain just fell away. It was as physically taxing as it always was, but he knew the dangers now, knew where the rocks that offered steady footing were placed, could tell when he had a little time to slow down a bit and regain his breath.

  He wouldn't say that he knew the mountain, but he knew this path, at least.

  Still didn't make it as easy as for Uncle Bai, who he occasionally spotted behind them during sections where the path curved in on itself winding up the mountain. The man carried his wine jug in one hand and casually leapt distances that spanned half their line, without even looking winded.

  Wu Hao felt a stab of something in his chest when the man touched down like a bird landing on a twig, despite his obvious bulk. There was a mental block in his mind that kept him from feeling much of anything at all towards the Uncles except devotion. He was surprised to realize that envy got through.

  Although... Come to think of it, there had to be some way of obtaining a movement art from the thing that kept reviving him, didn't there? An interesting thought, but one he shoved aside for now.

  The camp had already begun its setup when their part of the march arrived, and they were swiftly assigned a task by one of the boys from the honor guard. Once they'd gone through the necessary steps of scavenging up some wood, starting the fires, dealing with the beasts, came cultivation guidance.

  When they rose from their meditative trances with that thin spike of ice swimming in their cores, Wu Hao knew what he was going to do. As before, he waited until everyone else was sleeping, then gave it more time until he felt the time was right. He could feel that same itch crawl in his belly and his fingers, urging him to use his new technique.

  It was the second move of the Rending Dagger Art, which he'd received from the new fragment: a stabbing attack called the Long Hook. It'd allow him to transform his qi into something like a phantom dagger tip, extending the reach of his knife by a bit.

  Exactly how much of that tip he could manifest and how sharp it'd be would depend on his own qi and his qi control. He still hadn't mastered the initial move, but he hoped that trying the second move would help him understand the first better.

  If he could get the qi loop to click into place just a little faster, that'd be a pretty good result already. One cold day couldn't freeze a river, as the saying went.

  He slipped past the tents in the darkness, steps careful on the slightly-wet grass and arms clenched to his side to ward off the cold. It would've been good if he could push a little qi through his body, but he'd need all of it for practice.

  That said, though, there was no reason for him to go grabbing another tent peg, now that he knew of even slightly better options.

  The fires throughout the camp were kept in enormous, iron braziers, which were carried by dedicated troops of deathsworn. Wu Hao's troop, as one of the newer groups, hadn't been saddled with specific duties yet, but many of the others had specific tasks each time they made camp.

  Normally it would have been suicide to go near the fires, because there were always people there and they'd see him immediately in the fire-light, but he'd chosen his moment well. The fires had been extinguished when the deathsworn charged with keeping the flame had been sent off for sleep. In a few hours - he presumed - the next group of flamekeepers would be roused early and made to tend to the fire. That left only a few smoldering coals and, here and there, his targets - the flame pokers.

  These were what he'd used last time. They weren't as good as a real dagger might have been, or so the cultivation manual memories in his mind kept insisting, but they would do.

  He reached out carefully, taking hold of the low-quality rusted iron and pulling it out of the brazier where it'd been left. He glanced around a few times, in every direction, just to make sure that no one was watching him.

  It would have been easy to explain why he was out of his tent. It wouldn't be so easy to explain why he was here, or why he was stealing a fire poker.

  Keeping his breaths light, he pulled softly but insistently at the poker. When he'd worked it out roughly halfway, one of the remaining chunks of burnt wood collapsed onto the others with a dull thud, and he glanced around again, feeling his heartbeat soar.

  He saw no one, and he heard no one. He didn't let up his guard, suddenly aware of how short his time actually was. With a sudden tension burning between his shoulders, Wu Hao started pulling harder, ignoring the way the fire poker's iron rubbed against his skin or the smoldering heat that still remained in the middle of the brazier.

  Finally he wriggled the fire poker free, cursing himself for not just grabbing a tent peg again. Even if it exploded, so what? He took hold of the fire poker with both hands, weighing its awkward shape now that he'd gotten a good grip on it.

  "You," a voice said. "Explain."

  He spun around, remembering at the last breath not to let go of the fire poker. It slid out of the pile of wood surprisingly easily, but then he heard several dull thuds and even a crack as the woodpile collapsed on top of itself.

  None of that could bother Wu Hao as much as realizing he was facing 589, though. The older boy was unmistakable - from the green color of his eyes to the sharp jut of his chin or the dagger that glinted at his hip.

  Breathing shallowly, the fire poker in his hand, Wu Hao made a decision. Qi began to spool slowly outwards from his core. If 589 realized what he was going to do...

  "You were not given fire-keeping duties," 589 said, stepping forward. Somehow, incredibly, he didn't seem to have noticed that Wu Hao was gathering his qi. Didn't he smell it, the same way as Wu Hao could smell qi?

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Instead, he extended a single hand towards Wu Hao, palm open. "Hand me the fire poker and tell me your number. I will report this to an Uncle posthaste. You will be punished for -"

  Wu Hao struck, driven by something even he couldn't explain.

  Panic lent him speed and power, but the qi slipped from his grasp in the space of that same breath and all he managed was a hard hit that slammed into 589's outstretched arm, which he'd hastily raised into a block.

  There was a thunk that sounded as loud as an explosion in Wu Hao's ears as the fire poker bounced off. The other boy wrenched himself back, yanking his wounded arm back, but in the pre-morning darkness Wu Hao couldn't see if he'd actually managed to inflict an injury.

  He didn't have time to wonder, either, as 589 hissed and marshalled his own qi in response, then swung out wildly with both of his hands.

  Wu Hao ducked under the first blow, but the second one slammed into the side of his face and snapped Wu Hao's head around to the point where he saw stars. Another punch to his wrist tried to make him drop the fire poker and he nearly did, only holding onto it by the tips of his fingers and a minor miracle.

  More by accident than skill he managed to dodge 589's qi-enhanced haymaker, managing to take a single step into 589's personal space. The other boy had robed himself in his qi now, a shimmering cloak of grey qi that smelled of charcoal, ashes, and pain. It made him strong and fast, but it also let Wu Hao keep track of where 589 was and what he was doing in the darkness.

  Slipping another step further, Wu Hao moved past 589, and then both of them had to turn towards the other, caught in an awkward dance of being between attacks.

  "Rending Dagger Art," Wu Hao whispered as he twisted on his left foot, pushing his qi into a loop that only vaguely looked like the one described. His qi was a mess, his mind panicked, and his nerves shot from the pain of eating several punches. But it was kill or be killed, and he'd been killed enough. He pushed all that aside, begging for a single moment of clarity to make this work.

  He got it as 589 turned on his heel and cocked his fist back, just a few moments slower than Wu Hao.

  Wu Hao exhaled once, feeling a strange lull come over him, the narrowing of his world that he encountered only at the edge of life and death.

  "Long Hook," he finished whispering just as 589's fist buried itself into his sternum, at that same instant pushing the edge of the fire poker against the side of the other boy's head.

  Qi flashed - it rampaged through Wu Hao's body, but at the same time erupted out of the dagger's tip, forming into a dozen threads that had been intended to form a phantom dagger's tip; instead it was just a riot of power without any control, sputtering like sparks thrown from one of the fires. As he flew back Wu Hao lost his grip on the poker, and the qi was cut off the moment Wu Hao's palm left the poker's handle.

  The soft sound of the fire poker landing in the grass and its last spark dying out was lost in 589's loud hiss of pain.

  Wu Hao slammed into the ground and immediately tried to scramble for the dagger again, ignoring his burning lungs and broken ribs, but before he could manage to grab it a strong hand clamped down over his leg and hauled him back, turning him towards 589 again.

  "Defective," 589 hissed. One of his hands remained clasped over his eye, though through his fingers Wu Hao could see a bloody ruin. His other eye flashed with what might have been hate. "Do you realize what you've done?"

  Wu Hao said nothing, marshalling his qi for another attempt. He had no dagger on hand, but if he could get loose he could scrabble towards the poker again...

  "Father will cast me out for this," 589 said. His voice had gone flat again, but in a way that promised pain. "You will suffer."

  He stomped down on Wu Hao's knee, turning it a way that it was not supposed to be turned. Wu Hao felt bone give, muscle tear and flesh shatter. Involuntarily, and despite all his training, he shrieked in pain, and the sound rang through the silent tents like wildfire.

  Immediately, he heard the rustle of cloth, the sound of a dozen other honor guards startled away from their regular patrols to come investigate the disturbance, and Uncle Bai's tent shifted as the man inside was ripped from his slumber.

  That same moment, as 589 was distracted, Wu Hao forced himself to move, kicked out against 589's wrist, and lunged with a one-legged jump towards the poker. His fingers closed around the handle and -

  One of 589's hands picked Wu Hao up like he was a bundle of rags, raising him high in the sky. 589 wasn't holding him by the collar, though. His hand was clamped securely around Wu Hao's neck, his fingers squeezing with the strength of a vise.

  He stared directly into Wu Hao's eyes. Only now did Wu Hao see fully what his attack had done. The other boy's face had been disfigured, with thick bleeding cracks running through his right eye socket. Where his eye had been, only a smattering of useless flesh remained.

  "Die," 589 commanded.

  Then 589's fist clenched tight and Wu Hao felt his neck give as his world was reduced to nothingness.

  He woke up again, feet stopping for a moment before he rejoined the walk with the others heading towards the initial marching point.

  As they passed the group where Father stood, inspecting his troops, they all stopped, turned, and bowed low towards him. Wu Hao caught a glimpse of the boys surrounding him, marked by their white stripes and the way they had been allowed to stand close to Father, when the rest of them had to keep their distance.

  589 stood there, too. He showed no sign that he recognized Wu Hao, and why would he? He hadn't ambushed Wu Hao, hadn't killed him.

  But Wu Hao knew. And he wouldn't forget.