Shadowwwing
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62. Resolution
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 22:00:03 +0000 UTCJiang slept in short, restless bursts, the city’s constant murmur a grating noise that kept pulling him back from the edge of true sleep. It was a long way from the quiet hush of a forest, and despite the relative comfort of the bedding and the security of a locked door, Jiang found himself missing the wilds.
By the time he gave up on sleep and hauled himself out of bed, the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. Jiang leant against the wall next to the window, gazing out at the city and considering his next moves. Above all else, he wanted to complete the Broker’s job as quickly as possible – not only because it would get him closer to the information he needed to find his family, but also because the money on his hip was a debt, an unspoken anchor weighing him down.
Still, trying to steal the jade comb back in the middle of the day wasn’t a good idea – while the guards last night had backed off once they’d realised he was a cultivator, that was when he wasn’t committing any crimes. He somewhat doubted they would be as willing to let him go free if he was blatantly stealing – and the chances of him being the only cultivator in the city were slim. He wasn’t entirely sure how things worked, but acting on the assumption that there were people more powerful than him wasn’t going to hurt – and it might just save his life.
Besides, cultivator or not, a blade would kill him just as quickly as it would anyone else. Better to be as discrete as possible – which meant waiting until nightfall to try to steal the comb. He could check out the merchant’s shop during the day easily enough – find the comb itself or at least get an idea as to where it could be kept, scope out the surrounding area and figure out where to run if he was spotted – but that wouldn’t take long. Which meant he had nineteen silver coins, most of a day, and an entire city to keep himself busy with.
Before his imagination could get too far away from him, his stomach growled.
Right. Breakfast first.
— — —
Downstairs, the common room was already half-full, thick with the smell of strong tea, frying bacon, and damp wool. The patrons were mostly guards and dockhands, their conversations low and gruff. He spotted Wei Ren and Jin at the same table as last night, already working their way through plates of porridge and hard bread.
“Morning!” Wei Ren greeted him with a grin, gesturing to an empty spot on the bench with his spoon. “Sleep alright, or did the city sounds keep you up?”
“It was fine,” Jiang said, though judging by the knowing looks on the guard’s faces his expression told a different story. He set his pack down before heading to the bar to trade a few coppers for a bowl of the same thick, steaming porridge.
The meal was simple but filling, and made for a welcome change to the days of jerky and trail rations. The familiar presence of the guards was also more comforting than he’d expected – the overwhelming newness of Qinghe was hitting him harder than expected. While he’d always been curious about the big cities from his father’s stories, he was quickly realising that the wilds were far more his speed. If nothing else, they smelled better.
He was finishing the last of his porridge when Jin looked up from his mug, his expression as serious as ever. “We’re heading to the guild’s practice yard in a bit,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Need to run through some drills, keep the road dust from settling in our joints.” He met Jiang’s gaze. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Jiang considered the offer. While a part of him had wanted to explore the city, on reflection, wandering aimlessly was probably just an invitation for trouble. Training, on the other hand, was productive. Jin and Wei Ren, for all that they were mortals, had a practical, hard-won knowledge of fighting that he desperately lacked. Their simple drills had already taught him more about stance and balance than any of his duels at the Sect.
Improving his combat skills directly served his ultimate goal. Whatever information the Broker provided, it would almost certainly lead to a confrontation. He needed to be ready.
“Alright,” he said, pushing his empty bowl aside. “I could use the practice.”
Besides, the city wasn’t going anywhere – and if nothing else, he could ask the Wei Ren and Jin for recommendations on what to do with the rest of his free time.
— — —
The practice yard wasn’t far, tucked away behind a row of tall, narrow warehouses that smelled faintly of brine and tar. It wasn’t marked by any grand archway or sign, just a heavy, iron-strapped gate in a high timber fence. Jin pushed it open, revealing a wide, enclosed space of tightly packed sand, churned up in places by the feet of countless guards passing over it.
The air inside tasted of sweat, oiled leather, and effort. Along one wall, racks were filled with battered but serviceable gear: wooden training swords, dented bucklers, and quarterstaves worn smooth with use. Despite the early hour, there were half a dozen men already running drills in the centre of the yard.
Jiang watched them for a moment, thoughtful. As inexperienced as he was, even he could see the practical efficiency of their movements. It was the grace of repetition – decades of practice making the same motions until their bodies could move without thought.
Wei Ren tapped him on the shoulder. “Come on now, no time for daydreaming,” he said with a grin. “Best get to warming up, or Jin will give you his patented look of disappointment.”
Jiang grunted, falling in beside Wei Ren as the guard started a light jog around the perimeter of the training yard. Ahead of them, the rest of the caravan guards were moving in easy formation, likewise warming up their muscles for training.
While Jiang could acknowledge the necessity of the warmup jog – he’d been forced to act with stiff, cold muscles far too many times while hunting not to – that didn’t mean he enjoyed the process. Even with the advantages conveyed by his cultivation, the simple fact of the matter was that he was shorter than the rest of the guards – for every two steps they took, he took three. It turned the light warmup jog into just enough of a chore to be difficult, but not quite enough for him to feel like he was pushing himself.
Frustrating.
Still, if nothing else, by the time Wei Ren tossed him a training sword, he was feeling fully awake and alert, the final vestiges of sleep banished by the physical activity. As they moved to the centre of the yard, Wei Ren grinned. “Just a bit of light sparring today. Keep you on your toes.”
Jiang settled into the familiar defensive stance Li Xuan had beaten into him. The initial exchange was a jarring, frustrating lesson. The lessons the caravan guards had been giving him had dropped off after the encounter with Kaelen – both because of Jiang’s own injuries but also because the number of injured among the guards had meant the few uninjured guards had pulled longer and longer shifts to ensure the caravan was sufficiently protected.
Jiang knew that meant he’d be a little rusty, of course, but during that time, he’d broken through to the fourth stage – and at least a part of him had expected that the increase in his physical capabilities would close the gap between him and Wei Ren.
If anything, it seemed the opposite was true.
Every one of his direct, powerful lunges was turned aside by a simple, economical twist of Wei Ren’s wrist. His strength was a clumsy, blunt instrument against the guard’s honed technique.
Wei Ren wasn’t trying to overwhelm him; he was simply dismantling him piece by piece. A light tap here to force an over-extended block, a quick feint there to draw him off balance. Jiang felt like a child swinging a heavy club, all force and no finesse, while Wei Ren moved like a weaver at a loom, each thread of movement precise and purposeful. The spar ended, as it always did, with Jiang’s wooden sword skittering across the sand.
It wasn’t that Jiang was unfamiliar with the sensation of failure – he’d lost track of the number of times he’d startled off his prey or missed a shot – but instead, it was the vague feeling that his efforts were pointless that had him so frustrated. As he walked over to pick his sword up, his gaze drifted over to where Jin was drilling with another guard. They moved in a blur of controlled motion, their swords a constant, flowing exchange. There was no wasted energy. Every parry was a potential counter, every step a recalibration of balance.
They had spent years – maybe even decades – honing their craft, turning their bodies into weapons through sheer, unrelenting repetition. Their skill was a deep, ingrained thing, a language their muscles spoke without thought.
Could he ever match that? With the advantages of being a cultivator, almost certainly – but how long would it take? If he dedicated the next ten years of his life to nothing but sword drills, if he endured thousands more sessions like this, he was confident he would match their level of skill, or even surpass it.
But what was the point?
What he could learn in ten years was irrelevant – and, more importantly, had nothing to do with his actual goal. Maybe after he’d saved his family, he could spend some time learning to fight with a sword – it sounded kind of cool, if he was being honest – but until then, far more efficient to stick with what he knew. His true strengths weren’t in meeting force with force. They were in the quiet step, the patient watch, the single, perfectly placed arrow that ended a conflict before it truly began.
That was his foundation. And cultivation would not change that; it would amplify it. A cultivator’s speed would make him a ghost in the trees. His enhanced senses would allow him to track a trail across bare stone. His strength would let him draw a war bow as if it were a toy. He didn’t need to be a swordsman. He needed to be a hunter who could kill spirit beasts and bandits as easily as he once killed deer.
That didn’t make this training useless, of course – if nothing else, he wouldn’t always be in situations where a bow was the best choice in weapons – but it did mean it was less of a priority.
He nodded once to himself, the decision feeling… right.
With fresh energy, he scooped his sword up and settled back into his stance opposite Wei Ren. Ironically, despite deciding he wasn’t going to focus on using a sword, he was somehow more interested in the lessons. Maybe it was just a shift in mentality, but the prospect of Wei Ren disarming him over and over again no longer felt like such a frustrating prospect.
Besides, there was something oddly peaceful about the rhythm of it now that he wasn’t comparing his progress to those far more experienced than him – the steady shuffle of boots in the sand, the muted clack of wood on wood.
By the time they broke for water, sweat was clinging to his back and his shoulders ached in the good, earned way. He took a long drink from the pump near the fence, letting the coolness cut through the warmth in his chest.
He’d spend a little more time here, he decided – run drills, soak up what he could. He would make sure to pass by the merchant’s shop later on in the afternoon, get a sense for the place, and then tonight…
Tonight, he would act.
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Author's note:
Quick update on the schedule change I mentioned earlier: there's been some recent changes in my life (including, but not limited to, an upcoming interstate move) that have had me thinking things over a little. After some reflection, I've decided to hold off on upping the chapter output for now - while I should be able to manage it, I would rather stick to my current tried-and-tested routine rather than changing everything right now. As some of you pointed out, there's nothing worse than an author burning themselves out when taking things slow and steady was working just fine.
Sorry for those of you that may have been looking forward to the increased output - it's definitely still part of the plan, just further down the road than I thought.
Rest assured that I'll keep you all posted if or when anything changes down the line. Thanks for your patience and continued support!
Comments
Raymond Mouton
Thanks for the chapter.
Robert Mullins
The first rule of moving is that it will always take longer than you expect, even when you account for the first rule.
