The next morning, the old man stood at the gate. He handed Quinlan a simple parchment.
It wasn’t a proper scroll, nor a map of the surrounding lands. On it, just a simple name could be read. A place.
A ravine not far from here that was once a trade route, now a den of outlaws.
Cultivators who had turned their backs on sect and city alike.
Murderers. Vagabonds. Bandits.
"You’ll need one hundred lìng," the old man said. "Don’t come back until you collect that amount."
Quinlan raised a brow.
"Why?"
"To temper your cultivation further," the old man replied. "Lìng is wealth. Power. Wild Qi condensed, made solid. Each lìng is worth days of stillness, quietly gathering Qi from the air. You don’t have that time, do you? So you must earn the right to skip ahead."
He paused, then added, "But only take it from those who deserve your fists of blazing flame. I refuse to teach my arts to trash. If I find that you’ve been taking from the innocent, I’ll kill you myself."
1
Quinlan took the parchment, tied it to his belt, and looked to the rising sun.
"I’ll collect them all. And I swear not to use my fists against the undeserving," he said.
The old man gave a rare grunt of approval. "Strike without hesitation. Show no mercy," he said."
1
"I won’t."
1
He stepped past the old man with the scent of embers trailing behind him.
The fire had learned its forms.
Now it would feast.
"H-hey! Wait for me, Stupid Uncle!" Feng Jiai cried, rushing after the man who stoically departed on his mission, nearly leaving his travel companion behind. Whether it was done on purpose or not, Feng Jiai would never get to learn.
2
...
The sands of Vulkaris shifted underfoot, loose and scorched from recent sun. Quinlan moved without a word as he led the way across the cracked red earth.
Once they got close to the estimated location, they got down on their bellies. The shrubs were sparse out here—gnarled, low to the ground, and dry as bone—but they provided just enough cover for two travelers lying flat and crawling through with great care.
Feng Jiai, of course, grumbled.
"This is no way for an esteemed lady to be..."
"Esteemed lady? Where?"
2
"H-hey!" she hissed, but Quinlan raised a hand without looking back. The girl fell silent.
Ahead, smoke curled over a crag in the distance at the top edge of a blackened outpost half-sunk into a ravine wall. The old trade path was barely visible, worn into the earth and half-buried by shifting dunes. ℞Ἀ𐌽Ŏ𝔟ĚS
They crept closer until voices carried on the wind.
Crude. Loud. Dripping with heat-sick arrogance.
"...bet she’s still crying. The brunette. What was her name again? Maru? Mari? Didn’t matter when she was on her knees."
A round of laughter broke out.
"Pfft. You liked the mother? I was more into the daughter. That slim little thing? Fought back a bit, sure, but the best ones always do."
"Feh, she’s got no tits. Too scrawny."
"I like it that way. Makes my cock look bigger." Another chorus of wheezing chuckles came as a result.
From their vantage point, the outlaw camp came into view, built around the shattered skeleton of a former toll post. There were seven men visible. Two stood guard near a collapsed archway, while the others lounged around a crude fire pit roasting skewer meat and tossing coins into a cracked bowl.
Tied posts ringed the inner camp. A glimpse of torn fabric came into view. A head bowed low. Women. Dozens of them. Prisoners. Many of them sobbed in their misery, barely audible under the wind.
Quinlan didn’t move just yet.
Feng Jiai turned to him, whispering low. "Do we wait for nightfall?"
"No."
Quinlan shifted his stance, slow and deliberate.
"I don’t need to wait to put these scum in their place. They don’t deserve my careful planning."
Without another word, he rose from the dirt.
The wind kicked up as if in answer. His black robes billowed, loose ash scattering off the hem. The sun behind him set the air aglow, making his silhouette a flicker, a flame in motion.
The nearest bandit squinted in his direction. "What the hell?"
Quinlan moved.
The first bandit never even saw him.
One heartbeat, there was nothing on the slope.
1
The next... "Blazing Tyrant Fist: Form Two."
2
A thunderclap of movement came next, making sand explode outward in a violent spray. Quinlan surged forward with a burst of Qi from his calves, the earth cracking beneath his feet. His body cut through the air in a low arc.
His foot collided with the nearest bandit’s face.
*CRACK!*
Skull met the violent force of a proper fire cultivator. The man’s head snapped back at an unnatural angle. He was airborne before his corpse realized it, flung backward like a sack of shattered bone.
While the others turned, Quinlan twisted in midair. Qi ignited beneath his feet in a sharp burst, letting him jump in the air as if his feet touched an invisible object from which he launched himself.
Another bandit tried to raise a spear.
Too slow.
Quinlan drove his elbow into the man’s throat, then used the recoil to spin and hammer his fist into the man’s temple.
"Blazing Tyrant Fist: Form One."
Speed. Precision. Rapid bursts.
He struck the next target five times before the first blow was even realized by his target.
Fist to ribs: crack. Palm to jaw: pop. Knuckles to sternum: collapse.
The man dropped like a slaughtered animal.
Another lunged.
Quinlan sidestepped with barely a shift in weight. As the man stumbled forward, off-balance, he drove a punch into the outlaw’s back. His Qi surged. A dull whump sounded as internal pressure detonated.
The man spasmed, mouth open in a silent scream, smoke curling from his nostrils. His heart had exploded in his chest as a result of Quinlan’s immense Qi burning his insides.
Three more rushed in from the left, shouting.
Quinlan advanced, all fluid motion and flickers of flame. A short kick snapped a kneecap sideways. Another fist shattered a collarbone. He caught a swinging blade in his bare hand with his Qi flaring just enough to harden the skin and ripped it free, turning the weapon on its owner with a backhanded slice across the throat.
The last two survivors scrambled backward, eyes wide.