204. Outer Disciples

When Alistair’s vision returned, he was in front of the unaffiliated candidate quarters. He was not alone.

There were six unaffiliated candidates, male and female, outside the two quarters. Four that Alistair was expecting—himself, his sister, Berengar, and Red.

Riyord Fen was a name he was unfamiliar with, but he had reached the fifth rank among the new outer disciples. He was a teenager of below average height, even pre-initiation, thin and gaunt. He had nearly white skin and bags under his dark eyes, pitch black hair falling to his shoulders. He had an androgynous look to him, even for his age.

And then there was Serena Moonshine.

It was a name that he had never expected to hear again, to be honest. He had encountered her during Fellows vs. Felons, defeating her in single combat. She was a magma-based cultivator who was a Prime Initiate like himself. She looked the same, with her purple hair held up in a bun with metal sticks.

“I have to say, I’m surprised.”

Alistair snapped his head around. A habit he should have controlled better by now, but he couldn’t help it. Once there was nothing, and then there was something. Right in front of all six of the new outer disciples was a golden-haired man.

He was not blond, but possessed true golden hair that gleamed like it was actual metal. Alistair looked back at his near-perfect memory, but there was naught a sign in any form of his vast array of senses that a man was not five feet away.

“Apologies. I’ve been testing one of my new Skills, I didn’t mean to scare. I couldn’t help but notice that you two,” the man pointed at Riyord and Alistair, “have impressive sensory abilities, so I wanted to put myself to the test. It’s not a fair battle since I’m in the Profound realm, I know.”

The Profound realm shook his head. “Apologies again. I am Norman Goldhair, former unaffiliated candidate, and #8 among the inner disciples.”

Norman raised his wrist, showing a stillwater bracelet with the number 8 on it. “They let me choose who I wanted to guide around. Top 7 and above thought they were above giving tours, so it fell on me. However, I must say, this is highly unusual. I’ve given this same tour thirty-five times, and never had more than four make it to outer disciple. The average number of unaffiliated candidates to pass is two. In your case, not only do we have six men and women here, but four are within the top 10. Times are indeed interesting at our little sect. Very interesting.”

Alistair wasn’t sure what to make of Norman Goldhair. He didn’t fit the arrogant young master image that he had of cultivators at all. Well, he supposed his exposure to Atavius Meloi and Yarik Portolon had sullied the image of young cultivators a bit.

“Wait, did I say men and women?” Norman scratched his head. “How old are you, Riyord?”

“F-fifteen years old today, senior brother,” Riyord’s replied without looking Norman in the eyes.

“No need for formalities with me,” Norman said, shaking his head. “Adept before fifteen is quite impressive. There are less than a handful that young here. Ah, what am I doing? Let’s start the tour. Each inner disciple is going to do a tour of our Clear Water Sect a little differently. Me, I’m an easygoing guy, so you can rest your legs.”

Norman opened his palms, and Mana flowed out of him. It was freehand shaping at a level that Alistair imagined no Adept realm could ever accomplish. Gold-colored metal affinity Mana flew underneath the six of them.

“Follow,” Norman commanded. He soared into the air with no discernible use of any quintessence, while the gold discs obeyed his Dao Command.

They flew at a leisurely pace, perhaps a hundred miles an hour, while the inner disciple lectured.

“Based on the information the sect gave me, three of you are Prime Initiates. Riyord is a genius from an unremarkable planet within the Emerald Coast, a few systems away from the Clear Water Sect. Red, you come from a merchant family in Mai Atal, though you are the last scion of your clan, and Berengar… we know where you’re from.

“So when I speak, I do not intend to insult those who come from more stable foundations—I only seek to elucidate facets of reality that those less fortunate did not receive a chance to learn.”

I like this guy already, Alistair said. The Perfect seemed like a reasonable individual, and putting a level-headed cultivator in charge of unaffiliated outer disciples’ orientation was a smart move.

“They say that Profound to Adept is one of the smallest gaps in power. The third realm of cultivation to the second. I have never heard of a Foundation defeating an Adept except in very unusual cases, while a Peak Adept with a rare bloodline or sufficient talent defeating an Early Profound is not rare in the slightest. Still absurdly difficult, but not rare in the grand scheme of the multiverse. However, in exchange, we get two nice perks—

“—First, we can issue Dao Commands. I have just done so to demonstrate, despite the ease it would have taken me to control six discs of my Mana at once. Second, and more fun in my opinion, is flight. Profound realms and higher have complete control over their body through space in exact accordance with their running speed on flat ground, down to the Stamina drain. It doesn’t really make any sense why, which you’ll learn once you figure out what being a Profound means, but the explanation is that Heaven decided that Profound was the fitting realm to remove the restrictions of gravity for. In some sense, our ability to fly is an example of the power of Multiversal Law.”

Norman gave the six new outer disciples a knowing smile. Alistair could tell that all the Prime Initiates were learning something new. His sister’s aura and expressions were too easy to read as her brother, and Serena was incapable of subtlety. He wasn’t sure about whether the others already knew those facts about Profound. The fact that Profound was now only one realm above him, rather than two, was most likely why Norman was able to speak about it so freely.

“I do seem to get sidetracked often, apologies. Thankfully, we are now passing our first attraction. The Infirmary. I do hope you won’t be there too often, but that’s an impossibility for the cultivator.”

Norman slowed them down as they passed by a huge building. The Infirmary stood a hundred feet tall with walls of translucent stillwater. They could see much of the interior, except for the opaque patient rooms, creating an ominous feeling with hundreds of black boxes within the near lucid construction.

“Let me give you six a warning. You will need it as your lack of backing and high position will lead to targets on your back. The healing you received a few minutes ago is not standard. You three Prime Initiates likely got used to the miraculous curative powers of the Pathfinder AI, and perhaps you other three think that our sect is so mighty that we can have Visionary healers at beck and call at all times.

“Those are false apprehensions. Elder Yan is a Visionary, and healed you with his Dao. Elder Yan’s time and power are valuable. In normal circumstances, if you are injured in a fight or poisoned by a wild beast, you will find yourselves here, where more mundane methods are used. As an Adept, attacks filled with meaning will be difficult to heal with your natural regeneration. Do not underestimate the utility of our medicinally inclined brothers and sisters. Getting on the bad side of the Infirmary is courting death.”

Alistair thought at first the Infirmary looked a little small for a cultivator hospital, but he realized the sect wasn’t all that large in terms of population. The informational missive said 10,000 core, 1,000 inner, 300 core, 27 elders, one sect leader, and then another 500 varying employees, so under twelve thousand full-time inhabitants.

The Infirmary was built into the water below, like most of the structures that they had seen before. They caught two women running up to the entrance of the Infirmary, a stillwater bridge forming underneath their feet.

A mile away from the Infirmary there was an imposing trough in the water that appeared to be several miles long and at least a mile wide. There was a permanent semi-transparent bridge straight from the valley to the Infirmary made of a more crystalline variant of stillwater. It was like ice, but without the freezing temperature. The reason it was so clear was that the water of the planet itself was almost perfectly transparent, even at hundreds of feet of depth.

Norman hurtled toward the colossal valley at a faster pace, the six Adepts following suit, their feet glued to the discs.

As they got closer, Alistair felt the explosion of aura. Based on the density and complexity he found within, it should have been in the Profound realm, but it was oddly weak.

“These are the Training Grounds,” Norman said. “The formations here can withstand even Profound realm exchanges, so don’t worry about holding back.”

They looked below, seeing hundreds of arenas separated by stillwater walls. Disciples engaged in various forms of combat practice. Some fought each other. Some fought the elements. Others engaged holographic beast tides.

Above the valley on the other side were a dozen floating spheres of opaque crystalwater.

“Those floating sphere simulate different planetary conditions and a wide array of elemental locations. You can do it down here too, but it’s much more real up there. Usually, core disciples have most of them hogged, but you never know. You can always pay up.”

Norman smacked his head, his golden hair not moving an inch. “Of course, I forgot to mention the most important thing! Rank and merit points. This sect revolves around merit points. Drachma are useless here—is what I would want to say, but it’s not entirely true. Either way, it is true that the primary form of currency is merit points. You can buy items, techniques, disciples’ time, and eventually even promotions with merit points. Let me explain.

“Your rank is determined by the amount of merit points you contribute. You can earn them by hunting beasts, collecting rare ingredients, helping elders, sparring fellow disciples, and more. There’s a secret algorithm that takes into account a bunch of things to determine exactly what your rank should be. Spending the merit points you earn does not affect your rank. The algorithm is opaque, but no one cares about how opaque it is because we all trust the Perfect to be fair. And she is.

“You all have started with a certain amount of merit points. Some of you higher than others. Each year, as we introduce the 500 new outer disciples, we also promote the top 50 ranked outer disciples to inner disciples, and the top 5 ranked inner disciples to core disciples. As you can see, I’m fairly close to my dream. Here you go.”

Norman brought out six stillwater bracelets, which floated onto their wrists seamlessly. Alistair checked out his number.

Alistair Tan

Outer Disciple

Rank 9,510

632 Merit Points

“All this information is public at the Contribution Hall, so there’s no harm in sharing now. I see, very good. Berengar already has 1,350 merit points. You must have been quite active during the test. A more standard number just starting would be 350, like Evangeline, or 198, like Serena. Around 200 is the median for a new outer disciple, but that will change rapidly. As you see in this arena, many students are sparring. Sparring is the simplest way to gain merit points and rank. You can challenge three people a day, and if they’re higher ranked than you, they must accept. You can buy more challenges per day, but they’re pretty expensive after the 10th extra challenge or so.”

Red raised a hand, just like a person from Earth would. “So the only time we can become inner disciples is a year from now?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Norman said with a grin. “I know what you’re thinking—what if I’m so goddamn talented that I reach the #1 ranked outer disciple easily within, I don’t know, let’s say six months? Three months? No. It’s not going to happen. At least not for you guys. We only scout Foundations and Early Adepts. Cultivators under 50 years old, or under 25 years of experience for recently initiated worlds. The top 50 of the outer disciples are going to be Late Adepts capable of defeating many inner disciples. Many of them will be over 100 years old, and almost all will be over 50. That gap in experience is not something that you guys can accomplish. I mean that without any disdain or contempt in my heart, it is just a fact of the world. Those with wealth and strong foundations rule this world. Even you, Riyord, and your prodigious talent, will fall behind without the methods of the rich.”

Norman continued, with an animated yet somehow crestfallen look on his face. “Aiming to become an inner disciple in a year is impressive, but not unheard of. You might be able to scrape by the bottom of the top 50 if you’re beyond talented. I wouldn’t recommend it, however. Racing to progress before shoring up your foundations will limit your end potential. Me? I’ve taken things nice and smooth, and I’m a Middle Profound realm after 215 years of struggle.”

Alistair knew that Norman was being extremely humble. He had to be in the Profound realm for a long time to be at the middle stage already, and he was just past his 200th birthday. The Shaded One atavism, Baron Aportamus, was considered a rising star within his entire duchy for being a Peak Adept at 167 years, and the gap between Middle Profound to Peak Adept was like the difference between the Heavens and Earth.

“Just curious,” Red said. “I like taking things nice and smooth, too.”

“Just not too slow.” Norman smiled again. The most smiley cultivator I’ve ever seen.

They flew past the Training Grounds and onto an enormous circular structure of azure crystal and platinum supports, glimmering with the light of constant Teleportation Circle uses. This too had a permanent crystalwater bridge, connecting to the one between the Infirmary and Training Grounds and forming a triangle.

The open-air portal section was merely the top of the tower, which fattened out as it met the sea. Stillwater formed the main body of the building, opaque and deep blue instead of the usual clear.

“The Contribution Hall serves two vital functions,” Norman explained, gesturing to the active portals and the body of the tower. “First, those teleportation arrays connect to settlements throughout the planet—cities, towns, and resource-rich areas. The sect allows certain natural dangers to exist for your sake, so it’s our responsibility to deal with them. Over ten billion people call Selvitari home, though we do not personally oversee day-to-day affairs on the planet. The planetary lord is a Profound realm, and we respect their jurisdiction. His bloodline was once a part of the Clear Water Sect, though it died off with our previous patriarch, Sect Leader Wozhan.”

Norman had their discs land on the ocean for the Contribution Hall. The entrance to the building was the size of a house, so cultivators freely entered and exited. Alistair noted the difference in dress between disciples.

The majority had the azure robes with silver trim that he had first seen. Norman and some others had on azure robes with a gold trim, while there was one core disciple who had azure robes with a crystalwater trim.

This was the first building that the #8 ranked inner disciple actually had them enter. Inside, the walls displayed real-time maps of the water planet, highlighting population centers, Mana fluctuations, and areas of opportunity or conflict. As befitting of a continent home to 10 billion people, there were dozens of cities of millions of people each.

It was a reminder of the sheer scale of the multiverse. Earth’s own cultures were too numerous and deep for one person to understand in a dozen lifetimes, and here was a random planet among over a hundred million in just the Final Frontier Empire alone. Selvitari had a deep history, from the lowest Foundation to the sect leader. It was almost unfathomable.

Disciples of various ranks consulted with the projections before traveling up tubes of water to the teleportation deck, while others returned down through said tubes. The first man they saw coming down had a missing arm, clearly rushing toward the nearby Infirmary.

“I have a question,” Alistair said. Norman nodded. “The math you described for the acceptance of outer disciples and promotions implies that disciples are leaving, otherwise, the population of the sect would keep growing.”

“Astute eyes,” Norman said with pride. “Being a cultivator is dangerous. A certain number of disciples of each class will die each year. The remaining slots are vacated by kicking out the lowest-ranked disciples. In your first five years as an outer disciple and twenty as an inner disciple, you get an exemption from being kicked out for low rank unless you really mess things up. Even those who get kicked out will be able to be successful in almost any endeavor. And of course, core disciples are typically for life. Death to aging or being killed, being kicked out for immorality or severe laziness, leaving through one’s own volition, and being sent out to other stations of the Clear Water Sect in the universe are enough to get five slots per year. Now, back to my explanation.”

He gestured to the other side of the room. There were crystalline displays hovering above shimmering pools of stillwater, each surrounded by disciples examining the items on offer. The displays showed rotating holograms of treasures, weapons, and elixirs—all illuminated in azure light.

“The second purpose of the Contribution Hall is as our sect's exchange center,” Norman explained. “Merit points earned through missions, breakthroughs, sparring, and more can be traded for cultivation resources.”

The hall was organized by rank requirements, with basic resources near the entrance—soulcore expanding pills, Beast Cores, simple Mana-imbued weapons, informational missives stored in jade slips, Adept realm Health and Mana pills. Deeper in the hall were more precious items: crystalwater-forged weapons, ancient tomes, and rare elixirs that pulsed with energy.

A central column of swirling water contained hundreds of light motes representing available missions of varying difficulty and rewards. Disciples reached into the column to select missions appropriate for their cultivation level.

“For new disciples,” Norman advised, “I recommend focusing on accumulating merit for purification elixirs first. Clear Water cultivation begins with purity and flow—just as our name suggests.”

The tour went by quickly. The Cultivation Chambers stood as seven concentric rings of transparent domes floating upon the ocean's surface, each dome housing progressively higher-quality Mana environments. Outer disciples practiced in the outermost ring where dozens of types of Mana flowed, while inner disciples occupied the middle rings. Core disciples and elders utilized the innermost chambers. All seven different zones had some degree of time dilation. Out of the twenty-seven elders, two were in seclusion in the innermost ring, one for over a hundred years.

The Apothecary and Technique Hall occupied a striking dual-structure resembling two massive conch shells spiraling in opposite directions, connected by a bridge of living coral. The Apothecary was where elixirs and potions were made, and raw ingredients processed. Norman stressed the respect one should have for the Apothecary, since many of the items they needed to progress were made there. The Technique Hall was where merit points could be exchanged for Skills and other abilities, though Norman said to never use it as a crutch.

They only briefly saw the black stillwater of Internal and External Affairs, where they focused on policing the sect and interacting with other sects/exploration respectively. The Armory was one of the few metallic-looking buildings, a mostly underwater cube where armor and weapons were forged. The Discipline Hall and Ancestral Grounds rounded up the tour, which concluded with the Living Quarters.

There were technically six sets of Living Quarters. Male and female were separated by the entire length of the sect, so Norman created a gold doppelganger to guide the two ladies.

But before they left, the inner disciple got all their contact information on the Soulnet. The Soulnet of Selvitari was far more advanced than that of Earth, so it functioned like text messaging.

As was expected, there were three sets of male quarters, different buildings for the outer, inner, and core disciples. They were all appropriately spaced apart so there weren’t any incidents.

The outer disciple quarters were a sprawling expanse of structures formed from opaque stillwater, each one rising like a smooth royal blue bulb from the seabed. They clustered in vast, organized rings that extended outward in every direction, quiet as tombs from the outside but humming with life within.

The rings were split into clusters of twenty rooms a piece, with a connecting center hall for each ring. As they descended to one of the furthest out rings, Alistair noted a lack of people.

“I may have gone a bit overboard with my tour,” Norman admitted as he brought them to their quarters. “It’s for the best. The traffic gets bad when you have to integrate 250 new guys. Anyway, we usually bunch you guys up. Each room is for two people, so… let’s have you two—”

Norman pointed at Alistair and Red. “—together, and then Riyord and Berengar, you’ll share as well. You guys belong to zone 250.”

Berengar immediately protested—Norman was so easygoing that it was trivial to forget that he was the #8 ranked inner disciple and in the Profound realm. “With a kid? That’s hardly fair. I was the third highest ranked out of all 500 candidates.”

Norman smiled. “I’m sorry, but I must insist. I believe this is the configuration you will get the most out of.”

His words and eyes were kind, but Berengar gulped, remembering his place. “My apologies, senior brother. Rooming with Riyord sounds great.”

“No need to call me senior brother, remember?” Norman said. They landed at the entrance to the zone of rooms, all connected with a slight curve so it fit into the entire ring, which had ten zones total. “Your rooms will be at the far end of the hall. Please make yourselves comfortable. All of you except Berengar have been assigned to a remedial lesson plan with Elder Fanghorn, starting tomorrow. You are to make your way to the Technique Hall at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Do not be late. Any final questions?”

No one said anything, so Norman flew off. Without having to guide them, he rocketed away so fast he was barely a point in the sky in less than a second.

Berengar immediately stormed off to his room, Riyord following behind his older roommate. Alistair looked at Red.

“No sparring for today,” Red said. “I need my beauty sleep.”

So marked Alistair’s first “day” at the Clear Water Sect.