Unintended Cultivator-Chapter 17Book 11: : Inspection (1)

While Chin Gui might not have recognized him, Sen soon realized that the boy was part of a tiny minority. Most of the soldiers either recognized him directly or saw him with the general, took in his blue robes, and did a little basic math. There was a constant background hum of voices whispering things like Lord Lu, Judgment’s Gale, or The Warstorm. It took an extra effort not to wince at that last title. He’d at least gotten used to hearing people call him Judgment’s Gale. He still thought it was stupid, but he also knew that there was no escaping these ridiculous names that people gave him and other cultivators. The Warstorm, though? That was going to take a lot of getting used to.

That wasn’t to say that everyone was entirely happy to see him. There were plenty of wide, wondering eyes out in those crowds, but there were also more than a few fearful, cringing expressions. He saw more than one face disappear back inside a tent or hurry around the side of a tent. He had no idea why those people worked so hard to avoid his attention. Whatever their sins were, he very much doubted they rose to a level that would necessitate his involvement. Scattered looks of open resentment marked some faces. He couldn’t guess at what those were about, either.

The possibilities were simply too numerous to count. Some of them might have resented him for usurping the king’s power. While the nobles were all too busy vying for position and power to really care, the common people likely had a friendlier disposition toward Jing and his family. Jing had done his relatives the courtesy of covering up his father’s crimes so those horrors wouldn’t reflect on the rest of the family. There were rumors, of course, but most people seemed to dismiss them. Sen wasn’t sure he entirely approved of Jing concealing all of that, but he’d kept that disapproval to himself because he understood why it had been done. The fiercely loyal among the commoners might well hate him for displacing their king.

There were, however, other, more immediate, more plausible reasons that some of the soldiers might hate him. A staggering number of people had died defending those walls. To the survivors, it could well have looked like he took his time ending the battle for no good reason. It wasn’t even an unreasonable assumption given how decisively he’d ended it. They probably wondered why he hadn’t done it sooner. If he had, more of their friends might be alive now. There had been deaths inside of the city, as well. Friends or family members might have died to spirit beasts while he was struggling to complete his breakthrough to the nascent soul stage.

Then again, he was almost openly hated by some of the generals in charge of these people. His disdain for those generals was likely not a widely shared opinion among the average soldiers. Or, if they were, it would be very dangerous for them to express those opinions where others could hear them. Still, he had to imagine that some of the generals had loyal followers. That could prove problematic in the days to come. He’d have to keep a close eye on the officers closest to General Kang and his faction.

There was also the more prosaic hatred that many mortals felt toward cultivators. It wasn’t hard to sympathize with that perspective since he largely shared it with them, even if his reasons might not be identical to theirs. There was a healthy dose of jealousy in that mortal hatred that he recognized as misguided. If mortals truly understood the costs involved, he suspected far fewer of them would see cultivator power and feel cheated by not possessing it. The other reasons – the arrogance, the abuses, the killings— those reasons struck him as perfectly valid. Of course, all of those possibilities made it all but impossible for him to guess at why any particular person resented him.

It could be any of those reasons. It could be all of them. It could be something else entirely, and Sen didn’t have it in him to hold their resentment against them. After all, hadn’t he resented those who held more power when he felt powerless? Hadn’t he hated them for their cruelty or their apparent indifference? Master Feng had warned him that the hatred of others was part of what it meant to be powerful.

“There’s always a reason to hate the powerful,” said Master Feng. “Sometimes, it’s even justified. Just as often, it isn’t. You can’t let that stop you from doing what needs to be done. Having the strength to reshape the world means you need the strength to bear up under the hatred of others, because they will hate you. Other cultivators will hate you for advancing farther than they did or faster than they did. Mortals will hate you for having power they don’t, or not using that power to solve their problems, or not solving their problems sooner, if you choose to do so.”

“So, I’m expected to just accept it? To take it?” asked Sen.

“There’s nothing else you can do,” said Master Feng. “Do you mean to spend every waking moment trying to convince every person who hates you that you don’t deserve it? It won’t work. You might convince some, but you’ll never convince them all. Hells, you’ll never even find them all. There will be people you’ve never met who will hate you on principle. Sect members who hate you just because you’re a wandering cultivator, or hate you because you’re my student, or hate you because you’re more famous than they are. Hate isn’t rational. It’s not reasonable. You can throw facts and cold logic at it all day long, and all you’ll do is waste your time.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“So, we shouldn’t even bother to try?”

Master Feng sighed and said, “No. There are times when it’s worth the effort to at least try, but you have to learn when those times are. You need at least an inkling that your efforts will bear fruit. Just as importantly, there needs to be something of value in it for you other than soothing your pride.”

Sen’s inexperience had told him that was a cynical view of the world. Of course, he should try to convince others that he wasn’t someone so terrible that they should hate him. Now, he saw how true it was. He could spend the rest of the day speaking to those resentful soldiers, but to what end? He might convince a few, but what would that actually accomplish that didn’t involve his ego? Nothing. There just wasn’t anything to gain from it. He put those thoughts away as General Mo, almost at random, stopped by a group of soldiers. They all bowed.

“Lord Lu has come to inspect the camp,” announced General Mo in a carrying voice. “Present yourselves.”

The soldiers traded nervous glances but hastily lined up into two short rows. Mo gave Sen a quick look. Sen decided to interpret it as a signal to “inspect” the soldiers. Whatever the hells that meant. He strode over to the first row and slowly walked down the line. He met each person’s eyes. He picked a man at random and stopped in front of him. He eyed the man’s spear. It looked the same as the ones held by everyone else, but he understood that this was a show. He was meant to be seen doing something. He held out his hand.

“Your spear,” he said.

The man almost dropped the weapon, but managed to get control of it before he held it out to Sen. The spear trembled as the man’s hand shook. Sen gently took the weapon and gave it a thorough once-over. This spear is trash, thought Sen. Then, he remembered that it was intended for a mortal to use. Using that as a frame of reference, the spear seemed less objectionable. He still didn’t think it was good, but it probably wasn’t terrible.

Stepping away from everyone and carefully limiting both strength and speed, Sen used the spear to do the beginning of one of the early spear forms Uncle Kho had taught him. He was forced to revise his opinion of the weapon. The haft was stiffer than he thought it ought to be, but it wouldn’t break beneath mortal strength. He checked the spearhead and found it carefully sharpened and oiled. Since no one would realize he was doing it, Sen infused the spear with qi to reinforce it. It might not survive the entire war, but he suspected it might. Walking back over to the soldier, he handed the weapon back. The man took it like Sen was handing him a priceless artifact.

“You’ve taken good care of your spear. Well done,” said Sen.

The man stood so straight that it looked painful.

Eyes bright and shining, he said, “Thank you, Lord Lu.”

Sen looked over the rest of the soldiers in the two rows. He made a point to compliment a few of them for their attention to detail or their bearing. Stepping away from the rows, he looked to General Mo.

“These are conscientious soldiers, General. I am impressed,” said Sen.

“Thank you, Lord Lu,” said Mo. “Please follow me. There is much more to see.”

Mo led him from place to place, repeatedly stopping so Sen could look over whatever soldiers happened to be closest. That lasted for most of an hour before General Kang appeared. The man wasn’t quite out of breath, but his flushed cheeks suggested that he had run from wherever in the camp he had been when he learned of Sen’s presence.

“Lord Lu,” said General Kang. “I wasn’t informed that you would be here today.”

“No one was informed,” said Sen. “That was the point.”

Sen didn’t let on that he noticed, but he saw the man’s eye twitch. The general did an admirable job of maintaining his outwardly friendly air.

“If you’ll accompany me, there is much to see.”

“Very well,” said Sen. “Lead me to the cooks.”

General Kang’s bafflement was obvious when he asked, “The cooks?”

“I assume these soldiers eat,” said Sen. “Please take me to where the cooks are. I would like to see what’s being prepared.”

There was another eye twitch. Kang had no doubt meant to take him to wherever his faction was to try to sway him to their side. Sen was also quite certain that Kang had no interest in the cooks and probably didn’t even know where they were in the camp. The general likely employed someone to prepare his meals to a much higher standard.

“General?” asked Sen.

“The cooks,” said Kang, eyeing a subordinate. “Of course. We’ll go there immediately.”

It was painfully clear to everyone that the subordinate was the one who led them to a series of large tents where the smell of food dominated the air. While Sen had asked to see the cooks partially to inconvenience and annoy Kang, it hadn’t been a pointless request. He’d read about more than one army that had failed because of insufficient or poorly prepared food. He entered the largest of the tents and was momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activity. There were people everywhere. Some were cutting up vegetables. Others were making noodles. Still others were carrying slabs of meat out of the back of the tent to where they were likely being roasted.

Someone finally noticed the generals and Sen standing there. They didn’t quite shriek, but they did call for someone named Zhang Bai. A few moments later, a surly, heavily-muscled man stormed into the tent from the back and glared around.

“Who’s bellowing for me?” asked the man. “And why isn’t anyone working?”

Sen realized the man was right. All of the people who had been preparing food were just staring at him and the generals. Zhang Bai started threatening to beat anyone who wasn’t working in the next few seconds before he turned a baleful look on Sen and the officers. There wasn’t even an attempt at being respectful.

“What in the thousand hells do you want?” demanded Zhang Bai. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”