FEN’ER

Faint sounds of moving feet and swift wind echoed out throughout the wet, stone walls of a small temple. Within its depths was a squared platform, atop which several dozen wooden dummies stood motionlessly. The platform itself was surrounded by a garden-like structure, with a fountain being a crowning jewel, surrounded by a beautiful vestige of flowers.

A teenage girl, no older than sixteen, was standing at the far edge of the platform, her clothes shaded wet, eyes nearly closed and expression that of tiredness. Her right hand held a silver sword, which hung besides her slender legs, her fingers barely holding on. Sweat poured down her forehead, casting her usual, beautiful face into that of agony.

Eyes were focused on the figure in-between the wooden dummies; a middle-aged man wearing a stoic expression and leather armor stood fixated, his two hands grasping a sword embedded in stone beneath. He looked at the girl with the eyes of disappointment, yet hope at the same time.

“Fen’er,” the man spoke, breaking the silence. “I thought you’d have mastered the stance by now.”

“… I have tried, Father!” the girl exclaimed, doing her best to raise her hoarse voice. “Every day--”

“There’s no room for excuses!!” the man roared. “Either you do or you don’t! Nearly everyone within your generation – even those lacking talent – had already surpassed you! Aren’t you ashamed of it?! How can you bear the title of a Princess like this?!”

“…”

“You lack the drive,” the man sighed, shaking his head as he walked up to her. “You’ll spend half a year in Gallows. Hopefully that will motivate you enough.”

“But Father--”

“Don’t!” the man interrupted her quickly. “As my daughter, I can’t stand you shaming our name any further. Come back home a soldier; otherwise, don’t come back at all.”

The man walked past her coldly, leaving behind a small girl battling her tears back. Fen’er clenched her fists, her shoulders raised as she lowered her head in shame. The silver sword fell onto the cold stone, clanking as its sound echoed out gently.

She stood so for awhile before turning around and walking away. Her room was placed at the far corner of the temple, and was a simple, squared room having nothing but bed and a small wardrobe.

She flung herself atop the crude bed, burying her head in a pillow as she screamed inwardly. Fate is often cruel, and it was no different with her own. Born a daughter of the High Lord of Zen, ever since her youth she was expected to excel… yet she lacked the talent of her peers. Having to work ten times as hard to just keep up, she did it without complaint, cutting back on sleep, rest and meals just to practice a few more swings every day.

Yet, however hard and however often she swung her sword, the lack of talent eventually caught up to her, as nearly everyone of her generation surpassed her by far. The heritage sword art of Zen Lords is called Sanguine Blade, and has eleven stances in total. She, thus far, had mastered only the starting two, while most of her peers had mastered four and upwards to seven.

A gentle knock on her doors startled her awake as she looked up, seeing a beautiful woman in her mid thirties enter. She wore a simple, white gown and had a veil covering her face. Her steps were soft and nearly inaudible, and she entered without saying a word as she sat atop Fen’er’s bed.

“Your Father isn’t too pleased, Fen’er.” the woman spoke, her voice silken soft. “But, I do hope you can forgive both him and me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Fen’er said, sitting up herself, unable to look at the woman. “It’s my own fault for being a failure.”

“Ah, you’re not a failure, child,” the woman gently caressed Fen’er’s hair as she spoke, smiling warmly underneath her veil. “You are our most beloved child. Unfortunately, it’s my failure you are our only one, and all burdens of our blood fall upon you. I expect you extend our bloodline, and your Father expects you to inherit the throne. Alas, some things are simply not meant to be.”

“… you don’t think I can do it?” Fen’er asked, finally looking up at the woman.

“Whether you can or can’t, no soul can tell, Fen’er,” the woman replied. “Future is as vague as distant past itself. Time flows onward and events take place concurrently. Who can see where the future will take us?”

“I don’t think I can do it,” Fen’er said following a short silence between the two. “Our arts simply don’t suit me. My affiliation with Blood is at the absolute bottom. Why won’t Father let me learn something more suitable? Is it really that important?”

“Ah, you don’t understand Fen’er,” the woman said, sighing lowly. “Sanguine Blade is an art your Grand Ancestor died to recover. It is what enabled us to rise again from the ashes of defeat, and come to be where we are at the moment. Besides, even if others are much faster than you, you only need to keep at it, as you alone will be allowed to see the eleventh stance, and study the complete technique. As long as you persevere, you’ll stand at the top eventually.”

“… I’ll be leaving now.” Fen’er said, getting up as she walked over to the wardrobe and took out a few outfits from it before turning towards the door. “Tell Father I’ll do my best not to disappoint him.”

“We know you won’t,” the woman said. “We’ll be waiting for your return.”

“…”

**

Frozen Highlinds – or better known as Gallows – are a string of mountain ranges at the border of Northern Wastelands and Rolyhard Kingdom. The mountain ranges form a vortex-like shape when viewed from above, and is a home to both barbaric tribes and countless vicious beasts.

To walk from one end to another of the Gallows would take upwards of ten years on foot, so no one has truly ever mapped the entire thing out, and most of the maps of the place describe the outermost places.

Fen’er, a few weeks after leaving the temple, had found herself at the very edge of Gallows. A spiked mountain, reaching nearly five thousand meters into air, stood before her like an impassable giant. She took in a deep breath and slowly began walking up the mountain path, shivering in ever increasing cold.

**

A girl wearing a makeshift leather armor made from animal skin was currently engaged in a barbaric battle against a giant, snow ape. The creature towered over the girl like a hanging cliff, yet she endured, despite numerous bleeding wounds and broken bones scattered across her body.

Her silver sword flashed brilliantly as an arc of crimson light splashed out through the frozen surface beneath her feet, melting the ice and causing water to spray out in its trajectory. The arc hit the ape squarely, slashing off one of its arms and causing the beast to roar out in pain and agony.

Without pausing, the girl sprinted forwards, using spraying water as a makeshift propeller, as she took to air, rising her silver sword above her head and cutting down at the ape’s head. The beast raised its hand, blocking the strike, but was blown backwards like a kite, crashing into a mountain behind it.

The girl quickly walked up to the beast and beheaded it coldly, turning around and walking away without glancing at the beast again.

**

Campfire roared gently, causing sparks to fly out and melt into the snow surrounding it. Night cascaded gently across the starless sky, while distant howls of beasts echoed throughout the mountain. A girl was wrapped wholly in a fur cloak, rocking left and right for warmth, while her face grew ever so paler, and her lips ever so purpler.

Her two hands reached out and summoned a small, wrapped tome, whereupon she opened it and started reading. With two months having gone by since she ascended the first mountain, Fen’er had yet to master the third stance of Sanguine Blade, but had instead skyrocketed through another technique she secretly took before leaving the temple: Winded Arcs, a sword art mirroring the stances of Sanguine Blade, but using element of Wind instead of Blood as a propeller.

She held tightly onto the tome, despite the cold, while reading, her eyes shimmering with determination.

**

Four months had passed since the girl had climbed the mountain. Her previous, child-like features were nearly all gone, and have been replaced with complete coldness of death. She stood amidst the burning houses and countless corpses strewn against the white surface, dyeing it crimson.

Faces of corpses were diluted in terror and awe, and there wasn’t a single person inside a small, mountain village still breathing. The girl glanced over the corpses indifferently, as if they were just roadside rocks, before turning around and walking away.

This was her third ‘expedition’ through the Gallows and its natives, and she left nothing but countless string of corpses in her wake. Her body suddenly jolted as she drew her silver sword out, swinging it in a backwards arc, sending out an invisible arc of light before turning around.

At a distance of ten or so meters, an elderly man wearing loose, brown robes stood, looking at her calmly. He waved his right arm gently, easily deflecting the incoming strike, but remained still afterwards, as if he had no intention of stopping. A few minutes of stare-off had passed when the woman grew impatient.

“What do you want?” she asked coldly, still holding onto the silver sword.

“Allow me to ask you the same thing,” the man said in a flat tone. “What do you want? Why do you keep massacring nearby villages?”

“Uneducated barbarians who keep raping their women indiscriminately shouldn’t be allowed to live, regardless of where they happen to be living.” she replied in an even colder tone.

“So you’re fighting and killing for justice?” the man asked again.

“No,” the woman replied back. “I sleep easier at night knowing they’re dead.”

“At least you’re honest with yourself.”

“Are you here to stop me, or to just have a chat?”

“You often ought to let nature run its course, child,” the man said, his voice softening slightly. What do you think will happen to those women you ‘freed’, huh?”

“… looks like you’ll tell me, so why bother guessing?”

“Aye, that I will.” the man smiled lightly as he continued. “Half of those you freed will seek another village, and enter back into the cycle you deemed horrendous. Other half will attempt to survive on their own, yet will fail and die even more horrible deaths. The cycle in these parts has been established as such for hundreds of generations, and however terrible it may look to you, it ensures the survival of these people. If you truly wished to save those women, you’d have taken them off the mountains, trained them in the arts of combat and survival, and then let them live on their own. This way, you merely sped up their inevitable ends.”

“Thanks for the advice,” the woman said, smirking. “I’ll make sure to do just that the next time.”

“Ah…” the man sighed, shaking his head. “It is your life, and I won’t tell you how to live it. However, you should know that these are merely outer reaches of the Gallows. People here are relatively weak, as conditions aren’t as harsh. However, should you decide to venture any deeper past this point, you might find yourself in the abyss you can’t run away from.”

“… and where exactly do you reside, old man? In those deeper parts?”

“I live atop a Frost Cycle Peak,” the man said, smiling. “If you can ever reach it, I’ll welcome you to a cup of Jasmine tea. It’s quite a rarity in these parts, and even more of a luxury.”

“… Frost Peak is the highest peak in the Gallows,” the woman furrowed her brows as she spoke. “You’re the Overseer?”

“Some call me one,” the man nodded, still smiling. “But I prefer Ion. Alas, our time together has come to an end, child. Whatever demons you’re facing inside yourself, it is best you deal with them on your own, rather than to drag the entire nation into it because you’re afraid.”

“…”

The man disappeared as quickly as he appeared, leaving behind nothing but the faint presence which was vanishing just as quickly. The woman remained pensive, still holding onto her sword as she observed her surroundings. Eventually, though, she relaxed and withdrew her sword, looking towards the far, fogged North, and the Frost Peak, the Gallows’ highest point.

“… you’ll be my Crucible, old man.” the woman said as she turned around and walked away, leaving behind still burning village, and a trail of corpses.