Alex's solitary journey to the southern farm walls was a short one, a mere hour's walk that took him from the manicured, spiritual serenity of the sect's core to its practical, working heartland. The air here was different. The faint, sweet scent of plum blossoms was replaced by the rich, earthy smell of tilled soil and the faint, almost metallic tang of Spirit Grain baking under the sun.
The farm was a vast, sprawling expanse of land, a patchwork quilt of green and gold protected by a sturdy, five-foot-high stone wall. Disciples, their robes tied up at the waist and stained with honest dirt, worked in the fields, their movements a rhythmic dance of labor. Alex watched as one disciple channeled a gentle stream of water Qi from his palms to irrigate a row of shimmering Sunstone Gourds, their orange skins glowing with latent fire energy. This was the sect's breadbasket, a place of toil and sustenance.
As he approached the main gate, he saw the first signs of the problem. Mounds of freshly dug, dark earth were piled against the base of the wall, and a nearby patch of Spirit Grain was noticeably wilted, its roots clearly having been disturbed. The Razor-Clawed Badgers were not just a nuisance, but a direct threat to the sect's food supply.
A junior disciple wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a gritty hand noticed Alex's official alchemist pin and the quest parchments in his hand. He pointed a thumb towards a stout, weathered figure standing near a large barn. "Looking for the head farmer? That's Uncle Fen over there. You can't miss him. He's the one who looks like he could wrestle a Stone-Shelled Tortoise and win."
Alex thanked him and made his way over. The head farmer, Uncle Fen, was exactly as described. He was a man carved from the very earth he worked, with a broad chest, a thick neck, and hands like weathered stones. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles drawn by a lifetime of sun and hardship. He was leaning over a cart, sharpening a heavy-bladed scythe with a whetstone, the rhythmic scrape-scrape-scrape the only sound he made as Alex approached. He didn't look up.
"Uncle Fen?" Alex began. "I'm Alex. The Quest Hall sent me about the badger problem."
The scraping stopped. Uncle Fen slowly looked up, his gaze sweeping over Alex from head to toe. He took in the plain outer disciple robes, the new alchemist pin, and the young, unfamiliar face. His expression was a mask of pure, unfiltered annoyance.
"Took you long enough," he grunted, his voice a low rumble like shifting rocks. "Another few days and the little bastards would be nesting in the grain silo. What's the matter? All the inner sect prodigies too busy polishing their swords to do some actual work?"
The man's frustration was palpable, but Alex didn't flinch. He recognized the tone. It was the same weariness he'd seen in the faces of overworked managers and underpaid foremen back home, the anger of a man with a problem that no one else took seriously.
"I'm here now," Alex said, his voice calm and even. "I'm here to solve your problem. What can you tell me about the badgers?"
The farmer's eyes narrowed slightly, surprised by the direct, no-nonsense response. He had expected arrogance or a flustered apology, not this quiet professionalism. He spat a wad of chewing-root onto the ground and finally stood up straight, his full height nearly matching Jay's.
"What's to tell?" he said, his tone still gruff, but now with a hint of engagement. "There's a pack of 'em. Maybe six, seven. The matriarch is the biggest, mean-tempered as a cornered Saber-Toothed Hound. They dug their main burrow under the wall over there," he pointed with the scythe. "They come out at dusk to forage. They're fast, faster than you'd think. And their claws..." he tapped the sharpened blade of his scythe, "...they can cut through reinforced leather like it's wet paper. An outer disciple who got too brave last week spent three days in the infirmary getting his arm stitched back together."
Alex listened, absorbing every detail. "So their nest is over there. If I can block their escape route, I can deal with them in the open."
A flicker of grudging respect appeared in Uncle Fen's eyes. This newcomer wasn't just listening; he was thinking, strategizing.
"Aye, you could," the farmer conceded. "If you're smart, you'll wait for dusk. Corner 'em when they're all comin' out for their nightly meal. Less chance of having the whole tunnel collapse on you while you're crawling around in the dark." He gave Alex another long, appraising look. "You don't look like much, but at least you've got some sense in your head."
Alex offered a small smile. "Thank you for the information, Uncle Fen. I'll take care of it."
He turned and started walking toward the compromised section of the wall, his steps confident.
Uncle Fen watched him go, a thoughtful frown on his weathered face. He spat another wad of root onto the ground. "Hmph. Fancy robes and shiny pins," he muttered to himself. "But maybe this one's got some grit after all."
Alex reached the spot Uncle Fen had indicated. The damage was more extensive up close. A wide, deep hole, easily a meter in diameter, had been dug directly beneath the massive foundation stone of the wall. Piles of dark, damp earth were scattered around, mixed with the shredded roots of the nearby Spirit Grain. The air held the faint, musky scent of a burrowing animal. Claw marks, surprisingly deep, were etched into the hard-packed soil and even scored the surface of the stone itself.
He knelt, his fingers brushing the cool stone. Six or seven of them, and fast, he recalled. Rushing in blind, as Uncle Fen had warned, was a fool's errand. He needed a map.
He closed his eyes and extended his spirit sense, the basic technique of any cultivator. He pushed his awareness into the ground, trying to feel out the hollow spaces. It was like trying to navigate in a thick fog. He could sense a hollow passage leading downwards, a general direction, but the details were blurry and indistinct. He could feel the vague presence of life deep within, but not how many or where they were precisely. It was a crude, incomplete picture.
This isn't enough, he thought, pulling his senses back. He remembered Jay's lesson on the training platform, the feeling of connecting with the earth Qi. He remembered the hut he had formed with effortless control. Don't command it. Guide it.
He placed his palm flat on the cool, dark earth beside the burrow's entrance. He took a deep breath, and instead of just probing with his spirit sense, he sent a single, gentle thread of his own Qi downwards. He didn't push it; he let it sink, using his newfound affinity to invite a connection with the steady, brown currents of Earth Qi flowing through the ground beneath him.
With his Immortal eyesight fully activated, the world transformed. The solid ground became a semi-translucent sea of deep, brown light. And the badger's burrow? It was a jagged, ugly scar in that serene flow. It was a chaotic network of tunnels where the earth's natural energy had been violently disrupted, carved out by claw and tooth.
His awareness followed the main tunnel downwards, his spirit sense now guided and amplified by the earth itself. He could see it all in his mind's eye with impossible clarity. The tunnel descended ten feet before opening into a large central chamber, a messy den where the lingering Qi signatures of several creatures flickered like dormant embers. Six of them, just as Uncle Fen had said. He could even pinpoint the largest, strongest signature, a dull, angry red smudge amidst the others. It was the matriarch.
But that wasn't all he saw. Branching off from the main den were two smaller, secondary tunnels. One snaked its way twenty feet to the right, ending just beneath a dense thicket of thorns. The other ran a solid forty feet in the opposite direction, emerging in a shallow ditch on the other side of a small hill. He had found escape routes.
A slow, confident smile touched Alex's lips. Uncle Fen's advice was sound, but incomplete. Waiting at the main entrance would have been a trap. He would have been flanked the moment he engaged the first badger.
He now had his map. He had his targets. And he had a plan. He would not just fight the badgers; he would control the entire battlefield before the first claw was even unsheathed.
He rose to his feet, dusting the dirt from his robes. Now, all he had to do was prepare for dusk.
He didn't wait for dusk to act. His first move was to neutralize the badgers' greatest advantage: their escape routes. Walking the perimeter of the farm wall, he found the shallow ditch where the first escape tunnel emerged. He knelt, placing his palm on the earth. He closed his eyes, focusing. At first, his attempt to command the Earth Qi was clumsy, the ground merely trembling. Guide it, don't command it, he reminded himself.
He tried again, this time scooping up a handful of loose soil. He channeled his Qi into it, not with force, but as a gentle, persistent suggestion. He felt the individual grains resist, then slowly cohere. He pictured them pressing together, compacting, their internal structure shifting. After a minute of intense concentration, the soil in his hand had become a single, smooth stone, as hard and dense as river rock.
A grin touched his lips. Armed with this new understanding, he turned his attention to the tunnel. He didn't just fill the hole; he willed the earth around it to flow, to thicken, to compress, sealing the exit with a plug of stone-hard earth that no badger could hope to claw through. He repeated the process at the thorn thicket, the earth twisting and hardening around the roots until the tunnel was completely blocked.
With the battlefield now under his control, he returned to the main entrance and sat, his back against the cool stone of the farm wall. As dusk began to bleed purple and orange across the sky, the rhythmic sounds of the farm slowly faded, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of the wind through the Spirit Grain. He waited.
The first sign of life was a faint snuffling from the dark maw of the burrow. Then, two beady, red eyes peered out, followed by a snout sniffing the cooling air. The creature that emerged was unlike any badger Alex had known. It was built like a furry cannonball, the size of a large dog, with powerful, bowed legs and claws like curved daggers. Another followed, and another, until five of them had gathered at the entrance, snorting and scratching at the earth.
Alex pushed himself to his feet. He was ready.
The first badger spotted him and let out a vicious snarl, charging forward with surprising speed. Alex met it head-on. He didn't slip into the instinctual trance of the Art of the Headless Body; he wanted this to be a conscious test of his skills. He dodged the initial lunge, his footwork still a bit clumsy on the uneven ground, and brought his fist down on the creature's back. The impact was solid, staggering the beast. It whipped around, claws flashing, and Alex barely managed to sidestep, countering with a sharp kick to its side. It was a messy, scrappy fight, but his Ironbone body and superior strength gave him an overwhelming advantage. A final, precise punch to the skull ended the first encounter.
The creature went limp. A strange quiet settled in Alex's mind. His first conscious and deliberate kill. There was no time to process it. Two more badgers, angered by the death of their kin, charged in from opposite sides. The fight became a chaotic blur of dodging, blocking, and striking. He took down the second with a heavy axe-kick that snapped its spine, and the third with a direct punch that caved in its chest.
He was panting, adrenaline coursing through him. He had taken down three without a scratch. Maybe this is easier than I thought
His moment of overconfidence was a fatal mistake. A fourth badger, faster and more cunning than the others, had circled him in the chaos. A blur of black and grey fur shot past his peripheral vision. He felt a searing pain across his back as razor-sharp claws ripped through his robes. The fabric shredded, but the claws scraped against his Ironbone-forged skin with a sound like metal on rock, leaving only shallow, bleeding scratches where they should have torn flesh from bone.
His first thought wasn't of the pain or the close call, but Lily is going to kill me. She had warned him a dozen times that a beast's hide was its most valuable material, and he had just let his own get ruined.
Annoyance eclipsed his pain. "Alright, no more games," he snarled. He spun around, meeting the culprit's next lunge with a single, brutal punch that sent it flying, its neck bent at an unnatural angle. He dispatched the final, hesitant grunt with similar efficiency.
Silence returned to the field. But it was a heavy, watchful silence. From the darkness of the burrow, a low, guttural growl echoed. The matriarch emerged. She was half again as large as the others, her fur matted with old scars, her red eyes burning with a hateful intelligence.
Alex chuckled, cracking his knuckles. He decided to speak, mostly for his benefit. "Really? Hiding in the back while your minions do the dirty work? Shameful."
The matriarch let out a piercing roar, its fur bristling as if it understood his provocation. It launched itself at him, a cannonball of pure fury.
Alex dodged expertly, his body now moving with a more practiced grace. Okay, time to try the new toy. He remembered the impossible sight of Kai Jin's punch. He had to try it.
He sidestepped another charge, buying himself a precious second. He raised his left hand, one finger pointed out, and focused his will. He called upon the wind Qi in the air, his Immortal Eyes seeing the pale green currents respond to his call. The air began to swirl around his hand, the gentle breeze picking up speed, twisting into a tight vortex that hummed with contained power. He held his finger out, pointing it at the badger. A small, compressed ball of wind, shimmering like heat haze, coalesced at the tip.
"Bang," he whispered.
The ball of wind shot forward with an explosive hiss. It missed its mark by a foot, slamming into the dirt and kicking up a massive cloud of soil and grass. The recoil, a force he hadn't anticipated, threw his arm back and sent him stumbling off-balance.
The matriarch, momentarily blinded but unhurt, charged through the dust cloud. Alex, still recovering his footing, barely had time to react. He threw out a desperate kick, connecting with the beast's shoulder and sending it skidding sideways, buying him just enough distance to regain his stance.
Okay, so the wind cannon needs work, he thought grimly. He looked at the enraged beast preparing for another charge. No more experiments. No more tricks.
He waited for the charge. The moment it came, he didn't dodge. He took one solid step forward, meeting the attack head-on, and poured every ounce of his cultivation into a single, devastating punch.
The sound of impact was not a crack, but a wet, final crunch. The fight was over.
Alex stood over the carcass of the matriarch, his chest heaving, adrenaline still singing in his veins. The quiet of the dusk-shrouded fields settled around him. He took a moment, letting the ragged edges of the battle smooth out in his mind, then got to work.
He moved with a practiced efficiency that Lily would have approved of. There was no wasted motion. He carefully extracted the razor-sharp claws, the tough, leathery hide, and the surprisingly potent beast cores from each of the six badgers. It was messy, grim work, but it was also a necessary part of this life. Collecting resources was a big part of survival. With a thought, he stored the materials neatly in his ring, leaving the field clean.
Just as he finished wiping the blood from his hands, a slow, heavy footstep approached from the direction of the barn. Uncle Fen emerged from the twilight, the still-lit pipe in his hand glowing a single, orange ember. His face, usually a mask of gruff annoyance, was unreadable in the dim light. He had seen the whole thing.
Alex immediately stood straight and offered a respectful bow. "Uncle Fen. The badger problem has been taken care of."
The old farmer took a long pull from his pipe, the smoke mingling with the evening mist. "Aye," he said, his voice a low rumble. "That it is." He looked from the clean field to Alex, his gaze lingering on the torn, bloody gashes in Alex's robes. "You're a strange one, boy. Fight like a cornered beast, but you carry yourself like a scholar."
"It was nothing special," Alex said, trying to deflect the praise. His eyes fell on the wide, ugly hole under the foundation of the farm wall. "I apologize for the mess. The badgers did a real number on your wall. Allow me to repair the damage before I leave."
Before Uncle Fen could even protest, Alex was already walking toward the burrow. He knelt, placing his palm on the cool earth. The farmer watched, his eyes still hiding his true thoughts. The loose soil flowed like thick water, compacting and hardening, sealing the main burrow with a plug of dense, solid earth. He then turned his attention to the foundation, guiding the displaced earth to flow back into place, reinforcing the stone until the wall looked as solid and undisturbed as it had a hundred years ago.
It was not the flashy, explosive power of an inner sect prodigy. It was quiet, practical, and incredibly skilled work. It was the work of someone who understood the earth.
Alex stood, dusting his hands off. "That should hold for a while." He looked at the setting sun. "If it's alright with you, I'll be on my way. My next quest is to hunt down a Shadowcat, and they're nocturnal."
Uncle Fen just stared for a long moment, taking another slow puff from his pipe. "You're not heading back to the inner sect for a hot meal and a bath?"
"No time," Alex said with a simple shrug. "Bills to pay."
He gave the farmer another respectful bow and turned to leave.
"Boy," Uncle Fen's voice called out, stopping him. Alex turned back.
"The south-facing fields... the Sunstone Gourds," the old farmer said, pointing with the stem of his pipe. "They're a finicky crop. The soil needs a specific mineral balance. You seem to have a good hand with the earth. Come back when you're done with your cats. I'll show you how to properly mix a spirit-enriching fertilizer."
A genuine, bright smile broke across Alex's face. He thought of his own small, struggling garden behind Barrack thirty-two. "I'd like that very much, Uncle Fen. Thank you."
As Alex walked off into the gathering dark, a new sense of purpose in his step, Uncle Fen watched him go. He took a final puff from his pipe and knocked the ashes out against the newly repaired wall that was as solid as a mountain.
"Hmph," he grunted to the empty field, a rare, almost imperceptible smile touching his weathered lips. "Grit. The boy's got grit."