Chapter Nine - A Grave Among the Fields
The afternoon sun hung low over the River Felt Delta, gilding the golden fields with a burnished light. Wisps of cloud drifted lazily across the blue expanse, and the land breathed with the quiet murmurs of running water and rustling grain. Here, in the fertile soil that had drunk the blood of countless forgotten souls, a new secret was about to be sown.
From above, a shadow crested the air and danced along the land. Enchanter Tengukensei descended gracefully on his tengu feather fan, the whisper of the wind masked by the rustle of ripe wheat. The fan’s small silk curtain swayed in the breeze, and Tengukensei’s sharp eyes scanned the fields, searching for any sign of movement. He had studied these lands for weeks, watching every pattern of the Inquisitor’s life, noting every tick of routine. He knew the little elf Grotto had gone to market that morning, leaving the Brown Wizard’s farm unattended. It was the perfect time.
The tengu landed and slipped seamlessly into the guise he had meticulously prepared. His form folded and twisted until he became the likeness of the field elf—short and wiry, with coarse hair the color of barley and hands worn from labor. His emerald eyes, however, glinted with a knowledge far beyond a simple farmhand’s.
He picked up a crude spade and shuffled through the fields, mimicking the laborer's gait. Before him stood the Brown Wizard Inquisitor, tall and broad, his long brown cloak billowing with a quiet menace. The Inquisitor was a powerful figure, a hunter of wayward magic and judge of all that twisted the natural order. But now he was distracted, tending to the crops he so cherished, the ones he infused with life and guarded with spells. The soil was turned with unnatural richness, fed with a blend of blood and magic.
“Grotto,” the Brown Wizard called, not looking up from his work. His voice was like the creaking of old wood. “You return at last. The land has been restless, and I feared the market might have swallowed you whole.”
Tengukensei, wearing Grotto’s smile, approached with an air of practiced servility. “Oh no, master,” he said, bowing. “I only took longer to ensure we had the finest seeds for your fields. The market bustled today.”
The Brown Wizard finally turned his attention away from his crops, a smirk of approval forming beneath his wild white beard. “Good,” he said. “The land demands care, Grotto. It feeds us, but it also demands tribute. These fields have borne witness to much.”
The disguised tengu nodded, stepping closer. In his mind, he felt the Whispering Blade stir. The ruby staff strapped to his back hummed with latent energy, waiting, yearning to be transformed. He had listened, studied, prepared. Now it was time to strike.
As Tengukensei approached, he subtly reached for the ruby staff, his fingers brushing the polished surface. The Inquisitor frowned. Something in the air shifted, a sudden whisper of danger. His brow furrowed, but realization dawned too late.
“Grotto?” the Inquisitor's voice wavered, uncertain.
The ruby staff shifted in Tengukensei’s grip, warping and folding into the Whispering Blade, a katana dark as midnight, its edge gleaming with a malevolent light. The elf form shattered like glass, revealing the true face of the tengu—his grey, silken robes and the sharp, predatory eyes of a sky-born warrior.
“Not Grotto,” Tengukensei whispered, his voice like wind through a graveyard.
The Inquisitor's hands lifted in defense, but the Whispering Blade was already singing, slicing through the air in a graceful arc. The katana cut deep, crimson blooming across the wizard’s chest. Blood, bright as the red of spring tomatoes, drenched the earth, and the once-mighty Inquisitor fell to his knees, clutching at his wound, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
The tengu leaned close, watching the life drain from his adversary. The whisper of the blade seemed to echo with dark secrets, and the Inquisitor's body convulsed one last time before becoming still. Tengukensei wiped the blade clean with a patch of the Inquisitor’s cloak and sheathed it in a smooth, elegant motion.
With practiced calm, he dragged the corpse to a freshly dug furrow, pressing it into the rich soil, working it into the earth until only a few fingers jutted from the dirt like twisted roots. He knelt, plucking a heavy ring from one lifeless hand, and slid it onto his own finger.
As he did, a ripple of magic enveloped him. His body transformed, growing taller and broader. His grey silks melted into the Brown Wizard’s thick, mud-colored robes, and his nose receded, replaced by a long, weathered face with wild white hair. Tengukensei stood as the Inquisitor, his hands now gnarled, his eyes now a pale, calculating blue.
The wind picked up, rustling through the crop rows, carrying the scent of blood and soil. The delta stretched out before him, endless and golden under the sinking sun. It was a crisp day, and the fields of the River Felt had a new secret to keep.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3
The junket cut through the waters, its sails catching the wind, carrying Tengukensei toward home. As Sakana Cove emerged in the early morning light, its cliffs draped in mist, the sight was almost surreal, as if a dream had spilled onto the horizon. Tengukensei stood at the stern, his gaze steady, unyielding, but softened by a faint sense of purpose fulfilled. With the weight of his vengeance carried out, he saw his homeland as if for the first time, the mountains rising like ancient guardians, the coast lined with weathered stones and verdant trees.
When the junket moored, he stepped onto the shore, his robes brushing against the earth with every step as he walked up from the docks, past the waiting traders and curious onlookers. But Tengukensei’s focus was elsewhere, fixed on a path that led him beyond the village, up a winding trail, and into the Shepherds of Bliss—a vast field of opium poppies that stretched to the horizon.
The poppies, delicate yet vibrant, danced in the wind, and Tengukensei moved through them like a shadow, his steps measured, his fan resting lightly in his hand. As he walked, he spoke softly, almost to himself, recounting the distant memories of when the Blue Wizards first arrived—hungry, zealous, and ruthless. “They came, convinced of their own divine right, thinking our beliefs primitive, our way of life inferior. They sought to convert, not out of mercy, but to subjugate. And when we would not yield…”
He paused, his gaze falling to the ground, where the earth was uneven, a scattering of small, fractured bones nearly hidden beneath the flowers. A child’s skull, delicate and haunting, lay half-buried in the soil, as if whispering of the forgotten innocence lost here. All around him, the field was littered with the remains of villagers who had stood their ground, refusing to surrender the poppies they tended and the freedom they cherished.
Tengukensei knelt beside the bones, reaching out a gloved hand to touch the earth. “You have waited a long time for peace,” he murmured to the fallen, as if they could hear him, his voice a solemn promise. “I have seen to it that those who wronged you have paid dearly. Your rest is earned. The oppressors have been purged from their halls of power.”
The sun began to sink, casting the field in shades of deep crimson, the poppies catching the light like flames in the breeze. Tengukensei rose, his figure silhouetted against the blood-red sky, a quiet guardian in this sacred, macabre garden. He hummed a low, mournful tune, one that had been sung by those who once lived here, a melody he hadn’t heard in years yet remembered as if it had been etched into his soul.
As he walked away, the poppies brushed against his robes, closing in behind him, swallowing him into their embrace as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. The fields stood silent once more, veiling the remnants of the past in beauty, with Tengukensei’s shadow the last thing to disappear into the fading light—a figure both avenger and mourner, who had, in his own way, restored balance to his people.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3