How Reason Is Argued

In the palace of the New Light Cult, likewise situated at the mountain summit, Caretaker Samaruga was basking in the bath of radiance. Appearing to be in his thirties, he was of mixed Chiluojiaduo and Federation descent, with thick, curly black hair, slightly flared nostrils, and a hulking, magnificent physique. His skin held a bronzed sheen, and his eyes burned with authority and aggression. He wore a close-fitting white robe with a golden sash tied at his waist that draped down either side, and the radiant crest of the New Light Cult emblazoned across his chest. As the caretaker, he was entitled to absorb the essence of the light radiating from the ring. He did not care whether he would ever behold the Light of Truth; all he knew was that it stimulated the growth of his mutated tissue. As for the cult's dogmas—things like truth, gnosis, and knowledge—so long as the perks kept flowing, he had no problem professing faith indefinitely. Apart from the annual sacrifices, during monthly offerings such as this, the lion's share of the light's power was absorbed by him, leaving only a meager fraction for the ordinary devotees. This was precisely why he had been willing to leave Center City and forego the Confluence to remain here. As he was absorbing it with utter focus, something suddenly registered across his senses. His brow furrowed. An overwhelming sense of danger washed over him, accompanied by a faint, prickling ache between his eyebrows. "Have they arrived?" He looked down the mountain. He had already received intelligence beforehand: that martial artist surnamed Chen from the Great Shun diplomatic mission—the one who warranted special caution—along with the remaining members of the International Investigation Delegation, had boarded a train bound for Sannoy State and applied for transit permits to their grounds. They were clearly heading right for them, and he knew full well why. That meddlesome nuisance from the International Investigation Delegation was currently locked up right beneath his feet. At first, the upper echelons of the New Light Cult had not taken Skarson's investigation seriously. The cult boasted deep connections throughout both the military and political circles of the West Coast; many local legislators held office thanks to their backing, and several high-ranking generals had long served as security advisors to the cult. Because of this, their past conduct had always been entirely unscrupulous. Yet they had never expected that Skarson would actually submit an application for international intervention. They understood all too well that if foreign nations were handed such a pretext, they would seize upon it to sensationalize the affair and contrive a way to meddle in domestic matters—and the East Coast Party would undoubtedly use the opportunity to strike. Normally, members of the International Investigation Delegation knew when to back off. Skarson, however, was an outlier: exceptionally upright and relentless. That forced their hand; they had to dispose of him as quickly as possible. Fortunately, Skarson himself had handed them an opening. As for whether the delegation would still pursue the matter after he was removed, that outcome would have come either way. They were better off striking first; even if things escalated to that point, it would buy them time to prepare. The only reason they had not killed him outright was that, to the New Light Cult, he made a prime sacrificial offering—too valuable to squander. Just then, several hurried figures rushed in from outside. They were acolytes of the New Light Cult. Falling to their knees before him, they prostrated themselves and spoke in Chiluojiaduo, reporting that an ill-intentioned party was ascending from below. Samaruga rolled his shoulders and arms, his muscles rippling like waves across his frame. Then, barefoot, he stepped across the patterned stone tiles and strode through the colonnade to reach the sacrificial grounds. The moment he stepped into view, the cult devotees outside dropped to their knees as one, chanting praise in unison. In the eyes of the congregation, a martial artist as formidable as Samaruga was indistinguishable from a living deity—the worldly avatar of the Fire of Truth. Samaruga skirted halfway around the flaming pit before coming to a halt on the terrace overlooking the mountain path, watching the party walking up from below. His gaze landed first on Chen Chuan; he dismissed the half-bodied Durozier floating beside him without a second glance. Looking intently at the upright figure, an intense foreboding rose unbidden in his heart. He had heard about Chen Chuan's past battle records. Yet he felt no dread. If anything, a fierce fighting spirit ignited in his chest. His assignment to guard one of the cult's three public sacrificial sites was not based on any talent for preaching; plenty within the cult could handle that. What truly anchored him here was sheer, overwhelming strength—his ability to casually meet challenges from other martial artists and crush provocations or clashes from rival factions. More importantly, at Mount Karubotu, he could draw upon the blessings of the New Light Cult's esoteric ritual, vastly augmenting his own power. This granted him complete confidence that he could bring down any intruder. Watching Chen Chuan step onto the flight of stairs, he spoke in heavily accented Great Shun speech: "Are you Mr. Chen from Great Shun?" Chen Chuan paused briefly, just barely catching the meaning through the heavy accent. "I am." Samaruga said grimly, "If you are here to tour or join our New Light Cult, you are most welcome. If not, then please leave. What you stand upon is private land granted to our faith by the government. We do not welcome outsiders here." Chen Chuan raised his eyes to meet his. "You know why I came. Hand the man over. If you're unwilling, I'll just have to find him myself." "I don't know what you're talking about," Samaruga said. At this, Durozier spoke up: "Mr. Chen, it's him! He and I took Skarson together. Even before the Tribunal, I'm willing to testify against him!" Durozier understood perfectly: the moment he was dragged here, he had already been pitted against the New Light Cult. The cult would never spare him now. He might as well pick a side openly and pledge his cooperation; perhaps that way he might still survive. Chen Chuan glanced at Durozier, then looked up at Samaruga, who stood nearly a full head and shoulders taller than him. "You heard him?" Samaruga offered no further defense. Exchanging those few polite formalities had already pushed his patience to its limit; now, he only wanted his fists to settle things. Fixing his eyes on Chen Chuan, he said, "I have heard of you. You defeated three martial artists of the Esoteric Sanctuary single-handedly. Perhaps that gave you confidence. But that was elsewhere. Here, beneath the illumination of the Light of Truth, before me, you will never get what you came for." Chen Chuan had no interest in wasting further words. Since the other man wished to resolve things by force, it suited his own inclinations just as well. He slowly raised the Xuejun Saber in his hand and nudged the scabbard; the blade slid forth, flashing with a chilling, snow-bright gleam under the opposing light. Samaruga's eyes narrowed slightly. He reached out, and two short batons resting along the colonnade snapped into his hands. Almost simultaneously, an orange-red spiritual radiance flared across his body. Lowering his center of gravity, he held a baton in each hand at his sides, leaning forward as he glared at Chen Chuan. The surrounding cultists were clearly accustomed to such scenes. Under the head priest's direction, they retreated in good order, clearing a vast space for the two combatants. Seeing him ready his stance, Chen Chuan dispensed with all pleasantries and slashed straight forward. Samaruga walked the path of the Aberrant Visage. Accustomed to transforming midway through combat, he immediately began expanding his body the moment Chen Chuan moved. By his reckoning, he could complete his transformation halfway through Chen Chuan's approach and intercept his momentum. Yet this time, he drastically underestimated his opponent's speed. Before his frame could even fully expand, the incoming blade cleaved across his face! The blade was extraordinarily sharp. It sheared through the fire of spirituality guarding his face and bit deep, halting only when it struck a second layer of spiritual fire. Even though his skull was not split open in a single blow, the tremendous force packed into the strike snapped his head back, throwing him off balance. Having broken his balance with that single strike, Chen Chuan gave him no chance to recover. Riding his forward momentum, he closed in against Samaruga's body, reached out, and shoved! It appeared to be nothing more than a light palm push, yet the spiritual radiance at the point of contact exploded violently. Samaruga's colossal frame was sent hurtling backward through the air! Propelled by the force field of the Grand Firmament Forms wrapping around him, Chen Chuan gave chase at blinding speed, his blade raised high once more. Midair, Samaruga's body underwent a continuous metamorphosis. His muscles swelled and stretched rapidly, reshaping him at astonishing speed into a gargantuan three-eyed lion, its crimson mane blazing like fire, enveloped in a mist of white clouds. This was the Takelu Lion of Chiluojiaduo myth, which devoured the abandoned child of the Lord of Gods! It was the first time Chen Chuan had encountered an external visage that completely discarded the human form. But Aberrant Visages were inherently bizarre and varied, dependent entirely on the subject of visualization. Most threatening of all, an Aberrant Visage often possessed a unique aberrant power. Having closed the distance, his blade cleaved downward once more. This time, however, a bizarre power seemed to manifest around Samaruga's body; the blazing fire of spirituality swirling about the saber drained away at alarming speed, allowing the foe's own spiritual fire to deflect the blow at the periphery. Chen Chuan's eyes flickered. *A passive aberrant power? One capable of dissolving the fire of spirituality?* Samaruga had chosen the Takelu Lion as the visualization for his Aberrant Visage precisely because its power could neutralize an adversary's fire of spirituality within a certain radius. If the aberrant power was strong enough, it could even disperse a spiritual impact. This was one of the pillars of his confidence. Yet he had never anticipated that his planned tactics and strategy would prove utterly useless. His enemy's power vastly exceeded his estimates, putting him on the back foot from the very first exchange. Had it not been for the ritual's blessing, his skull might well have been cleaved through moments ago. Relying on this aberrant power, he bought himself a brief reprieve and prepared to steady his footing and counterattack. Yet just as he tried to move, he felt his body snagged by a force field, caught in an invisible bind. And in that split second of restraint, the tide shifted again. Chen Chuan was here to find a man; the faster he worked, the better. He had no time to trade blows with this opponent. Reversing his hand, he drove an open palm forward, packing an immense volume of highly condensed fire of spirituality directly against the dissolving force, slamming it onto Samaruga's body with a resounding crack. Blinding brilliance flared outward from the edge of his palm, followed instantly by a violent spiritual impact detonating at point-blank range!