Unintended Cultivator
Book 11: Chapter 27: The Right Kind of Minds

“Do you mean for them to stay here permanently?” asked Grandmother Lu.

Sen turned away from the window where he’d been watching the twelve people he’d commandeered from the army’s ranks. They were in an inner courtyard and no doubt cursing his name. It was bitterly cold out and snowing. He’d discovered that even the army generally relented on days like this and let the soldiers retreat to the questionable warmth of their small fires and tents. Sen was a less forgiving teacher. He required them to train every day. That didn’t mean he was without compassion.

Several braziers dotted the courtyard, offering them the chance for some proper warmth when they took breaks from the unarmed and spear forms he had started teaching them. That had been a learning experience for him and for them. He had discovered that some of the more advanced spear forms he’d learned from Uncle Kho simply weren’t practical for anyone who wasn’t a cultivator. It wasn’t so much that a mortal couldn’t do them, but that they couldn’t produce the speed and strength required to make the form useful in combat. Even so, what he considered the more basic forms were still enough to make them all far more dangerous.

“No,” answered Sen with a frown. “But you already knew that. You also know why I’m keeping them separated in the manor.”

“I do,” admitted Grandmother Lu. “Some of it, perhaps even most of it, is about secrecy. You want to start shrouding their identities. Keeping them separated makes it easier to do that. Although, I suspect that nothing will keep that information truly hidden.”

“That’s true. These twelve will have the hardest time of it. Those who come after them, though, will enjoy true anonymity. Partly because they’ll be recruited less publicly and partly because these twelve will be very invested in keeping those secrets. After all, they’ll know better than most the price of having their identities be at least semi-public.”

Grandmother Lu joined him at the window and stared down much as he had been doing only moments before.

“I’m a body cultivator. I told you about my family. So, you know that I know more than a little about harsh training. This kind of training would be harsh for a cultivator. It’s almost beyond brutal for mortals. Is this how you were trained?”

Sen gave that question some considerable thought before he said, “No.”

“Really?” asked Grandmother Lu as she gave him a sharp look.

“Really.”

“If you’re training was gentler than this—” she began.

“I never said it was gentler,” answered Sen in a soft voice. “My training was much, much harder than this.”

Grandmother Lu closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Sen hadn’t lied to her about what his training had been like. He also hadn’t given her a lot of details either, preferring to gloss over it with vague mentions of pills, elixirs, manuals, and martial training. By the time such an opportunity presented itself, he hadn’t seen the point of exploring the topic in any great depth. The training had been over. He’d always worried that if he told her about the things he’d done to himself and had done to him, she would think she’d failed him in some way.

That was foolishness, of course. There wouldn’t have been anything she could have done to stop it. Not that he expected such knowledge would do anything to change how she felt about it. After all, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest if he learned that Ai had put herself through even a sliver of the pain he’d put himself through. He’d carry that guilt and that sense of failure for the rest of his life. Worse, it seemed he was right, if Grandmother Lu’s pained expression was a reliable indicator. He spoke just to break the silence that pressed down on them both.

“However, given the differences between mortals and cultivators, I would say that the training I’m putting them through is roughly equivalent to what mine was like.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Why would you ever do that to them? I know that you’ve had to become a harder man to survive these last years, but this just seems like pointless cruelty.”

“It is cruelty. I can’t deny that. It’s not pointless, though. I rarely revel in the suffering of others, but suffering has its uses. Particularly when that suffering is something that the person volunteers for.”

“And did they volunteer?” asked Grandmother Lu.

“They did. I told them what I wanted from them and what it would entail. I also told them what I would give them for their service. I also made it clear that they could say no and return to the army like nothing had ever happened. None of them declined. I also extracted vows to the heavens from them. No one can fake that.”

“That’s certainly true. Very well. Then, explain to me what this suffering accomplishes.”

“I need people with the right kinds of minds,” said Sen. “This suffering is a step on that road.”

“The right kind of minds? Sen, I know you’ve spent a lot of time with those ancient monsters, but you should try to avoid sounding like them. Riddles are for children.”

“I need people with the strength of will to be offered rewards that would tempt the purest hearts and turn them down. People who can face down those who, in other circumstances, would be their absolute superiors, and issue them commands in my name. And, if those people refuse to bend, they need the strength of will to cut them down without hesitation.”

“Killers are easy enough to find. You don’t need to make them, Sen.”

“I don’t want killers. Not unless they have to be killers. Strength of will is only part of it. It’s just what this suffering is about. I also need people with the flexibility to recognize when some order I’ve given simply isn’t practical. I can’t be everywhere. I can’t know everything. Situations change. I need them,” said Sen with a nod to the people in the courtyard, “to be able to adapt my orders to fit the circumstances as they find them.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility to put on someone’s shoulders,” observed Grandmother Lu.

“It’s an impossible amount of responsibility. That’s why they won’t work alone. They’ll work in pairs. That way, they’ve always got someone to watch their backs. It also means that there will always be someone there to help evaluate the situation and come up with workable ideas. That means they need the confidence to make a decision for me, knowing full well that a poor choice might mean their deaths.

“I don’t know a better way to build confidence than to put them through a trial like this training. I am pushing them to the very limits of their endurance and abilities. I imagine they think I’m pushing them beyond those limits. But, if they make it through, their trust in themselves, their confidence will be like polished steel.”

“I can’t say I approve of treating people this way,” said Grandmother Lu before raising a hand to stop Sen’s objection. “I didn’t say I don’t understand it. The world has gone insane. Compared to that madness, this madness is a trifling thing. I just worry that you’ll break them forever in your bid to make them something more. It’s an easier thing to do than you might think. You survived on the streets. That’s no easy task. You already had a deep well of willpower when you started training as a cultivator. You can’t expect everyone to have that. If you push them too hard and discover you’ve judged them incorrectly, you’ve got a very long life ahead of you to carry those regrets.”

“No plan is perfect, especially in such imperfect times. I’m trying to accomplish something with them in a matter of weeks that I would probably have spent months doing if circumstances were better. Then, I’ll have to pass them on to others who are better suited to training their flexibility of mind than me.”

Grandmother Lu lifted an eyebrow at him and asked, “Who might that be?”

“I wish I knew,” said Sen in a weary voice. “I have a few ideas, but none of them are ideal choices. I have a month to figure it out. As for regrets, it’s a chance I’ll have to take. Nobody wants more of those, but I can’t do the things I need to do and avoid the possibility of regrets. It means I might break some people along the way. That’s not my goal or intention, but it might happen anyway. I have to accept the possibility and, if it happens, see to it that they’re provided for.”

Grandmother Lu nodded and returned her gaze to the people in the courtyard.

“It occurs to me,” she said, “that having them work in pairs also makes it harder for any one person to act against your wishes.”

“Well, the vows take care of most of that, but it did seem like a practical precaution. I’ve never been entirely confident about how effective those vows are with mortals.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know that anyone has ever really put it to the test.”

“There’s bound to be someone willing to risk it eventually. I don’t know if it will be one of them, but why take the chance when I don’t have to?”

“Fair,” said Grandmother Lu. “You should at least do something nice for them when this part of their training is over.”

Sen blinked in confusion before he asked, “Like what? I’ve already promised them power, money, and land.”

“Those are rewards for doing their work. Make it something personal.”

Sen thought about it, but nothing sprang immediately to mind. He shrugged.

“I’ll add that to the list of things I need to figure out.”