God Of Crafting

A middle-aged man sat down on a bench at the water fountain of a considerably huge, private garden.

A garden like this was a massive, inexcusable waste of what little habitable land was left in the whole of the spiritual world.

As always, however, when it came to the governing bodies, the rules applied… differently. As such, the castle where the council of the sages would gather went against every idea and principle prevailing in the area, putting comfort, grandeur, and looks over practicality and efficiency.

With all of that said, the middle-aged man just sat down on his bench and basked in the warm rays of the sun cast at a high angle down the keep's inner rampart.

This place was a slice of heaven, artificially kept alive only by the constant stream of money and resources pouring in to keep it alive, against all the odds, against all that one would expect to happen.

The gentle song of the flowing water as it cascaded down the mouth of a stone-carved fish held high up in the arms of a statue of a naked woman. Flowing down the predetermined paths over those statues, the water itself made it seem as if the stone was alive, with the illusion only breaking once one looked close enough.

Even this illusion, however, upon breaking apart, would add to the grandeur of this place, where nothing bad ever appeared possible while one's mind would naturally wander off and enter a state of universe appreciation, a state only those at the top of the whole hierarchy were even aware of.

Upon a first look, those in the know could assume that the middle-aged, largely unremarkable man was one who simply fell prey to this phenomenon, locked out of his mind while constantly forced into a state of heightened meditation.

Unable to bear the weight of the world, he would lose his way back to his own body, only for it to slowly thin out and fade away as more and more of the man's essence would be consumed by the garden.

In the harsh and unforgiving world of spiritual masters, it was always to eat or be eaten, even when it came to something as simple as a beautiful garden… or a painful reminder of just how great the spiritual world once was.

"It's so lovely…" Sitting on the bench, Alex kept his eyes half-open, perfectly comfortable within the confines of the heightened meditation.

What others could easily consider a dangerous, potentially lethal trap for their minds was nothing more than the natural state of Alex's mind.

"If not for those abominations, though…"

Slowly prying his eyelids open, Alex threw a passionately hateful stare towards two huge masts rising so high above the keep, rampart, and then the outer castle walls; even hiding in this garden didn't remove their tops from Alex's view.

He knew exactly what those two weird-looking monsters made out of the earth's guts were. As much as he abhorred them, Alex's position disallowed him from the sweet embrace of ignorance, forcing him instead to familiarize himself with all sorts of modern demonical devices.

"I know things are different for the sages with how they need to maintain their designated parts of the lower world… But still," Alex bit down on his bottom lip before tearing his eyes away from the tops of the transmission towers.

On their own, they were extremely simple, pretty much last-age design, one created with durability and efficiency in mind rather than improved to look nice.

The transmission towers were present in every sage- and council-controlled city, connecting to the spiritual network through a set of underground cables that stretched between every transmission tower in the higher world, only to then give access to this network to all those who could get their hands on a special device paired to connect to the network's frequency.

Or in simpler, more orthodox terms, as if defacing the skin of the earth by burying those ugly tattoo marks below its surface, humans already disrespected the life-giving world enough. But with the wireless technology—here in the form of a small, funny-looking box added to the top of every tower—even the air around them started to change.

The change was slight. So slight, in fact, only those who ascended beyond the realm of mortals could ever perceive how the waves this device spread affected the flow of spirituality in the area.

"Then again, sages cannot allow themselves to be cut off from the flow of information, so just calm down and keep your composure!"

Scolding himself in his own thoughts, Alex took a deep breath before slowly but gradually wheezing it out.

Alex's silent, mental torture didn't last long, however. It came to an end as soon as a fancily dressed man suddenly entered the garden, strolling in a dignified, larger-than-life step that brought him before the middle-aged man.

"The sages invite you in," the cultivator said, as if it was a slight to his honor to be tasked with the simple job of passing over this message.

"To hear means to obey," Alex replied, gently lowering his head while pulling on the insides of his robe in such a masterful way that it pulled even deeper over his head, making him seem all the smaller to the cultivator in comparison.

For Alex, things like pride, self-worth, or outward respect, all things that most cultivators would go crazy for… they were all meaningless.

How could he care about his sense of pride when, even with how high of a rank in the order he achieved, it merely meant to showcase just how good he was at servitude?

What was so good about maintaining and then reinforcing the sense of one's self-worth when all it did was delude people into believing their own grandeur rather than pooling their efforts together with others for the sake of the collective?

And finally, who gave a crap about respect shown by others if not those who craved it over their inability to secure it through normal, respectable means?

"Good." The cultivator clearly didn't expect the sage's guest to ignore his provocation so easily and… effortlessly.

After all, this wasn't just him being arrogant but yet another test devised by the sages themselves to let them more accurately assess whoever they granted the honor of meeting them in person.

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"Who do they think they are to test me like that?" Keeping calm on the outside, Alex was actually boiling with holy, justified fury over the sages' actions.

"Sure, they might be local leaders, but we are all but meaningless cogs in the machine built by the precursor. For one cog to deem itself better than a different cog…"

Compared to the ideology of the cultivators that was easily influenced by changing times, trends, and new inventions in the study of the way of Dao, Alex's order was much happier just sticking to their very roots.

But with how those could be traced directly to the precursor's lineage, was it even something to be surprised about?

The walk from the garden, through the rest of the inner rampart and then to the doors of the keep, took the two of them merely a minute.

The climb through the keep's massive stairs, however, stretched to five times as long, with the distance they crossed horizontally now becoming a distance they had to cross vertically. The very moment the two of them finally reached the doors leading up to the audience hall, the cultivator suddenly took a step back before lowering his head.

"For testing you like this, senior, I do apologize," he muttered with a look of awe and respect on his humbled, sweaty face, qualities that only grew in his eyes whenever he stole a glance at Alex's calm, casual… and perfectly dry face.

"So this is one of the ancient keeps," Alex thought, dismissing his junior's worries with a smile and wave of his hand… while the rage inside him only grew stronger.

For the spell capable of increasing the weight of one's body the more steps on the stairs one conquered wasn't something people of the current era were capable of. In other words, this keep dated back to the times of the precursor.

Or, in even simpler terms, it was something the cultivators stole from Alex's order in times when their greatness faded away, turning them from the noblest of the sages into mere keepers of the orthodox way.

In the meantime, the cultivator raised his sweaty face, bringing his hands together before his chest, only to then bow again while striking his right fist against the open palm of his left hand in a gesture of great respect.

"The sages await you inside, senior!"

Alex slowly turned his eyes away from the ancient walls of the keep, turning his sight back to the cultivator.

"Much appreciated, junior," he said while slightly nodding his head, both in acknowledgment of the respect given but also as a form of respect he offered back to the cultivator. And then, as a small smile crept on Alex's mouth, "may you bask in the blessing of the precursor," he said while raising his hand, arching his forefinger and thumb before putting them together to create a small circle… and then gently striking his fist as a whole against his chest while making sure to keep the loop of his fingers from collapsing.

The cultivator's face suddenly grew serious… only for him to instantly drop to one knee and lower his head.

"This junior greatly appreciates the shadow of the precursor's might!" he shouted while cupping his hands again, finally turning the smile on Alex's face a bit more genuine than it was before.

"May the will of the precursor be with you," Alex added as he nodded his head, only to then turn away, grab the door's handle before pushing it open and stepping inside.

Right as he crossed over the threshold, Alex pulled on the insides of his robe, casting away the hood from his head and revealing his wrinkle-covered face to the gathering of seven sages inside the room.

"I am High Inquisitor Alex Grace, here to answer the summons of my juniors," Alex introduced himself as he fished out the insignia of the orthodox order from within his simple yet rather sizable robes, which he liked to wear to conceal the cloth of his order he was forever banned from casting off his skin, unless it was for the bi-yearly ritual of cleansing.

With the hood of his robe gone, the crossed sword and torch insignia of the order in full view, and the look of boundless confidence on his face, Alex's presence conquered the room without even the slightest sign of resistance. While six out of the seven sages of the local council lowered their heads to show respect, the man sitting in the highest of all seven chairs didn't bother to do so, opting instead to rest his face in his cupped hands, staring daggers at Alex as if he held some sort of personal grudge against the inquisitor.

"We, the humble juniors, have called for we've detected the will of the precursor crumbling within our assigned territory," the chief sage replied with a formula as standard as the one Alex himself had just used. "As such, we humbly beseech our senior to go and investigate the matter so that all those who dare to defy the order shall be brought back into the precursor's fold."

"We beseech senior!" Immediately following the request of the chief sage, all seven of them suddenly stood up from their fancy chairs, cupped their hands together, then bowed down while stretching their cupped hands out.

'Yeah, you just can't be bothered to deal with it yourself, you sly fuckers,' Alex thought, far too old to be naive enough to believe a single word those sleazy bastards would utter.

"None who disrespects the will of the precursor shall be spared his tough love," Alex stated proudly, only to then grit his teeth and cup his own hands in response to all the respect shown to him.

"This request of yours…" he held his voice for a moment, seriously considering the idea of going against the flow and refusing the request, all just so he could rub it in those ugly faces… "This humble senior... accepts."