Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint

༺ The Slanted Ceiling and the Mountain of Laughing Corpses – 6 ༻

Draped in loose attire, the corpse, even in its deathly state, was well-acquainted with carrying a human figure on its back. The Gaian undead, with me in tow, climbed the mountain and set me before the Grand Master’s remains. Gratefully, I patted the undead’s shoulder and took my position in front of her body.

From my bag, I produced a bottle of the Hundred Crimson Blossoms. A mere glass could flush one’s cheeks to a deep shade of crimson. It was the priciest drink among what the regressor brought, and also the very first I had discreetly taken for myself. Reluctant as I was to part with it, I knew only something of its quality was a fitting tribute to the Grand Master.

Pouring the liquor into a cup, I sprinkled it around her. From her left, to her right, and then behind.

Having done so, I knelt and placed the empty cup near her feet. Then I tilted the bottle into the cup, slowly appreciating the sound, the fragrance, and the taste it would bring.

Once the cup was filled, I stood and clasped my hands, bowing deeply before the Grand Master. Once to honor the days she lived. Twice to mourn her departure.

I knelt again and sat, taking the cup before her and tossing it back, sending the potent drink coursing down my throat.

My consciousness faded.

***

Such unparalleled arrogance, to claim rivers are the veins of Mother Earth, and that soil and stone form her flesh. Ridiculous.

They behave as spoiled youngest children, believing their worship affords them special rights.

Rivers are merely sweat upon her skin. The earth and rocks are but her rugged facade. Mountains? Little more than imperfections. Her blood reveals itself only rarely from the deepest of those scars.

We drink from her rivers and cultivate her lands, deeming them vital that we misjudge their importance to her. Compared to Mother Earth, we are lesser than ants after all.

Her true lifeblood is the molten lava that courses beneath the volcanoes. Her real flesh, the molten sea cradling that lava.

You have never seen it? Ha, is that not natural?

Just as mites crawling along our skin might see our fingertips as the horizon, we could never witness Mother Earth’s true flesh. Deep within her might lie her heart, its form doubtless beyond our wildest dreams.

O disciples, take heed. The Mother is merciful, but we are far more insignificant than what she expects. Humans are nothing more than trifling cretins that forage her rough skin for sustenance and drink her sweat.

The devoted must embrace humility, and realize their triviality. Whether the great and majestic Mother Earth watches over or regards us with apathy, we, her parasites… are certainly not the magnificent beings we absurdly presume to be.

***

The highest mountain in the world: Mount Unfallen. Soaring higher even than clouds, it was the zenith of all terrains that offered a glimpse of a tenth of the world.

Atop this apex knelt the Grand Master.

“…I was the arrogant one.”

What’s too close or too distant often remains unseen. Following this notion, the Gaian Order considered mountain ascents as spiritual trials. The loftier the peak, the greater the spiritual merit, or so they believed.

Countless sought to scale Mount Unfallen, the loftiest among all, but just as many lost their lives.

It took more than strength to reach the rarefied air at the peak of a mountain. Those with light bodies, smaller frames, and profound Qi Arts held the advantage in this regard.

A girl, newly enlightened to Gaian teachings and possessing all those traits, successfully scaled Mount Unfallen. But despite fulfilling the dream of all Gaian disciples, it wasn’t their praises that truly stirred her heart. It was marvel for the world.

Upon witnessing the world’s magnificence and realizing humility, the girl declined the title of taoist and began to roam the lands. She embarked on journeys, undertook ordeals, and immersed herself among the people to learn more of Mother Earth. She even bathed in molten lava, and later extracted some to experiment with in a furnace.

Some taoists reproached her, warning that her pursuit of Mother Earth’s secrets would only birth hubris. They pressured her to immediately halt her endeavors and return.

Heeding their call, the girl stood before the taoists, cleaved the very earth before their eyes, and proved she was right.

She was henceforth revered as the Grand Master, the one who would guide all in the Gaian Order.

“…I was never in a position to teach anyone.”

I scratched my head to see her spiritually communicate with me.

“It’s quite a predicament, really, the way corpses these days insist on defying expectations. Who would’ve thought a dead person could speak through the spirit?”

Unique magic was a manifestation of one’s inner spirit. Among those who were capable of such magic, individuals with profound regrets sometimes transformed their spirit into a relic on death’s door, leaving it as a legacy to test its next bearer.

It could be called an exceptionally obsessed spector of sorts. Though well, few spirits managed to retain their vividness over the passage of time. I surmised its location in the depths of the abyss played a part in its preservation.

“Whatever. If you’re going to test me, go ahead.”

As if reacting to my words, the Grand Master slowly continued.

“I have but a single question for the visitor who has journeyed here.”

Her clear, sorrowful eyes met mine.

I wasn’t reading her thoughts. This was, in the truest sense, like reading a book—an inner world crafted with purpose. Though I could read it better than others, the difference was likely minimal.

“It regards my humble regrets…”

Without warning, the scene shifted, and I was confronted with a vision of hell.

From the farthest distance, the world shimmered in all its beauty; yet up close, it revealed a landscape of cruelty and ugliness.

Close to 300,000 souls were either lifeless, on the brink of death, or awaiting their end within a pit. The hole resonated with their anguished cries, overshadowed only by more groans and death rattles.

Most cursed the Overlord, while some, consumed by malice, spewed their venom at all that existed. Naturally, their ire enveloped the pit, its architect the Grand Master, and the deity she served, Mother Earth.

Despite the blasphemy, the Grand Master couldn’t bear to even get angry. Things had reached a point where she felt their wrath was warranted.

As she gazed with a heavy heart, a robust, jovial man clad in armor strode to her side.

“Hahaha! Such might! To single-handed carve out a pit of this size!”

He was the Overlord. With a refined beard and the strength to topple mountains, he stood as a titan of his age. He jubilantly extended an offer to the Grand Master.

“Look here, Grand Master! Have you no thought of joining our forces?”

After causing such devastation, he would ask her to join him?

Contempt, revulsion, and fury surged within her. But being well-versed in spiritual discipline, the Grand Master possessed the self-control to keep her emotions at bay as she responded.

“…As a servant of Mother Earth, how could I engage in bloodshed?”

“Who said anything about using your power against enemies? I don’t even expect that! Moreover, the power to dig is useless in that aspect!”

The mightiest man of the era shook his hand proudly, believing superfluous powers to be merely detrimental in combat.

“I hated those self-important gravemen because of their incessant racket every time they handle the dead! They caused my precious troops and me to squander time on digging! Their antics have resulted in more than several lost victories and enabled enemy survivors to escape!”

There was no malice in the Overlord’s demeanor, only purity. He was filled with nothing but the relentless passion to unite the world, not sparing a thought for those he trampled upon.

“But with you, Grand Master, it’ll become much easier to dig and send off the dead! Then we wouldn’t have to begrudge the gravemen! And you can maintain your honor! A win-win for everyone, isn’t it?!

If it was a win for everyone involved, then what of the lives that would perish at the Overlord’s hands? What of the commoners who would bear the brunt of his pursuits, expedited by the time she saved?

In the first place…

“If none had been killed in the first place, burials would be unnecessary.”

“What? You’re suggesting I shouldn’t kill rebels?”

“Indeed. If you ceased the bloodshed, Overlord—”

“So you’re another one for such drivel, Grand Master. I expected more.”

With a frown, the Overlord cut her off distastefully.

“Rebels are to be executed as a lesson to others. It’s elementary! If they didn’t want to die, they shouldn’t have revolted to begin with. All must understand this principle! You clearly know nothing of war and leadership, Grand Master!”

How could he claim that she knew nothing?

During the war, how many had she laid to rest? She had buried so many deaths. Be it on chaotic battlefields, within villages plundered by bandits, or across lands marred by the carnage of warlords.

“Since you are occupied, I’ll hold my questions for now! Give it some thought after you are done!”

And think she would. With the might Mother Earth bestowed upon her—the power to move mountains and rend earth—should she cast the Overlord and his army to the bottom of the abyss?

The vision stopped, and a jet-black staff appeared before me. The Sword of Earth, Jizan.

I had to make a choice. Would I take up this staff and simply pay homage to the dead as a graveman? Or would I unsheathe it as a sword, and punish the Overlord as Mother Earth’s emissary?

“Hah.”

At this historical crossroads…

“Don’t put me to the test, runaway.”

I flipped to the next page, and the frozen world resumed life. I pried into the past she wanted to hide. The spirit seemed disoriented by the unexpected situation.

What unfolded next…

On a night so dark even the most oblivious creatures kept silent, the Grand Master approached the pit once more, ready to perform the last rites of a funeral.

The pit was quieter than before. Yet, perhaps due to the darkness or the lack of other distractions to the ear, the groaning and screaming echoed with far more clarity.

She pondered long. Truly long. Half the night had passed, yet her thoughts remained unsettled. So, she tackled the immediate task of covering the pit and honoring the deceased.

But there was an issue: those thrown into the pit still clung to life.

The Overlord didn’t wish to spare even the oil to sharpen his blades, so the 300,000 captives were thrust in alive. Only afterward did he order the Grand Master to bury them.

A graveman’s role was to bury the dead, not the living.

With so many hours past, nearly all of the captives were on the brink of death, but many were still alive.

‘They were essentially corpses from the moment they fell! Just bury them! It’ll be easier! For both you, Grand Master, and the captives!’

The Overlord’s words still echoed in her mind even though he was in the middle of a feast.

The Grand Master bit her lip and knelt before them.

Her contemplation stretched long, much too long, yet a conclusion still eluded her. Should she bury the still-living captives, or kill the feasting Overlord?

The Overlord was the strongest warrior of the times. Even with her power to shape and rupture the land, killing him would involve unleashing havoc far and wide.

The tyrant would not be the only one to die. The vast majority of his soldiers would be drawn into the conflict.

Was it just to answer death with more death?

The Grand Master couldn’t reach an answer. She prayed with her hands on her knees, beseeching Mother Earth. Why was she being put to the test? If only she could no longer ponder. If only time would pause as it—

“I am sorry.”

Prrk.

Her wish was realized… for the Grand Master’s time came to a halt.

“I will take your sin.”

A sharp, needle-like stake pierced through her back, emerging from her abdomen. As she gasped, throwing up blood, a somber voice whispered from behind.

“Your death must serve as a lesson. The Overlord’s sins must lead to his downfall. The people must revere the Dharma King’s victory, extol his virtues, and discern good from evil.”

Clarity washed over her despite the pain, allowing her to ascertain her attacker’s intentions.

The individual sought justification, burdened by guilt.

“However, you have become an arcane divinity, Grand Master. As none condemns the storm for destroying a village, or the fire for razing homes and lives, mankind will simply tremble in your presence.”

Only then did the Grand Master identify her assailant.

“Ora… cle…”

The apostles of the Sky God, while not wielding power due to their distant deity, had endured under the Oracle’s guidance. Word had it they were acting between the Dharma King and the Overlord as of late, aspiring to expand their reach…

Perhaps this was their conspiracy. The Grand Master had to feel betrayal and anger. Yet, why did relief flood her? Why did she feel joy at having to die in this moment of choice?

Her imminent death meant only one way forward.

“I have but… one request.”

She spoke in a fragile voice, and the Oracle replied with bewilderment.

“I am not worthy to fulfill it.”

“I… implore you. Lay me… to rest… down below.”

The Grand Master had duties yet to perform. She needed to console those still clinging to life and bury those who had passed. On the precipice of death, she was neither the Grand Master nor the emissary of Mother Earth, but merely a gravedigger.

“The object with which I’ve impaled you is our symbol and treasure. If removed, your life will be cut short. But if left inside, it will expose our traces.”

“…Please… Is there no way…?”

The Oracle had refused in her startlement, but the plea from one on the brink of death carried an undeniable weight. Even she found herself conflicted and hesitant.

“Ahh, I mustn’t. I truly mustn’t…”

As the Oracle was torn between choices, a torchbearer approached from afar. A guard, assigned to prevent any attempts to climb out of the pit. Excluded from the festivities, he was irate and unlikely to be lenient.

Time was running out. The Oracle made her decision.

“Do not forgive me, O Saintess of Origin, my bestower of blessing. Your foolish devotee has betrayed your expectations…”

Following a short prayer, the Oracle pushed the Grand Master into the pit.

She fell among corpses, yet she felt an odd solace surrounded by death. To her, the embrace of death was more comforting than the act of taking lives.

Rising unsteadily, she was met with the gaze of countless gleaming eyes—eyes of anger, resignation, and ebbing life.

She couldn’t save them, ease their anger, or seek vengeance on their behalf. As a gravedigger once again, all she could do was bury them in Mother Earth’s bosom.

“O Mother Earth, I too will be cradled within your heart. I beg of you…”

With gathered hands, she invoked her power. The Grand Master, the first ever to behold Mother Earth’s true form and even understand her essence, cast her final and unique magic: Gaia Ego.

“…Enfold us in your embrace.”

Mother Earth didn’t love humans… until one individual’s magic touched her.

From that moment, Mother Earth’s affection for humanity blossomed.

On that day, the abyss was birthed into the world, and mankind obtained earth magic.

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