Maksym Pachesiuk
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Moon Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 103: Strategic Casualties
🕑 Added 2025-07-08 23:36:00 +0000 UTCThe tournament results were analysed for quite some time. And, of course, the Darro twins sparked the most discussion.
They were expelled.
Rumour had it the administration tried to hush things up. After all, their plan had almost worked. Coordinated actions under cover, anticipating the judges' reactions, attacking not head-on but through ‘third participants’ — this wasn’t mere hooliganism, it was a strategic operation. Genius, they say, always teeters on the edge of psychopathy.
Some of the School’s senior leadership didn’t see the twins as a problem, but as potential. Strategic brilliance that could be refined and aimed at the demons.
But the great families opposed it. The backbone of those meant to stand against the demons. Their children had missed out on the tournament precisely because of the Darros’ stunt. They didn’t care about the twins’ potential, nor were they concerned about Harn. What mattered was that their own children had lost the opportunity to climb higher in the school’s hierarchy. And the removal of two potential rivals didn’t hurt, either.
The decision came swiftly. Both were sent home. Though with the option to return as staff.
Since they hadn’t managed to break into the second stage, they’d have to become genuinely useful for that to become a reality.
Then again... With their money, getting to the second stage might still be possible back on Earth. Provided they didn’t make enemies there, too.
I hope that if they do succeed, Dubois will have cooled off by then, because our good boy went completely off the rails. And I don’t blame him! On the contrary, I fully support his actions.
Dubois had suffered the most during the attack. To neutralise him, the Darros had hired a pair: one a Mace cultivator, the other a Wood. They didn’t make a scene — Wood bound his legs, and Mace shattered his shoulder. Fast and efficient.
They were fined, naturally, but the real punishment came three days later, when Dubois had fully regenerated the bone and the doctor gave him official clearance to start swinging again.
First, he found Wood and broke all four of his limbs. Drove plastic training spikes straight through them. He was, of course, reprimanded and fined. Half an hour later, he repeated the procedure with the exact same method and precision.
This time, Dubois was held longer, a disciplinary board was convened, and he was fined twice the standard 10-point limit. But there was no arrest, no restrictions placed on him. By then, everyone on the first-year floor knew better than to mess with Dubois.
If you ask me, he wasn’t fined — he made a very smart investment in future peace.
As for me and Harn… I wasn’t bothered by her death.
Marek’s suicide attempt affected me. Harn’s death did not.
Maybe that’s cynical. But she did something stupid. And she paid the price for it.
Her death didn’t strike me as unjust or tragic. She attacked first, after all — she was the one who pulled out the needle and threw it at my gut. And although she likely didn’t consider it a lethal move, more of a clever plan to humiliate and bring the champion to his knees, it was still an attack. And it didn’t matter that the retaliatory strike came not from me, but from Novak’s amulet.
A mixture of reckless stupidity and sheer chance. But even so, it was a death within the context of fight. A fight she had started herself.
There was a certain clarity to it, a logical sequence. No mysticism. No demons. Just an ill-conceived attack and its inevitable consequence.
Soldiers die in battle.
Such deaths are easier to accept, especially when they happen to an enemy, even a temporary one.
For some reason, no one I knew believed how calmly I took her death.
Kate became unusually sensitive, dialled back the sadism, and fussed over me like a broody hen, lowering the difficulty of our training sessions by a whole order of magnitude. On one hand, I was glad to be getting kicked around less, on the other, it drove me mad.
The guys started giving me odd looks, and I got tired of repeating that I was fine.
The only person who accepted my explanation was Novak. He, too, didn’t see her death as something out of the ordinary. In our next conversation, we barely touched on it at all. Instead, we focused on the drugs and the dealers.
It took him a while to dig through the archives, but in the end, he proved I was right! Eight years ago, three cadets accused of selling banned substances had taken their own lives in a group overdose!
Which meant we were dealing with at least two, and possibly up to five, demons involved in that operation.
One demon would have been necessary just to set up the formations and wipe the first-years’ memories. Whether all the dealers were demons, though, remained unclear. Perhaps only one of them was, and the others were just unfortunate tag-alongs.
The goal of the illicit stimulant operation was also murky. Back then, eight years ago, the substances were more drugs than stimulants. Their only real benefit was recreational — they helped you unwind and relieve stress, though addiction was nearly instantaneous.
The new compounds were harder to label as mere drugs. They actively supported cultivators on their path, and the addiction wasn’t nearly as immediate.
Novak quietly combed through the old archives and took note of anyone even partially involved in that story. Some of the cadets from that time had since risen by one, two, or even all three stages. Some had moved from the cadet ranks into staff positions, while others had left Verdis forever.
After that conversation with Novak, I was fired up to dig deeper into the story, so I started deliberately seeking out Kim. I ambushed him at the entrance to the block after dinner, when Kim and his pack were returning from the dining hall. He caught my eye.
They all caught it, actually, so I smiled.
Tariq swore and slowed his pace, as did the two other flunkies. Kim looked like he was about to do the same, but after glancing down the corridor, he changed his mind. He took a step forward, then another, pulling ahead of the group. Then, without the others noticing but clearly enough for me to read, he silently mouthed:
“We need to talk.”
I couldn’t help myself — I grinned even wider.
Tariq grew visibly uneasy, so I decided to press him a little more. Not just because I enjoyed messing with him, though that was part of it, but also to give Kim an alibi.
I walked up and greeted them.
“Hey, guys! Tariq, haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“Isn’t that exactly what you wanted?” he snapped.
The system issued a conflict warning.
Perfect!
“Now, now, no need to be so touchy. I’m always happy to hear a kind word from you,” I said, turning my head toward the far end of the corridor — Dubois’s room. It was his shift.
Dubois popped out of the room, and I waved at him.
“All under control!”
He nodded and stepped back inside.
“What the hell do you want from us?” Kim asked.
“From you specifically?” I replied, then added, playing along with the legend I was building: “You don’t even have to say anything. Silence will do just fine.”
I even winked. On the surface, it looked like I was taunting him, but Kim understood.
“Fuck off, man!” he said firmly.
“Whoa!” I said. “Someone’s feeling extra brave today! And since the system has already registered a conflict, there’ll have to be a punishment.”
“We didn’t do anything!” Kim protested.
“You panicked,” I explained. “Your hormone levels spiked, your heart rate changed, the system flagged it as combat preparation. But!” I flashed a wide grin again “since I managed to de-escalate the situation right at the start, the punishment will be minor. They say evening labour therapy does wonders.”
The bullies all pulled identical sour faces, but said nothing.
I clapped Kim on the shoulder.
“Let’s go, mate.”
I walked ahead, and the bullies followed.
“Stop,” I said, fixing my gaze on Tariq. I made it look like something about him seriously bothered me, then shifted my eyes back to Kim. “Only the bravest. The rest of you are free to go.”
Tariq looked relieved. Kim looked like he was trying to burn a hole through me with his eyes.
“Scram,” I ordered the bullies, and they vanished like smoke.
“Fist Garden?” Kim asked.
Since no one was around, I gave him an honest answer.
“We could just go for a walk. Liang Shi is the one who assigns shifts in the Garden, and I’d rather not bother him unnecessarily.”
“It’ll look suspicious if I don’t end up there.”
“Then come on, I’ll walk you over. You can work the shift for points.”
We swung by the Armour Hall and suited up. For the first time in a long while, I put on my plastic armour. It felt strange.
Kim stayed silent all the way to the Garden, not saying a word until we were inside and each assigned a dozen drones. We took up adjacent beds, standing back-to-back as the drones trimmed flowers. That’s when the conversation began.
“That was quite a performance in the block,” Kim said.
“Thanks, but…” I hinted.
“I found another dealer,” he said.
“And?” I prompted. “I asked for the product, not the middleman.”
“That’s the problem. He doesn’t sell! At least, not directly. He uses the first meeting to figure out what the client needs: what effect, what result, how long it lasts, when and how it’s being used. He even uses a medical scanner to calibrate the dosage. Looks like he knows more about biochemistry than half the School.
“Only after that does he name a price and set a second meeting where he personally administers the substance. No conditions allowed. No takeaways, no storage, no sharing.”
“He never hands over the product?”
“Not at first. For the first few doses, he insists on administering it himself—just enough to get you hooked. Only once the addiction sets in does he start handing it out. And I don't want that to happen to me.”
“Who does?” I asked. It wasn’t rhetorical.
“Those who stake everything on the substances. The dealer claims that breaking through to the second stage purifies the body and erases the addiction.”
“Convenient,” I said.
“Too convenient. People will believe any nonsense when they can’t see a better option. But I don’t trust him, and I’m not letting him poison me,” he added, as if I’d been planning to make him.
“Have they scanned you yet?” I asked.
“No, I haven’t lit up. And I’d prefer to keep it that way...”
“Relax,” I interrupted. “You’re more useful to me in the shadows.”
“I need the names of users. Can you get them?”
There was a pause. I even turned around to look at him, and only then did Kim respond.
“I can. But... what do I get out of it?” he asked, cautious.
“What would you like?” I asked.
“Well, that tea you gave me was incredible. How about a portion per name?”
I considered it. Even Novak didn’t know the full extent of my little initiative. At least not in detail. I’d told him I’d try to dig up some names. I figured he wouldn’t mind “funding” the operation.
Kim misread my silence.
“Come on! A portion per name is totally fair,” he said.
“Agreed. Just message me next time, no need for all this theatre.”
“Are you kidding?” Kim said, incredulous. “What if they’ve tapped the message relays?”
Novak had sworn the system was ultra-secure, that no unauthorised access was possible. Still, I had my doubts too.
“Then we’ve got fifteen minutes to come up with a better way to communicate,” I said.
Comments
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
