李淳罡死了还是飞升了

Countless hours of ceaseless battle had caused him to enter into a state where insights almost seemed tangible, and the small part of him that still held reason knew that if he allowed it to slip for even a moment, there was no telling when — or if — he would succeed in regaining it.

And so, although waves of fatigue swept through his weary body, his thoughts nevertheless held only a single-minded determination.

Each time the Knight attacked, he focused on understanding the attack, studying the fusion of insights in his opponent’s movements even as he struggled to keep from being defeated.

For a long time, this was all he could do.

Merely defending himself against the Knight’s attacks already touched on the limits of his ability, and to study his opponent’s skills at the same time took every shred of focus he had.

There was no question of countering the attacks, much less trying to win the battle. Against an opponent like this, just to persist was already a feat that pushed at the bounds of his ability.

In truth, had Arran had his full wits about him, the Knight’s display of skill might well have left him awestruck.

While he had learned to fuse his insights, he still did so awkwardly, like a young child that had only just learned to string together words to form crude sentences. Even that gave him power beyond anything he’d had before, but it was a skill he was a long way from mastering.

Yet if his moves were like the words of a child, then his opponent’s were like those of a poet at the height of his craft. The Knight continuously weaved insights together in ever-changing patterns, each new attack like a singular work of art that reflected a profound understanding of the world.

It was a chasm that seemed too large to cross — the difference between a hapless apprentice and an unrivaled master, with the former unable to even fully comprehend what he saw, much less repeat it himself.

By all rights, the contrast between Arran and his opponent should have discouraged him from even attempting to learn the Knight’s skills for himself. No reasonable man could take on such a task and hope to succeed. The very idea of it bordered on insanity.

Yet in his current state, no such notions occurred to Arran.

Between his exhaustion and the constant effort of defending himself, he had no thoughts to spare on the enormity of the task before him. Instead, he merely focused on each attack as it came, blind to the long path that still lay ahead.

This continued for a long time — though how long it was, Arran could not say — and gradually, his comprehension deepened.

While the knowledge he gleaned from each attack he weathered was all but imperceptible, the attacks were many enough that those small slivers of understanding steadily began to add up into something more.

And so, as Arran observed a thousand flawless attacks, he slowly started to gain an inkling of what lay at their heart.

At first, he barely understood what he saw. The Knight’s command of his insights was so fluent as to almost be unnatural, with endless insights effortlessly fused together as one, and Arran struggled to comprehend it.

It was a level of mastery that seemed impossible. Arran knew the Knight’s skill far exceeded his own, but for his opponent to control numerous insights more easily than he could control even one — that stretched the limits of credulity.

For a time, he watched without understanding, the part of his mind that wasn’t occupied with maintaining his defense trying and failing to grasp how such a thing was possible.

But then, at last, he saw the answer.

What he thought he saw didn’t just seem impossible; it actually was impossible.

As he realized that, he finally understood that the Knight wasn’t merely fusing insights by controlling them individually. Rather, his opponent was calling upon a unity that was already present in the insights themselves.

The realization came to Arran suddenly, and the sheer simplicity of it nearly left him dumbfounded.

His journey in learning the Forms had been fraught with confusion and frustration. He’d pursued numerous false leads, spent countless hours studying paths that turned out to be dead ends. And although he had finally found a path he believed to be the right one, the road ahead had still been veiled in a dense fog.

But now, with a single realization, that fog of ignorance suddenly lifted. And as it did, Arran saw that his goal lay right before him, already within his grasp.

There was no more need for study or contemplation. Instead, what he saw was a simple truth, so clear and evident that he wondered how it had taken him so long to recognize it.

Insights represented distinct aspects of reality, yet in the end, they were only tiny fragments of it.

If the entirety of existence was like an indescribably vast tree, then insights were like its leaves. There were too many to count, and each covered no more than a tiny fragment of the whole.

Arran had tried to shake that tree by grabbing its leaves — to seize all the insights he could, and control them all at once. It was a near-impossible task, and although he had achieved some progress, he now recognized it as yet another false path.

But this time, he also recognized the truth.

To shake a thousand leaves only required one to grab the branch that held them. And to use a thousand insights, one only needed to touch upon the reality that connected them.

The realization washed over Arran like a wave of icy water, tearing him from he dream-like state he’d entered.

He briefly staggered as he was hit by his long-suppressed exhaustion, but even as he swayed on his feet, his vision cleared and he became aware of his surroundings.

The first thing he saw was his opponent, whom he realized with some surprise was the Knight he’d met at the gates of Knight’s Watch when he first arrived. The man neither moved nor attacked. Instead, he looked at Arran with a weary but expectant expression, as if he was waiting for something to happen.

That the Knight had waited for some time already was obvious. Though Arran did not know how long his reverie had lasted, the silence and confused expressions of the Rangers and soldiers around them — and there were hundreds, Arran saw, as many from the Wolfsblood army as not — suggested that it wasn’t nearly as short as it had seemed.

He did not linger on either his opponent or their audience, however. Neither of those mattered. There was only one thing he cared about right now, and that was to put his discovery to the test.

And so, he turned his attention to the sword in his hand. If his suspicions were correct, then putting his newfound knowledge to use should be a simple thing.

He frowned, then gave the sword a casual swing.

It was a simple stroke, of the sort a middling swordsman might use when starting his daily practice, neither deliberately infused with insights nor particularly powerful. Among the men and women who stood watching him, even the least skilled would easily be able to copy it.

Yet a thoughtful expression appeared on Arran’s face, and for several moments, he stood in silence. Then, he nodded to himself and swung the blade again.

This second strike was little different from the first one. If anything, it was even simpler, like a stripped-down version of the previous strike. Even a novice swordsman would have little trouble duplicating it.

But while the confusion in the onlookers’ expressions grew stronger, a hint of satisfaction appeared in Arran’s eyes.

Again he swung the sword, and this time, the strike was so simple as to be amateurish. It was a movement nearly completely bereft of insight, lacking any of the skill and ability Arran had acquired over the years. He swung the sword like a child wielding a stick, the action one of raw intent without even a shred of ability.

This time, some murmurs sounded from the crowd around him.

The Rangers and soldiers who stood watching had witnessed him fight at a level they could not hope to match, and now, what they saw left them baffled. It was as if the master swordsman they’d watched all this time had suddenly lost his skills, and although none dared say it out loud, more than a few whispered voices suggested that exhaustion had finally broken him.

Arran ignored them. He stood still for several seconds, pondering his latest move. Then, finally, he smiled in contentment and swung his sword once more.

It was another casual strike, but where the previous one had been clumsy enough to leave the onlookers murmuring in confusion, this one was flawless — perfect enough to draw gasps of shock from the more perceptive of the Rangers who stood watching.

The simple strike barely differed from the one before it, but the small difference was enough to cause such a fundamental change that the two were completely incomparable.

But while the onlookers murmured in wonder, incapable of grasping what they’d just witnessed, Arran naturally understood exactly what he had done.

He’d carefully stripped away the insights from his strikes, grinding the movements down to nothing but their most fundamental essence — the reality of which insights were only reflections.

And in so doing, he had caused all those reflections to move as one.

Still, even if he understood what he’d achieved, he found himself puzzled by how easy it was. Learning the Forms had taken him years, but now, a single epiphany and a mere four strokes of his sword had brought him a greater reward than all those years of effort.

With a thought, he turned to the one person who might have an answer to his questions — his opponent.

As Arran faced the Knight, he was unsurprised to see that the man’s eyes carried a hint of approval. He’d already figured out that the Knight had intentionally aided him, deliberately holding back to give him the chance to learn.

"Is it really this simple?" he asked, some wonder in his voice.

The Knight gave an amused smile. "It is rarely the last step that makes a journey difficult."

Arran considered the man’s words for a moment, then nodded in understanding. As easily as the final step had come, he could not have achieved it without the long road he’d traversed to reach this point.

That he could strip his attacks down to their purest essence was only because of the years he’d spent honing his insights. That was what allowed him to recognize the essence of his strikes, and without it, even recognizing what to strip away would be utterly impossible.

"But come," the Knight continued. "After all this effort, I’m curious to see what you have learned."

Without any further words, the man raised his weapon, and Arran eagerly did the same. After all, while he knew his abilities had made a leap forward, he had yet to see just how big that leap was.

They silently faced each other for a mere second before the Knight sprang into action. Surging forward in a blur of motion, he launched a flurry of attacks, each of them a marvel of control and power.

Any remaining doubts Arran had about the man holding back earlier were gone in an instant. Had his opponent attacked like this before, Arran would not have lasted even a single exchange.

Yet now, he found that he was able to resist the onslaught.

His control still couldn’t quite match the Knight’s, but his strikes and parries carried a precision that had been absent before — a mastery that surpassed mere skill and touched on the edges of perfection.

The exchange lasted mere seconds, but it left Arran marveling at his newly gained abilities. Not only had his control reached a level he once would have thought impossible, but his speed had leaped forward as well.

As skilled as he was at controlling his insights, doing so had still added complexity to his movements. And although the delay that added to his attacks and parries was only a fraction of an instant, in battle, even the slightest delay mattered.

But now, he moved with the speed of instinct, the separation between thought and action all but erased. And with that, he could block attacks that would have been unstoppable in the past.

In the seconds that the exchange lasted, Arran and the Knight exchanged several dozens of blows, with neither of them able to gain the upper hand. Though the Knight was the more skilled of the two, the difference was small enough that Arran’s greater strength evened the odds, if perhaps not completely.

Yet when the Knight broke off his attack, he immediately stepped back, then gave a small bow. "I concede," he said. "Victory is yours."

The words took Arran by surprise, yet before he could object, the man continued, "But now, with your training at an end, my master wishes to see you."

"The Governor?" Arran asked. Though it seemed the most likely answer, he still knew too little of the city to be certain. There might be other powers of which he remained unaware.

"Of course," the Knight replied. "Will you accompany me?"

Arran hesitated. "Right now?" As grateful as he was for the help he’d received from the Knight, exhaustion filled every fiber of his body, and he would much rather be rested when meeting the Governor. Especially because he already had some suspicions about what the Governor’s intentions might be.

"Right now," the Knight confirmed. "As tired as you must be, this is something that cannot wait."

Understanding that it wasn’t so much a request as it was an order, Arran gave a reluctant nod. "All right, I will come."

"Excellent," the Knight said, a cheerful smile on his face. "Follow me."

As they set off, Arran’s eyes found Kaleesh amid the crowd, and he saw that the captain’s expression was one of concern. Yet there was nothing to be done about it, and Arran merely gave Kaleesh a helpless shrug before hurrying after the Knight.

Still, as worried as the captain looked, Arran wasn’t too concerned. He had a suspicion of what lay ahead, and although it would be a problem, it was one he’d already accepted as unavoidable.

Rather than dwelling on the matter and succumbing to pointless worry, he turned his attention to the Knight.

"The Governor sent you to help me?"

It was more of a statement than a question, and as he expected, the Knight nodded in response. "He did," the man confirmed. "Though I won’t deny that I was curious to see what talents the champion of the prisoners’ army possessed. I will admit that you’re more talented than I expected."

"About that..." Arran began, brow creased in a frown. "What I discovered... I was hoping you could—"

"I cannot tell you what you wish to know," the man interrupted him. "You’ve already uncovered secrets beyond your station. Before you’re allowed to learn more, your loyalty to the Imperium will need to be ensured."

"That’s why the Governor summoned me?" Arran asked. "To have me swear allegiance to the Imperium?"

The Knight hesitated, then gave a small nod.

"This oath..." Arran began, but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw the Knight’s expression. Whatever the man knew, he clearly had no intention of revealing it. Arran remained silent for several seconds, then finally said, "I suppose proving my loyalty isn’t a problem. Though I am still new to the Imperium, I have no intention of betraying my allies."

"Good," the Knight said simply, though Arran saw that the man’s expression relaxed at his words.

Rather than continuing on the subject, Arran turned his attention to the city around them. And as they left the outermost area behind, he saw that the inner part much resembled other cities, albeit with some notable differences.

For a start, while all cities had guards, Knight’s Watch had far more of them than other cities. Arran suspected that this was not only to defend the city against the Blight, but just as much to protect it from the soldiers and Rangers who filled its streets.

Wherever he looked, there were armed men and women. Many of them were browsing the stores — at least half of which sold weapons and armor, albeit at ridiculous prices — but there were equally many who walked the streets with unsteady steps, the smell of drink on them unmistakable.

"Do they cause much trouble?" Arran asked.

"More than you would believe," the Knight replied with a laugh, clearly glad for the change of topic. "I’d venture to say that more of them get injured in the taverns than on the training fields. If the Blight truly wished to defeat us, I fear that wine and brandy would do a better job than swords and magic."

Arran chuckled. "Then it’s a good thing I haven’t seen any carts filled with barrels come out of the Desolation. Though I can’t imagine that drunken soldiers are much of a problem to Knights like yourself."

At this, the Knight let out a small sigh. "Then your imagination is lacking. The common soldiers might not be too much of a problem, but the Lords’ sons and daughters are another matter."

"Really?" Arran raised an eyebrow. "I would think even they would be wary of offending a Knight."

"If only," the man replied. "Strength is nothing without backing, and even with the Governor’s status, there are some among the Lords who would not hesitate to challenge him." In a wistful tone, he added, "Although it isn’t as bad as in Sacrifice, of course."

"The situation in Sacrifice is bad, then?"

"That’s putting it mildly," the Knight said. "Sacrifice is governed by the church, and the church cares more about its alliances than it does about ruling fairly. As an outsider, you would do well to remember that."

"I’ll keep it in mind."

In truth, Arran had already expected as much. He knew that the Darian lordlings in the Desolation busied themselves as much with fighting over status as they did with fighting the Blight, and based on what he had seen of the Imperium’s politics, it came as no surprise that even the Desolation would be rife with favoritism.

Fortunately, he could rely on Kaleesh to deal with the politics of the Imperium. And if that meant he could expect to be drawn into a few perilous schemes, it was a price well worth paying.

Of course, with the strength he now had, he also had the option of going it alone. Yet somehow, he suspected that things weren’t quite as simple as that. Even if he tried to avoid the Imperium’s political conflicts, he had little doubt that those conflicts would somehow still manage to find him.

Much better to have an ally at his side, to keep an eye on the Darians’ intrigue while Arran focused his attention on growing his strength.

The walk to the center of the city took Arran and the Knight the better part of an hour, much of which they spent navigating their way around the throngs of soldiers that filled the city’s many narrow streets.

Some of the soldiers respectfully stepped aside when they recognized the Knight, but just as many were too drunk to even notice him, and still others did not seem to recognize the Knight at all.

"Country folk," the Knight explained in a voice that carried just a hint of exasperation. "Many of them have never even seen a Knight."

As they made their way through the city, they witnessed several fights, as well. And while most of these were drunken brawls, on two occasions Arran saw the fighters draw their weapons.

"You’re not going to step in?" he asked his companion as they passed a large fight outside a tavern, where two burly soldiers faced each other with sword in hand.

The Knight shook his head. "They know the consequences if they go too far — or should know them, at any rate. If they lack the wit to restrain themselves..." He paused, and a grin crossed his face. "I suppose they might find themselves recruited by that captain of yours."

At this, Arran could only let out a deep sigh.

But as easily as the Knight talked about the situation in Knight’s Watch and Sacrifice, it was clear that there were some topics he would not touch on.

Anything concerning the Desolation itself and the various Darian techniques, he refused to talk about — even those techniques which Arran had clearly already mastered.

But then, perhaps it wasn’t that the Knight did not wish to talk about these things, but that he couldn’t. Arran already suspected that the Darians’ oath worked in a similar manner as the one he’d made when joining the Shadowflame Society, and if that was the case, willingness to talk played little part in it.

Of course, if that was true, it also meant that he would soon find himself bound twice over.

Yet that was a problem which still lacked an obvious answer, and so, he turned his attention back to the city.

Where the lower levels of Knight’s Watch were abuzz with activity, the upper levels at the city’s center were quieter, and many of the buildings that stood near the top of the massive hill looked to be centuries old.

The people here were different, as well. There were fewer soldiers and Rangers, and those few that Arran did see looked to be locals rather than travelers on their way to the Desolation.

"It’s rather nice, don’t you think?" the Knight asked with a satisfied look at the scenery around them.

"It’s beautiful," Arran agreed.

This was no exaggeration. The city itself was attractive — this part of it, at least — and the view it offered was nothing short of stunning. Atop the hill, he could see for miles around, past the sprawling city below them and across the endless green hills that surrounded Knight’s Watch. "How long have you been here?"

A ponderous look appeared on the Knight’s face, and after some moments of thought, he replied, "I suppose it’s been a century already, give or take a few years. I first entered the Governor’s service shortly after I became a Ranger. I passed through Knight’s Watch after I returned from the Desolation, and ended up staying here."

Arran remained silent for some moments, then asked, "What sort of man is the Governor?"

"He’s a good man," the Knight replied at once. "Albeit one who carries a heavy burden. He founded Knight’s Watch himself, growing it from a single lone watchtower into the city it is today. And where the other Lords believe they can neglect the Desolation, he cannot afford the luxury of ignorance."

A thought occurred to Arran, and he asked, "He’s the Knight in Knight’s Watch?"

"He was," his companion confirmed. "Though he became a Lord long ago — long enough that there are only a handful of people in the Imperium who remember him as a Knight."

By now, they had already approached to within a few hundred paces of the large keep that lay atop the hill’s summit, and Arran cast a long look at the large walled building that lay ahead of them.

As he studied it, he recognized that it was far older than the rest of the city. Its walls were a patchwork of sturdy stone, carrying the marks of many centuries of continuous construction and repairs.

Yet there were some sections that appeared much older than the others — old enough that Arran could not even begin to guess how long they had stood. If the Governor had already been here when those first sections of wall were erected, then his age couldn’t be measured in mere centuries.

Arran’s thoughts were interrupted by the Knight’s voice. "We’ve arrived," the man announced. "I will see you to the Governor myself. I expect we will find him in his garden."

They passed through the heavy gates and the courtyard behind it unhindered, the guards there — all of them Rangers — bowing politely as the Knight passed, though not without casting some curious looks at Arran.

Then, they were within the keep itself. Yet although the entry hall was spacious, Arran soon found that behind it lay a maze of narrow hallways.

While the building was large and robust, its interior bore few signs of any intentional design. Instead, it was as if the keep had been built over many years by many different builders, each of them without a care for the plans of those who came before them.

Hallways and corridors intersected at sharp angles, the different types of stone in their walls proof that they had been created centuries apart. This was further evidenced by the floors, which despite being made from heavy stone were worn so deeply that they almost resembled dried-up streams.

Yet labyrinthine though the keep was, the Knight seemed well-acquainted with its narrow passages, and it wasn’t long before they emerged into a small secluded courtyard that held a lavish garden.

At the center of the garden was a thin, gray-haired man, crouched over as he carefully tended to one of the many plants in the area.

"Lord Governor," the Knight said in a subdued voice, "I’ve brought you the outsider."

"One moment, Kishan," the old man replied, his voice so soft it was only barely intelligible. "I just have to..."

Though Arran could not make out the rest of what was said, he deduced that it must have something to do with the plant, as the man’s attention remained fully focused on the small bush before him.

Several minutes passed as the old man groomed and watered the plant — long enough that Arran almost worried he had forgotten about his guests. But then, at last, the man stood up and turned around.

Arran felt some shock as he saw the Governor. Short and thin, the man looked so old that it seemed like even a gust of wind might break him, with a face so wrinkled not a single smooth patch of skin remained. And although the Living Shadow weapon at his side was only a thin sword, Arran found himself wondering whether the man would be able to lift even that.

Yet while his body seemed to teeter on the edge of infirmity, his dark eyes held a sharpness that suggested his mind had weathered the ravages of time unscathed.

"Now then," the Governor said as he gave Arran an appraising look. "Since you’re here, I assume the boy has succeeded?"

"He has, Lord Governor," the Knight replied. "And most impressively, at that."

"Good," the Governor said. "Then you may leave. Send one of the stewards over on your way out."

Arran barely managed to utter a word of thanks to the Knight before he was left alone with the Governor, who continued to stare at him with studious eyes.

"A good-hearted young man, that one," the Governor said. "Though sadly lacking in talent. Now, let me get a look at you."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with a speed that belied his frail appearance, only coming to a halt a mere two paces from Arran. For several moments he stared intently — much like a stableman appraising a horse, Arran thought — then finally stepped back and gave a slow nod.

"Good," he said. "I feared Kishan’s efforts might have been wasted, but it seems my fears were unfounded."

Arran gave the old man an uncertain look. "Lord Governor," he began cautiously, "why did you have him help me?"

"Because I owed you a favor," the Governor replied. "Two, in fact, one of which has now been repaid."

Understanding dawned in Arran’s eyes. "The Reaver?"

"And the Warlock," the Governor said. "Both could have done great damage to our supply lines, but your timely appearance prevented the worst of it."

"They caught the Warlock, then?" There had been some doubt in Arran’s mind about whether the two Lords he’d met would manage to find the creature, but from the Governor’s words, it seemed they had succeeded.

"They killed it," the old man said. "Had they caught it, I would have owed you a more substantial favor. We’ve never caught one alive, you see, and not for lack of trying."

At a loss for words, Arran merely nodded in response. The Governor was nothing like what he had expected, behaving more like an eccentric mage than a Darian Lord, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the old man.

"You expected me to be a formidable warrior?" the Governor asked in an amused tone, almost as if he had read Arran’s mind. "I was once formidable, you know — not to mention a great deal taller. I have been a brave young Ranger, a fearless Knight, a terrifying Lord... I’ve been many things."

A small frown crossed Arran’s brow, and he could not keep from asking the obvious question. "And now?"

"Now?" The old man smiled in amusement. "Now, I suppose I am an adequate gardener. And if the Blight doesn’t overrun my city, perhaps I shall eventually become a good one."

At that moment, a middle-aged man stepped into the garden. "Lord Governor, you called for me?"

"That I did," the Governor replied. "I need you to find my young guest a room — a good one, mind you — and a decent meal." A frown appeared on his wrinkled forehead as he looked at Arran, and after a moment’s thought, he added, "A fresh set of clothes would not go amiss, either. And perhaps a bath after he awakes."

The steward gave a deep bow in response. "As you wish, Lord Governor."

The Governor turned to Arran. "Now, off with you. You may have set a first step into Enlightenment, but that does not mean you can go without sleep."

Arran looked at him in confusion. "Enlightenment?"

"I will answer your questions once you’ve rested," the old man replied. He turned around even as he finished the words, his attention once more fully focused on the plant he’d been tending when Arran arrived.

For several seconds Arran stood in silence, thoughts still on the word the Governor had used — Enlightenment. He didn’t yet know what exactly it was that he had discovered, but the term seemed strangely appropriate.

His thoughts were interrupted a moment later, when a subdued cough sounded beside him. "Young master," the steward said in a soft voice, "please let me show you to your quarters."

Arran cast a last look at the Governor, but seeing that the old man was already fully engrossed in his gardening, he reluctantly followed the steward.

Another journey through the maze-like hallways of the keep followed, with the steward proving no less skilled at navigating the winding corridors than the Knight had been. After some minutes — and countless stairs and hallways — they finally stepped into a large room.

"I trust that these quarters will be to your liking," the steward said, some pride in his voice as he showed the room to Arran.

Arran nodded silently. The room wasn’t just to his liking, it was astonishing. Vast and luxurious, it held a larger — and, from the look of it, softer — bed than he had enjoyed in years, and the walls were covered in intricate tapestries. Moreover, there were several large windows that gave a stunning view of the city and the lands around it.

"Excellent," the steward said. "Please make yourself comfortable. I shall have food and clothes sent momentarily."

As the steward left, Arran took off his armor — the first time he had done so in a very long time. He lazily rubbed the sore spots it had left on his body, then sat down on the bed.

Though there were many thoughts and questions in his mind, he found himself unable to focus on any of them, and he realized just how tired he was. He had fought for weeks if not longer, and now, he finally felt the force of his long-suppressed exhaustion weigh down on him.

He hesitated for only a moment, then lay down on the bed. If nothing else, he decided, he had deserved a brief nap before his meal arrived.