“I can do it,” I said.
The Emperor nodded with grim satisfaction.
Sanya-ketsu’s warm rubber gloves touching my arm surprised me, and I tensed up. But she just pushed the sleeve of my T-shirt up onto my shoulder to show the full length of the Eight-Legged Dragon script tattoo curling from around my forearm to high on my biceps. Over its eye, she laid a piece of plastic wrap material with a set of black crosshairs on it.
The plastic wrap dissolved, and the script tattoo sank into my skin.
“Sentenced to Death,” the Emperor explained. “Script links to Takeshi’s Spirit. It will show Death cultivator offenders Takeshi has Sentenced. For each evildoer you bring to justice, you will be receiving more credits than you can spend in month on Tos-Dovya. And more. Sanya.”
The study disappeared. I stood in an arena full of screaming spectators. Warcry was in the center of a professional fight cage, an official holding his fist in the air while he hoisted a gold belt in the other hand.
Then I was watching Kest in a metal fabrication shop giving orders to welders and artificers. She said something, and they ran off to get it done.
Then Rali sat cross-legged in the middle of a high desert, surrounded by scrub brush, a walking stick across his knees. With every breath, Warm Heart Spirit flowed into a repaired Spirit sea.
When the room faded back in, Emperor Takeshi-ketsu said, “Bounties for bringing evil to justice. You will be compensated in credits for every Sentence you carry out, but for every eighty, Takeshi grants one request. Anything. International Fighting Championship league, Artificer’s Guild, best healers in universe—all are here in Takeshi’s pocket.” He patted the breast of his suit.
But that feeling of certainty pulled back when I realized I was being asked to kill people for fancy prizes. My promise to Gramps rang in my head, along with that whole thing about what should a man give in exchange for his soul.
“I’m not a bounty hunter or...” I trailed off lamely. “I don’t want to execute people for a living. Emperor. Sir.”
Instead of flipping out and threatening me and my friends, the Emperor just nodded like he understood.
“Taking lives is terrible burden, yes? Deciding who lives, who dies. Takeshi knows this.” He tapped high on his huge stomach, over his Spirit sea. “Takeshi’s Spirit type is Relentless Justice. Over years, Takeshi has borne burden of sentencing many to death. This is why Takeshi will never ask you to kill for passing whim, Death cultivator. Takeshi will only ask you to stop those who destroy good and to repay evil on those who do evil. Is what your people call ‘avenging angel,’ yes?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“Without avenging angel, who protects weak?” Takeshi said, not giving me time to fumble through my thoughts. “Who punishes evil? Justice cannot be meted out evenly by one who never experienced pains of injustice. Is why you are perfect for job, Grady Hake. Why only you are chosen.”
He was right. I knew he was right—had known it forever, I’d just never been able to put it into words. Only someone who’d gotten kicked around his whole life would care enough to save other people from the same thing. All the crap I’d taken wasn’t for nothing, it was leading up to this, making me strong enough to fulfill my true purpose.
“Will you do this, Death cultivator?” Emperor Takeshi asked. “Will you become Eight-Legged Dragons’ front line in fight against injustice?”
Like I was reading off a script, I realized what he wanted me to say.
“I live to serve the Eight-Legged Dragons.” Every word felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I could feel them wrapping around my bones like the Lunar Scythe.
Solemnly, the Emperor nodded.
Then he clapped his scaly hands together, his somber ceremonial attitude doing a one-eighty.
“Rank is settled! Now to address kishotenketsu problem. As mentioned, you are not cultivated enough to take on challenges Takeshi will soon be facing, Death cultivator. But we fix this. Start you off small, foes with simple defenses, build kishotenketsu up. Have you advancing to Ten before Universal year ends.”
He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a little brown bottle that looked like it had come from an old-timey medicine show. I’d seen similar ones on the shelves at Muta’i’s distillery back in Ghost Town, but none of them had had the look of quality this bottle did. Everything from the smooth glass to black wax seal to the fancy print on its paper label screamed expensive.
“Integrate Proving Forge Elixir before you and Thompson leave for Sarca. This prepares weak human body for advancement, makes robust like Varanusko.” The Emperor thumped his chest. “If you survive Proving Forge, you survive Ten advancement.”
He handed over the elixir.
“Thank you, Emperor.” I stuck the little medicine show bottle in my pocket, careful not to reach in too deep just in case Sanya-ketsu interpreted it as a threat.
The Emperor stuck out his scaly hand. I was still so focused on not breaching the etiquette Kest and Sanya-ketsu had outlined that it took me a second before I realized he was offering to shake. When we did, I remembered to bow.
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Takeshi does not shake everyone’s hand, Death cultivator. But Takeshi serves the Eight-Legged Dragons, and the Dragons thank you for serving justice. So Takeshi also thanks you.”
Hanging Poolside
ANOTHER SERVANT SHOWED me out of the Soulchamber, down a winding flagstone path. All around us, healthy green lawn was hemmed in by high stone walls and dotted with carefully landscaped sections of jungle. Over the wall, I caught a glimpse of grimy city skyline with rainforest springing up at the edges.
It was as hot and humid outside as June in Southern Missouri. Right away, I
