Chapter 419: and 420
If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again
Chapter 419: and 420
Nowadays, battles rarely end with a bang.
Instead, they close out with a slow burn, where the resolution is set in stone but the Defiled are too stubborn to concede or retreat, so everyones forced to play along and fight to the bitter end. Im tired, my soldiers are tired, the animals are tired, hell, even the Defiled are tired, but were not willing to let them live and theyre not willing to quietly die. Sure, I could turn up the Succ and send the Defiled running for the hills, but then wed have to chase them down which is even more exhausting.
Figuratively speaking, that is. About the hills. No hills here on the border, just grass and dirt as far as the eye can see. Where are the rolling meadows or lush forests, the rocky barrens or coastal backdrops? If this world was truly crafted by an omnipotent being, then you can tell they definitely phoned it in while making most of Central.
A Defiled warrior charges forward with a hobbling gait, moving painfully slowly through the mud and corpses yet still almost too quickly for me to respond. My overworked arms move Unity in place and the Defiled impales himself on the blade, offering one, last, brief struggle before the hatred fades from his eyes and leaves a lifeless corpse in its place. Enemy though he might be, its hard to hate the Defiled knowing what I know now. Theyre afflicted with a disease, not in body or mind, but in spirit, and much like a rabid dog, theyve little to no control over their actions. It really puts a damper on all this wholesale slaughter, since my anger and hatred have been replaced by sorrow and pity which are much less motivating. Too tired to lift my legs, I hone Unity and watch my fallen foe slide off the blade to join the carpet of corpses stretching out at my feet, the bodies stacked four or five deep in some places after hours of non-stop fighting.
How are there still so many god-damned Defiled?
Howling in wordless fury, yet another Defiled Champion rushes forward to challenge me in mortal combat, brandishing an ugly bleached-bone battle-axe exuding a sense of loathsome damnation. Responding with a scream of my own, I eke out what strength I have left and thrust Unity at my Enemys throat. Swiping the attack aside, the Champion lowers his shoulder and charges. Caught off guard, the tackle hits me head on and fractures my clavicle, not yet broken but close. More through luck than skill, the charge lifts me off my feet and pushes me back. Lightening for all Im worth, I pray I stick the landing, but as per usual, no ones listening. The tempo of battle has churned dirt and blood into viscous sludge which sucks my boots in deep, and only with Unitys aid do I keep myself from falling back into the muck. It will take precious seconds to free myself, time which I lack as the Defiled Champion winds back to cleave my torso in twain and offer my blood to his unholy weapon
Where I once might have clenched my jaw and taken the hit, Ive learned much in the last two months. Rescinding my Aura with a single thought, I hurtle a Honed blade of fear and self-loathing at the Champion which hits him like a thunderbolt. Staggered by the incorporeal assault, he recovers in time to watch me leap away in a splash of gore and mud as I use multiple Keystones to full effect. Landing delicately atop a Defiled corpse, I fire three lancing jabs in rapid succession, but my foe wards them off with ease. Retreating before his relentless advance, I spring from corpse to corpse to avoid getting stuck in the mud while testing his defences, aiming high then low, low then high, jabbing and thrusting, feinting and slashing, yet no matter what I try, I see no way to break past his impenetrable guard.
This guy is good. Not crazed and wild like most axe-wielders, but calm and cautious, a patient hunter waiting for the perfect opportunity. Does this make him more Defiled, or less? Can he be saved? Mahakala said they could, but the question is how? Also, where the fuck is the Abbot? I sent Wugang and Yelu Shi to tell him about Mahakala almost three months ago, but theres still no word from any of them. I couldve crawled to Nan Ping and back by now, much less cloud-walk. What the fuck dude?
Unfortunately, saving my opponent is less important than saving me from him. Though I hold the range advantage, he has the upper hand in leverage. With stance low and axe held close to his chest, all it takes is one good parry or Deflection to send Unity aside, leaving me wide open for chopping. My options limited, I hammer him with a second blade of Honed Aura and turn my probing jab into a Reinforced and Amplified thrust, but the Champion barely flinches beneath the emotional assault. Already committed to the killing blow, I follow through to disastrous results as he parries the attack, grabs Unitys crossbar, and yanks hard. His one hand overpowering my two, I involuntarily leap into a backhanded swing which knocks multiple teeth loose and sends me careening into the mud.
By the time my vision clears and I get back on my feet, the Champion lies dead and Argat stands guard over me, his spear dripping with the blood of my fallen foe. Ive lost track of how many times the two brothers have saved my life and it shames me to rely so heavily on their protection. Strong against the weak and weak against the strong, that about sums up my current plight. Maybe I wouldve had an easier time against the Champion if I were fresh and well-rested, or if Id killed him the first time I used my Honed Aura instead of running away, but excuses are worthless. I need to become stronger, but my Martial Path has reached a bottleneck as I stand stuck and confused at the dividing line between trash and treasure. The Defiled Champion had me beat in raw stats, so if I want to easily defeat him, I must learn to use Chi externally. A single step which might as well be an impassable gorge, because for the life of me, I cant figure it out. Even with Tenjin and Lei Gongs occasional advice, Im still unable Send without skin contact, much less Conceal or craft water bullets and blades. All I can do is a shitty impression of a fountain, spitting a tiny stream of water which dissipates into nothingness as the Heavens reclaims my Chi like a starving beggar devours free rice.
Gasping for breath, I embrace the pain to clear my mind and assess the situation. Noting precious few Defiled still standing, I turn my gaze to the thick fog of Spectres floating about, their ghastly faces twisted in sadistic delight as they survey their handiwork and whisper into the minds of Defiled and Imperial alike. I dont know why theyre driving the Defiled to massed suicide, but theyre loving every nightmarish minute, which makes this next part much more satisfying. Focusing on all my repressed anger and hatred, I open myself to them and they surge forward to take the bait, gathering in droves to whisper their sweet lies. Its as if they can sense how close I once was to accepting their murderous ways and cant resist the allure of possibly bringing me back into the fold.
Im like ghost bait, and now that theyre all nice and close, its time to once again unleash my battle-ending ultimate move: Infinite Suck!
The Spectres wails are like music to my ears as I draw them into my abyss... ew. As I banish them to my void. As I consign them to the gaping hole in my soul... fuck it. I dont care anymore. It doesnt have to sound cool, Im eating Spectres and its awesome. Useful as the Talent is, Devouring is limited by a range of around fifty meters, about a swimming pools length in any direction. The range has grown since I arrived on the front lines, which tells me repeated use makes it stronger, but Im limited to once per battle since any Spectres and Defiled outside its range turn tail and run the second chow time comes around. It never used to be like this; Sanshu was rife with Spectres hanging about and I spent two weeks clearing them out. Hell, they even seemed kinda happy to drop in for a visit, but it appears word has gotten out about my Heavenly Energy Hoarding Endeavours and none of them care to donate to the cause.
Closing my mind to their empty promises and hollow threats, I leave the trapped Spectres for later and oversee the cleanup instead, sending my injured and weary warriors back to rest while the reserves stack corpses for disposal and scouts check the surroundings to make sure were safe. The blood bakes against my skin beneath the hot summer sun and the fetid stench of death soon becomes overwhelming as I await the final tally, which arrives soon enough from the lips of a gloomy Mister Rustram. Eighteen dead, he says, and my heart seizes in my chest. Seventy-nine others too wounded to walk or ride, mostly from the Protectorate. Guan Suos turtle defenders arent privy to the secrets of Panacea and lack the Death Corps heavy armour to protect them. Ive done my best to keep them out of the thick of things, but when were killing hundreds to thousands of Defiled a day, sometimes the only choice is to send everyone into the meat-grinder.
Adding todays losses to the butchers bill leaves me with a number which turns my stomach. Exactly fifty-nine days ago, I arrived in Sinuji with seven-hundred and ninety-four soldiers. Today, Im left with five-hundred and ninety-six still breathing, and less than half at fighting strength. Twenty-five percent losses doesnt sound too bad, until you realize it means one in four of my people have died. Lang Yis bunch took the worst of it, with a mere twenty-eight remaining from the original eighty. Theirs was a story of miracles, of rescued slaves turned Martial Warriors in a staggeringly short time, but there are no happy endings here. Dastans retinue and the Death Corps shouldered most of the remaining deaths, losing more than half and a little less than a third respectively while crippling the backbone of my retinue in the process.
My hammer and anvil have been sorely abused, so perhaps its time I learned a new trick. Sadly, tactics are not a part of my packaged memories, though I have songs and memes a plenty.
Its not all bad news. Since they primarily fought at range, the Protectorate only lost twenty-three warriors, while the rest of my retinue suffered precious few losses. Thanks to Taduks field-medic training and Panacea, the former bandits of Sanshu proved hardy enough to survive anything short of instant death. There were still over two dozen casualties scattered among them, but the repurposed Mothers Militia is still going strong. Even better news is I have yet to lose a Spiritual Weapon wielder, so my original eight from Shen Huo are all still alive and kicking.
So what have I learned? Panacea helps a lot. The Protectorate is largely intact, but down to a third of effective strength due to injuries. Armour is useful against schmucks, but relying on it too much means the Death Corps die in droves against Spiritual Weapon-wielding Champions. Dastans retinue has the same Healing training as the rest of my troops, but its harder to save your injured comrades when youre surrounded by the Enemy. I might have to reevaluate how I use them and keep them for cleanup rather than an opener.
The most important lesson Ive learned? Range is king.
Wow. What a surprise. Who knew?
...
Everyone. Fucking everyone knows it, but theyre too stubborn to admit it.
Things might change once Demons and Wraiths take the field, but against massed Defiled, the best solution is to fill them full of arrows from a respectable distance. Asinine as it is, the general aversion to ranged weapons works fine when youve got a nice big wall to stand behind, so I understand their disdain. Martial Warriors are a prideful lot, which they deserve considering theyre essentially super-human, and it probably sucks seeing their years of hard training be outperformed by some peasant with a crossbow. Still, this is no time to coddle a bunch of arrogant idiots and their overblown pride. The survival of the Empire is on the line and were massively outnumbered, so efficiency is the name of the game. On an open field against the Defiled, the bow reigns supreme and the crossbow sits firmly in second place. Both are useless against Demons and vulnerable in a melee, but the benefits are too overwhelming to ignore. A longbow takes a lifetime of training, but any idiot can use a crossbow. Ammunition is a problem considering my small retinue is churning through thousands of arrows and bolts per week. Theyre simple enough to make using bamboo or cast iron, but if I want to scale manufacturing up to supply weapons and ammunition to the entire Imperial Army, then Ill need more help than even Yuzhen can provide.
For one, even if I had an infinite number of crossbows and bolts, how do I convince an Empire of close-combat purists to put aside their preconceptions and take up a ranged weapon?
I cant. I literally cant. Im working my ass off out here killing more Defiled with fewer losses than anyone else, yet no one will accept the real reason for my success. I say Crossbows, and they all think Im holding out. Its gotta be hidden Experts in my ranks (which is admittedly true), or the higher quality of my troops (again, also true, but it only goes so far), or some other asinine theory like the Divine Turtle racking up all the kills (which I wish was true, but neither Ping Ping nor Pong Pong have contributed to the war effort and instead spend their days in the lap of luxury devouring inordinate amounts of shrimp). This means Ive yet to sell a single crossbow to the military, and even Fung, BoShui, and Zian wont buy them. In their eyes, ranged weapons are for peasant hunters and nothing more, an Empire-wide symbol of weakness and poverty. How am I supposed to overcome prejudice when even cold hard facts and incredible results fail to sway their minds?
Sometimes, I feel like the Empire deserves to die, but the Defiled are far, far worse, so its not much of a choice.
Why bother? I should let everything burn to clear out the choking undergrowth, reset the world, and be there to plant the seeds of renewal in the aftermath.
...
Tch. Fucking Spectres. Theyre real tricky bastards and only get trickier with time and numbers, but Ive no choice but to leave them to stew in the void. I ran out of Spiritual Water three days into this patrol, so I have to wait until my next bath at Sinuji to make more. Im also collecting more Spectres with every patrol, not just because Im getting better at it, but also because more Spectres are showing up and bringing more Defiled, more Champions, more twisted Spiritual Weapons, and more duels. I dont know how much longer I can keep at it, but such is life.
Hongji, I thought we were cool man. Why wont you give me a break? Do you think I enjoy this? Okay, I kinda do and the Heavenly Energy is great, but still. I need a vacation.
And from the looks of things, Im not the only one. There are no cheers or celebrations for our overwhelming victory, and instead my people go about their business with cold indifference and weary disregard. Piles of burning corpses which would have once inspired and uplifted are now part and parcel of their daily routine, retreating away from the oily smoke to eat, drink, and rest while they can. Overall, morale is more ragged than our uniforms, which says a lot considering Guan Suo hasnt changed his clothes in weeks and is still one of the better dressed individuals of my retinue.
I can see why the Protectorate dress so shabbily now. No point wearing nice things if it all gets torn to shit, and with armour in short supply, getting replacement gear isnt merely a matter of doling out coin.
Tattered gear, lost comrades, and extended battles all take a toll on morale, but the Spectres influence is the greatest contributing factor to the retinues poor mood. Though Im here to vacuum all the bad ghosts away, once the Spectres place a thought in someones mind, Im powerless to remove it. Their influence is easy to spot once you know what to look for, most common of which is the thousand-kilometre stare. The afflicted sit there amidst their squads and units, a part of the group yet mentally alone, gazing off into the distance with wide, unblinking eyes as they contemplate whatever lies the Spectre told them. Lang Er is the worst off, almost wholly reliant on his brother to do anything outside of battle including eat and drink. Left alone, Im pretty sure hed soil himself and starve to death, but maybe Im being overly dramatic.
The other signs are less obvious, but still difficult to deal with. Its mostly minor issues like A-Gui purposely inciting jealousy amongst her many suitors, Jinoes increasingly macabre humour, Awdars growing drug problem, and Ravils fetish for punishing infractions. Then theres the more-serious-but-also-not-so-obvious signs of Spectres, like Dastans wild desperation to prove himself, Ulfsaars barely restrained rage, and Neeras growing gloominess at being unable to help him. Even without the Spectres constantly reinforcing these behaviours, my people still embark down the self-destructive paths laid out before them and theres little I can do to stop it.
Thats the trickiest thing about Spectres. All they do is provide the rope and leave us to hang ourselves with it.
It takes two hours to tally the dead, clear the battlefield, cremate our fallen comrades, and gather enough strength to get back underway. There are still many hours of travel before were done for the day, but were close to the finish line. By this time tomorrow, well be back in Sinuji for a week of rest and relaxation, aside from the odd Defiled war-band or two. Ill give Hongji a day or two to redeem himself, but if Colonel Braid-Beard doesnt schedule my people for a break, then rank be damned, because Im gonna march into his tent and make him eat his stupid poems.
Son
Time is of the essence. I must strike while the iron is hot. Speaking over Fathers protests, Hideo demanded, Bring me a fresh retinue. Ill speak with Colonel Hongji and secure a place on the coming patrol. Its perfect, even if the soldiers are different, the commander remains the same, and no one has ever gone on two consecutive patrols. Ill
No. Fathers refusal stopped Hideo in his tracks, for he could hardly believe his ears. This obsession has consumed you, Father said, shaking his head in stern disapproval. Ive let this go on too long. Come home son, else you risk losing Balance or worse.
And thus, Fathers true fears became apparent. You think me inferior to a tribal savage? Hideo asked, disbelief turning to anger as Father kept silent. You think I, Mitsu Hideo, cannot match a mere Falling Rain? Preposterous! Neck throbbing and spittle flying, Hideo stomped his foot to vent his anger and set the world around them to shaking. Horses screamed and soldiers shouted, but Hideo ignored the fuss and advanced on Father, screaming, I will defeat him and prove my superiority! You cannot stop me! Raising his foot for a second stomp, Hideo intended to show Father how strong hed become.
Kill him and you inherit everything. No one but Mentor to tell you what to do, and hes always supported your decisions.
The thought made Hideo hesitate for the briefest of moments, but he steeled his resolve and followed through. Time slowed as his foot crashed down, his Chi pulsing and ready to sunder earth and flesh alike.
Im sorry Son. With those words, Father disappeared from Hideos sight and the world went dark as he collapsed into quiet slumber.
So many mistakes, so many failures. How was Hideo ever to recover what was rightfully his?
If only he were stronger. Stronger than Father, stronger than Mentor, stronger than the Emperor Himself.
Only then would he recoup his losses and redeem his failures.
He would trade anything for this strength.
Anything.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With two sharp pats on her rough, wrinkly skin, Dienne requested Ehani lift her foot for inspection and the large girl happily complied. Though he found no injuries, he noted her toenails were too long and at risk of cracking, a dire injury for a creature as large and heavy as she. Placing a sturdy footstool beneath the ponderous pad, he respectfully presented his nail file to Ehani so she knew what to expect. In a mischievous mood, her long, serpentine nose snatched the file out of Diennes hand and held it up high so he couldnt retrieve it. Though hed happily play along if they were at home or in a secluded area, privacy was lacking here on the front lines of Sinuji. Please, little ancestor, he implored, scratching Ehanis chin to appease her. Small one cannot play here, for appearances must be kept.
As the Number One Talent of the South, he could hardly allow himself to be seen leaping about and being played for a fool by an elephant, no matter how much he enjoyed their games.
Trumpeting what he interpreted as a snort, Ehani returned the file with a huff and refused his offering of dried mangoes, quite literally turning her nose up at the sweet treat. Resisting the urge to bow and scrape to appease the dramatic beast, he set to filing her nails and hoped her anger would soon pass. The old girl was senior even to Diennes great grandfather, so should he lose her support, then Fathers tenuous hold over the clan would slip even further. A loyal creature which had formed a Spiritual Heart was not unheard of, but few were as powerful and capable as Ehani. Strong, intelligent, and an Expert in her own right, the Queyen clan called her their little ancestor because every rider she bonded with had gone on to become Patriarch.
Keeping his voice low, Dienne said, Little ancestor, small one knows these past weeks have been difficult and you desire rest, but he still requires your aid. Small one lacks the prodigious talents of his peers and his fighting style is not suitable for duels, so warfare is the only area where his expertise might shine. If small one cannot make great accomplishments here and now, then he will forever be stuck in Falling Rains shadow.
Though Ehani didnt understand everything he said, she read his tone well enough. Flapping her large, leathery ears, she glanced at him as if to say, Hmph. A mere runt with a giant turtle thinks he can outdo us on the battlefield? A frog stuck in a well.
Or perhaps she regretted turning down the dried mango. Even after twenty plus years, Dienne still wasnt entirely sure what went on in Ehanis mind.
Just as Dienne finished filing Ehanis last toenail, Akopa returned from his task. Blood Ward, it has been confirmed. Falling Rain marches for SuiHua. Needing time to think things through, Dienne offered Ehani the dried mangoes again and she accepted them with grace and aplomb, eating one piece at a time and chewing thoroughly to enjoy the taste.
Still uncertain after considering all the information at hand, Dienne fed Ehani the last piece of dried mango before addressing Akopa. Your thoughts?
Falling Rain has proven himself unworthy of consideration. Never one to mince words, Akopa launched into a scathing condemnation. What we believed to be a lie has now been proven truth. The beardless runt fought for sixty days because he was unaware of proper procedure. A child playing games of war while adults who should know better leave him to run free. His voice heavy with scorn, Akopa continued, His exploits speak for themselves and his low casualty rate is admirable, but to recklessly persist without understanding the consequences... He is no leader of men. A true leader would have seen his soldiers plight and known he risked losing them to madness. How many soldiers will Falling Rain be forced to cull, driven mad with anger and hatred thanks to their extended excursions? Or worse, what if some Tainted go unnoticed and they escape to spread the Enemys infection? If such a calamity were to occur, then Falling Rain would have brought disaster to the Bekhai, and perhaps even to the Empire itself.
Enough, Dienne said, inwardly rolling his eyes. A little heavy handed with the rhetoric, but I understand your meaning. You think me overly ambitious to remain here?
Small one dare not criticize, Akopa replied, though his tone was far from deferential and almost a little mocking in its monotone. Though now that Blood Ward mentions it, small one notes many parallels. Truly, Blood Ward is brilliant to have seen so.
A tad flippant, but the man had earned the right to it. First among a thousand of his peers, Akopa was Diennes Khadga, a sword to be wielded in the battle against the Defiled and his most trusted confidante. They both knew he was the stronger and more talented warrior, but Akopa forfeited so Dienne could advance, surrendering before he could order the Oath-sworn warrior to do his best. A distressing state of affairs, for perhaps Akopa could have defeated Falling Rain on stage and won great glory for the South, but sadly, there was no cure for regret.
Still unconvinced, Dienne sighed once more. A strange matter comes to mind, one I cannot comprehend for the life of me. Falling Rain fought the Defiled at Sanshu, but before, he took part in a Purge. He experienced the hidden dangers of the Enemy firsthand and saw the extreme consequences which go with them, so how could he be ignorant of the ramifications of his actions here? Shaking his head, Dienne muttered, Contradictions within contradictions. Though a woman and half-beast, surely Akanai is competent enough to see the inherent danger, yet she sends no support or reinforcements, not even advice or a request for updates. Such freedom is unheard of for a talent such as he, yet Nian Zu and Baatar also leave Falling Rain to his own devices, while Ive already ignored three of Fathers letters. Either all three highly-ranked Northern officers are gravely incompetent or there is a factor in play which we do not understand.
Dienne had no proof, but he suspected it had something to do with Sanshu. More than a year had passed since the Defiled rebellion, yet there was still no sign of a resurgence of Enemy influence. How could it be possible? Most of the Empire expected Sanshu would have been razed to the ground, and for good reason. The Fathers Taint was dark and insidious, a malignant disease lurking in the hearts of humanity, yet against all odds, Sanshu emerged uninfected after the most disastrous Defiled outbreak in recent history. As ridiculous as the thought might be, could this also have something to do with Falling Rain?
Goujian certainly seemed to think so.
Depending on who you asked, Goujian was the Mothers Sanguinary Priest or the Emperors Mad Dog, but whatever his reputation, few would have doubted the Confessors loyalty. Then, five weeks ago, the deranged lunatic dispatched countless missives to the nobles of the Empire declaring Falling Rain, the Legate, and the Emperor himself were the true Enemy and that hed joined forces with the Chosen to overthrow the dog Emperor and his unholy heathen lackeys. Madness is what it was, but for Goujian to turn against the Empire... well, these were dark times indeed.
Dienne put no stock in the turn-coat torturers claims, though he disagreed with the Legates response. By issuing an Imperial Edict commanding the letters be destroyed and never spoken of again, the Legate lent credence to the rumours, laughable though they might be. Falling Rain was no Defiled in disguise, for if he were, he would not have the allegiance of so many creatures. Most wild beasts of the Empire harboured a natural aversion to the Enemy and all its agents, an instinctive hostility borne of self-preservation, especially more powerful creatures like the Divine Turtle. Thats what made the Arid Wastes so impenetrable to the Defiled, for even if they could withstand the difficult terrain and inhospitable clime, those deadly beasts lurking within would not react kindly to Enemy intrusion. Its also how the Queyen Clan dealt with their suspected Tainted, by giving them a choice: either banishment to the Arid Wastes or be brought before Ehani and judged. How accurate she might be was up for debate, but history proved few Defiled willingly allowed themselves to be brought before the little ancestor, while none ever survived the Arid Wastes.
Then again, in all her years, Ehani had only ever spared one life, a child not even three years of age, so perhaps the innocent would be right to refuse her judgment and test their luck.
After four weeks of constant fighting, Dienne had difficulty keeping his mind focused. How might a lesser man fare? In the end, this thought more than anything helped him reach a decision, for he had yet to make heads or tails of the mysteries surrounding Falling Rain. Send word to Colonel Hongji and request a leave of absence.
By your will, Blood Ward.
The order given, Dienne felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. Allowing himself a small smile, he patted Ehani on the cheek and leaned against her, taking comfort in having made the correct decision. No need to compete with Falling Rain in time spent on the front lines, for only the Enemy would profit from this asinine contest. Better to take a step back for the sake of physical and mental well-being, lest he lose his mind and run off to join the Chosen.
Whether they be Chosen or Defiled, let them come. Queyen Dienne would gladly teach them the meaning of regret, for he was a true son the Empire and Defender of its people.
Chapter Meme
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
Chapter 419: and 420
Nowadays, battles rarely end with a bang.
Instead, they close out with a slow burn, where the resolution is set in stone but the Defiled are too stubborn to concede or retreat, so everyones forced to play along and fight to the bitter end. Im tired, my soldiers are tired, the animals are tired, hell, even the Defiled are tired, but were not willing to let them live and theyre not willing to quietly die. Sure, I could turn up the Succ and send the Defiled running for the hills, but then wed have to chase them down which is even more exhausting.
Figuratively speaking, that is. About the hills. No hills here on the border, just grass and dirt as far as the eye can see. Where are the rolling meadows or lush forests, the rocky barrens or coastal backdrops? If this world was truly crafted by an omnipotent being, then you can tell they definitely phoned it in while making most of Central.
A Defiled warrior charges forward with a hobbling gait, moving painfully slowly through the mud and corpses yet still almost too quickly for me to respond. My overworked arms move Unity in place and the Defiled impales himself on the blade, offering one, last, brief struggle before the hatred fades from his eyes and leaves a lifeless corpse in its place. Enemy though he might be, its hard to hate the Defiled knowing what I know now. Theyre afflicted with a disease, not in body or mind, but in spirit, and much like a rabid dog, theyve little to no control over their actions. It really puts a damper on all this wholesale slaughter, since my anger and hatred have been replaced by sorrow and pity which are much less motivating. Too tired to lift my legs, I hone Unity and watch my fallen foe slide off the blade to join the carpet of corpses stretching out at my feet, the bodies stacked four or five deep in some places after hours of non-stop fighting.
How are there still so many god-damned Defiled?
Howling in wordless fury, yet another Defiled Champion rushes forward to challenge me in mortal combat, brandishing an ugly bleached-bone battle-axe exuding a sense of loathsome damnation. Responding with a scream of my own, I eke out what strength I have left and thrust Unity at my Enemys throat. Swiping the attack aside, the Champion lowers his shoulder and charges. Caught off guard, the tackle hits me head on and fractures my clavicle, not yet broken but close. More through luck than skill, the charge lifts me off my feet and pushes me back. Lightening for all Im worth, I pray I stick the landing, but as per usual, no ones listening. The tempo of battle has churned dirt and blood into viscous sludge which sucks my boots in deep, and only with Unitys aid do I keep myself from falling back into the muck. It will take precious seconds to free myself, time which I lack as the Defiled Champion winds back to cleave my torso in twain and offer my blood to his unholy weapon
Where I once might have clenched my jaw and taken the hit, Ive learned much in the last two months. Rescinding my Aura with a single thought, I hurtle a Honed blade of fear and self-loathing at the Champion which hits him like a thunderbolt. Staggered by the incorporeal assault, he recovers in time to watch me leap away in a splash of gore and mud as I use multiple Keystones to full effect. Landing delicately atop a Defiled corpse, I fire three lancing jabs in rapid succession, but my foe wards them off with ease. Retreating before his relentless advance, I spring from corpse to corpse to avoid getting stuck in the mud while testing his defences, aiming high then low, low then high, jabbing and thrusting, feinting and slashing, yet no matter what I try, I see no way to break past his impenetrable guard.
This guy is good. Not crazed and wild like most axe-wielders, but calm and cautious, a patient hunter waiting for the perfect opportunity. Does this make him more Defiled, or less? Can he be saved? Mahakala said they could, but the question is how? Also, where the fuck is the Abbot? I sent Wugang and Yelu Shi to tell him about Mahakala almost three months ago, but theres still no word from any of them. I couldve crawled to Nan Ping and back by now, much less cloud-walk. What the fuck dude?
Unfortunately, saving my opponent is less important than saving me from him. Though I hold the range advantage, he has the upper hand in leverage. With stance low and axe held close to his chest, all it takes is one good parry or Deflection to send Unity aside, leaving me wide open for chopping. My options limited, I hammer him with a second blade of Honed Aura and turn my probing jab into a Reinforced and Amplified thrust, but the Champion barely flinches beneath the emotional assault. Already committed to the killing blow, I follow through to disastrous results as he parries the attack, grabs Unitys crossbar, and yanks hard. His one hand overpowering my two, I involuntarily leap into a backhanded swing which knocks multiple teeth loose and sends me careening into the mud.
By the time my vision clears and I get back on my feet, the Champion lies dead and Argat stands guard over me, his spear dripping with the blood of my fallen foe. Ive lost track of how many times the two brothers have saved my life and it shames me to rely so heavily on their protection. Strong against the weak and weak against the strong, that about sums up my current plight. Maybe I wouldve had an easier time against the Champion if I were fresh and well-rested, or if Id killed him the first time I used my Honed Aura instead of running away, but excuses are worthless. I need to become stronger, but my Martial Path has reached a bottleneck as I stand stuck and confused at the dividing line between trash and treasure. The Defiled Champion had me beat in raw stats, so if I want to easily defeat him, I must learn to use Chi externally. A single step which might as well be an impassable gorge, because for the life of me, I cant figure it out. Even with Tenjin and Lei Gongs occasional advice, Im still unable Send without skin contact, much less Conceal or craft water bullets and blades. All I can do is a shitty impression of a fountain, spitting a tiny stream of water which dissipates into nothingness as the Heavens reclaims my Chi like a starving beggar devours free rice.
Gasping for breath, I embrace the pain to clear my mind and assess the situation. Noting precious few Defiled still standing, I turn my gaze to the thick fog of Spectres floating about, their ghastly faces twisted in sadistic delight as they survey their handiwork and whisper into the minds of Defiled and Imperial alike. I dont know why theyre driving the Defiled to massed suicide, but theyre loving every nightmarish minute, which makes this next part much more satisfying. Focusing on all my repressed anger and hatred, I open myself to them and they surge forward to take the bait, gathering in droves to whisper their sweet lies. Its as if they can sense how close I once was to accepting their murderous ways and cant resist the allure of possibly bringing me back into the fold.
Im like ghost bait, and now that theyre all nice and close, its time to once again unleash my battle-ending ultimate move: Infinite Suck!
The Spectres wails are like music to my ears as I draw them into my abyss... ew. As I banish them to my void. As I consign them to the gaping hole in my soul... fuck it. I dont care anymore. It doesnt have to sound cool, Im eating Spectres and its awesome. Useful as the Talent is, Devouring is limited by a range of around fifty meters, about a swimming pools length in any direction. The range has grown since I arrived on the front lines, which tells me repeated use makes it stronger, but Im limited to once per battle since any Spectres and Defiled outside its range turn tail and run the second chow time comes around. It never used to be like this; Sanshu was rife with Spectres hanging about and I spent two weeks clearing them out. Hell, they even seemed kinda happy to drop in for a visit, but it appears word has gotten out about my Heavenly Energy Hoarding Endeavours and none of them care to donate to the cause.
Closing my mind to their empty promises and hollow threats, I leave the trapped Spectres for later and oversee the cleanup instead, sending my injured and weary warriors back to rest while the reserves stack corpses for disposal and scouts check the surroundings to make sure were safe. The blood bakes against my skin beneath the hot summer sun and the fetid stench of death soon becomes overwhelming as I await the final tally, which arrives soon enough from the lips of a gloomy Mister Rustram. Eighteen dead, he says, and my heart seizes in my chest. Seventy-nine others too wounded to walk or ride, mostly from the Protectorate. Guan Suos turtle defenders arent privy to the secrets of Panacea and lack the Death Corps heavy armour to protect them. Ive done my best to keep them out of the thick of things, but when were killing hundreds to thousands of Defiled a day, sometimes the only choice is to send everyone into the meat-grinder.
Adding todays losses to the butchers bill leaves me with a number which turns my stomach. Exactly fifty-nine days ago, I arrived in Sinuji with seven-hundred and ninety-four soldiers. Today, Im left with five-hundred and ninety-six still breathing, and less than half at fighting strength. Twenty-five percent losses doesnt sound too bad, until you realize it means one in four of my people have died. Lang Yis bunch took the worst of it, with a mere twenty-eight remaining from the original eighty. Theirs was a story of miracles, of rescued slaves turned Martial Warriors in a staggeringly short time, but there are no happy endings here. Dastans retinue and the Death Corps shouldered most of the remaining deaths, losing more than half and a little less than a third respectively while crippling the backbone of my retinue in the process.
My hammer and anvil have been sorely abused, so perhaps its time I learned a new trick. Sadly, tactics are not a part of my packaged memories, though I have songs and memes a plenty.
Its not all bad news. Since they primarily fought at range, the Protectorate only lost twenty-three warriors, while the rest of my retinue suffered precious few losses. Thanks to Taduks field-medic training and Panacea, the former bandits of Sanshu proved hardy enough to survive anything short of instant death. There were still over two dozen casualties scattered among them, but the repurposed Mothers Militia is still going strong. Even better news is I have yet to lose a Spiritual Weapon wielder, so my original eight from Shen Huo are all still alive and kicking.
So what have I learned? Panacea helps a lot. The Protectorate is largely intact, but down to a third of effective strength due to injuries. Armour is useful against schmucks, but relying on it too much means the Death Corps die in droves against Spiritual Weapon-wielding Champions. Dastans retinue has the same Healing training as the rest of my troops, but its harder to save your injured comrades when youre surrounded by the Enemy. I might have to reevaluate how I use them and keep them for cleanup rather than an opener.
The most important lesson Ive learned? Range is king.
Wow. What a surprise. Who knew?
...
Everyone. Fucking everyone knows it, but theyre too stubborn to admit it.
Things might change once Demons and Wraiths take the field, but against massed Defiled, the best solution is to fill them full of arrows from a respectable distance. Asinine as it is, the general aversion to ranged weapons works fine when youve got a nice big wall to stand behind, so I understand their disdain. Martial Warriors are a prideful lot, which they deserve considering theyre essentially super-human, and it probably sucks seeing their years of hard training be outperformed by some peasant with a crossbow. Still, this is no time to coddle a bunch of arrogant idiots and their overblown pride. The survival of the Empire is on the line and were massively outnumbered, so efficiency is the name of the game. On an open field against the Defiled, the bow reigns supreme and the crossbow sits firmly in second place. Both are useless against Demons and vulnerable in a melee, but the benefits are too overwhelming to ignore. A longbow takes a lifetime of training, but any idiot can use a crossbow. Ammunition is a problem considering my small retinue is churning through thousands of arrows and bolts per week. Theyre simple enough to make using bamboo or cast iron, but if I want to scale manufacturing up to supply weapons and ammunition to the entire Imperial Army, then Ill need more help than even Yuzhen can provide.
For one, even if I had an infinite number of crossbows and bolts, how do I convince an Empire of close-combat purists to put aside their preconceptions and take up a ranged weapon?
I cant. I literally cant. Im working my ass off out here killing more Defiled with fewer losses than anyone else, yet no one will accept the real reason for my success. I say Crossbows, and they all think Im holding out. Its gotta be hidden Experts in my ranks (which is admittedly true), or the higher quality of my troops (again, also true, but it only goes so far), or some other asinine theory like the Divine Turtle racking up all the kills (which I wish was true, but neither Ping Ping nor Pong Pong have contributed to the war effort and instead spend their days in the lap of luxury devouring inordinate amounts of shrimp). This means Ive yet to sell a single crossbow to the military, and even Fung, BoShui, and Zian wont buy them. In their eyes, ranged weapons are for peasant hunters and nothing more, an Empire-wide symbol of weakness and poverty. How am I supposed to overcome prejudice when even cold hard facts and incredible results fail to sway their minds?
Sometimes, I feel like the Empire deserves to die, but the Defiled are far, far worse, so its not much of a choice.
Why bother? I should let everything burn to clear out the choking undergrowth, reset the world, and be there to plant the seeds of renewal in the aftermath.
...
Tch. Fucking Spectres. Theyre real tricky bastards and only get trickier with time and numbers, but Ive no choice but to leave them to stew in the void. I ran out of Spiritual Water three days into this patrol, so I have to wait until my next bath at Sinuji to make more. Im also collecting more Spectres with every patrol, not just because Im getting better at it, but also because more Spectres are showing up and bringing more Defiled, more Champions, more twisted Spiritual Weapons, and more duels. I dont know how much longer I can keep at it, but such is life.
Hongji, I thought we were cool man. Why wont you give me a break? Do you think I enjoy this? Okay, I kinda do and the Heavenly Energy is great, but still. I need a vacation.
And from the looks of things, Im not the only one. There are no cheers or celebrations for our overwhelming victory, and instead my people go about their business with cold indifference and weary disregard. Piles of burning corpses which would have once inspired and uplifted are now part and parcel of their daily routine, retreating away from the oily smoke to eat, drink, and rest while they can. Overall, morale is more ragged than our uniforms, which says a lot considering Guan Suo hasnt changed his clothes in weeks and is still one of the better dressed individuals of my retinue.
I can see why the Protectorate dress so shabbily now. No point wearing nice things if it all gets torn to shit, and with armour in short supply, getting replacement gear isnt merely a matter of doling out coin.
Tattered gear, lost comrades, and extended battles all take a toll on morale, but the Spectres influence is the greatest contributing factor to the retinues poor mood. Though Im here to vacuum all the bad ghosts away, once the Spectres place a thought in someones mind, Im powerless to remove it. Their influence is easy to spot once you know what to look for, most common of which is the thousand-kilometre stare. The afflicted sit there amidst their squads and units, a part of the group yet mentally alone, gazing off into the distance with wide, unblinking eyes as they contemplate whatever lies the Spectre told them. Lang Er is the worst off, almost wholly reliant on his brother to do anything outside of battle including eat and drink. Left alone, Im pretty sure hed soil himself and starve to death, but maybe Im being overly dramatic.
The other signs are less obvious, but still difficult to deal with. Its mostly minor issues like A-Gui purposely inciting jealousy amongst her many suitors, Jinoes increasingly macabre humour, Awdars growing drug problem, and Ravils fetish for punishing infractions. Then theres the more-serious-but-also-not-so-obvious signs of Spectres, like Dastans wild desperation to prove himself, Ulfsaars barely restrained rage, and Neeras growing gloominess at being unable to help him. Even without the Spectres constantly reinforcing these behaviours, my people still embark down the self-destructive paths laid out before them and theres little I can do to stop it.
Thats the trickiest thing about Spectres. All they do is provide the rope and leave us to hang ourselves with it.
It takes two hours to tally the dead, clear the battlefield, cremate our fallen comrades, and gather enough strength to get back underway. There are still many hours of travel before were done for the day, but were close to the finish line. By this time tomorrow, well be back in Sinuji for a week of rest and relaxation, aside from the odd Defiled war-band or two. Ill give Hongji a day or two to redeem himself, but if Colonel Braid-Beard doesnt schedule my people for a break, then rank be damned, because Im gonna march into his tent and make him eat his stupid poems.
Son
Time is of the essence. I must strike while the iron is hot. Speaking over Fathers protests, Hideo demanded, Bring me a fresh retinue. Ill speak with Colonel Hongji and secure a place on the coming patrol. Its perfect, even if the soldiers are different, the commander remains the same, and no one has ever gone on two consecutive patrols. Ill
No. Fathers refusal stopped Hideo in his tracks, for he could hardly believe his ears. This obsession has consumed you, Father said, shaking his head in stern disapproval. Ive let this go on too long. Come home son, else you risk losing Balance or worse.
And thus, Fathers true fears became apparent. You think me inferior to a tribal savage? Hideo asked, disbelief turning to anger as Father kept silent. You think I, Mitsu Hideo, cannot match a mere Falling Rain? Preposterous! Neck throbbing and spittle flying, Hideo stomped his foot to vent his anger and set the world around them to shaking. Horses screamed and soldiers shouted, but Hideo ignored the fuss and advanced on Father, screaming, I will defeat him and prove my superiority! You cannot stop me! Raising his foot for a second stomp, Hideo intended to show Father how strong hed become.
Kill him and you inherit everything. No one but Mentor to tell you what to do, and hes always supported your decisions.
The thought made Hideo hesitate for the briefest of moments, but he steeled his resolve and followed through. Time slowed as his foot crashed down, his Chi pulsing and ready to sunder earth and flesh alike.
Im sorry Son. With those words, Father disappeared from Hideos sight and the world went dark as he collapsed into quiet slumber.
So many mistakes, so many failures. How was Hideo ever to recover what was rightfully his?
If only he were stronger. Stronger than Father, stronger than Mentor, stronger than the Emperor Himself.
Only then would he recoup his losses and redeem his failures.
He would trade anything for this strength.
Anything.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With two sharp pats on her rough, wrinkly skin, Dienne requested Ehani lift her foot for inspection and the large girl happily complied. Though he found no injuries, he noted her toenails were too long and at risk of cracking, a dire injury for a creature as large and heavy as she. Placing a sturdy footstool beneath the ponderous pad, he respectfully presented his nail file to Ehani so she knew what to expect. In a mischievous mood, her long, serpentine nose snatched the file out of Diennes hand and held it up high so he couldnt retrieve it. Though hed happily play along if they were at home or in a secluded area, privacy was lacking here on the front lines of Sinuji. Please, little ancestor, he implored, scratching Ehanis chin to appease her. Small one cannot play here, for appearances must be kept.
As the Number One Talent of the South, he could hardly allow himself to be seen leaping about and being played for a fool by an elephant, no matter how much he enjoyed their games.
Trumpeting what he interpreted as a snort, Ehani returned the file with a huff and refused his offering of dried mangoes, quite literally turning her nose up at the sweet treat. Resisting the urge to bow and scrape to appease the dramatic beast, he set to filing her nails and hoped her anger would soon pass. The old girl was senior even to Diennes great grandfather, so should he lose her support, then Fathers tenuous hold over the clan would slip even further. A loyal creature which had formed a Spiritual Heart was not unheard of, but few were as powerful and capable as Ehani. Strong, intelligent, and an Expert in her own right, the Queyen clan called her their little ancestor because every rider she bonded with had gone on to become Patriarch.
Keeping his voice low, Dienne said, Little ancestor, small one knows these past weeks have been difficult and you desire rest, but he still requires your aid. Small one lacks the prodigious talents of his peers and his fighting style is not suitable for duels, so warfare is the only area where his expertise might shine. If small one cannot make great accomplishments here and now, then he will forever be stuck in Falling Rains shadow.
Though Ehani didnt understand everything he said, she read his tone well enough. Flapping her large, leathery ears, she glanced at him as if to say, Hmph. A mere runt with a giant turtle thinks he can outdo us on the battlefield? A frog stuck in a well.
Or perhaps she regretted turning down the dried mango. Even after twenty plus years, Dienne still wasnt entirely sure what went on in Ehanis mind.
Just as Dienne finished filing Ehanis last toenail, Akopa returned from his task. Blood Ward, it has been confirmed. Falling Rain marches for SuiHua. Needing time to think things through, Dienne offered Ehani the dried mangoes again and she accepted them with grace and aplomb, eating one piece at a time and chewing thoroughly to enjoy the taste.
Still uncertain after considering all the information at hand, Dienne fed Ehani the last piece of dried mango before addressing Akopa. Your thoughts?
Falling Rain has proven himself unworthy of consideration. Never one to mince words, Akopa launched into a scathing condemnation. What we believed to be a lie has now been proven truth. The beardless runt fought for sixty days because he was unaware of proper procedure. A child playing games of war while adults who should know better leave him to run free. His voice heavy with scorn, Akopa continued, His exploits speak for themselves and his low casualty rate is admirable, but to recklessly persist without understanding the consequences... He is no leader of men. A true leader would have seen his soldiers plight and known he risked losing them to madness. How many soldiers will Falling Rain be forced to cull, driven mad with anger and hatred thanks to their extended excursions? Or worse, what if some Tainted go unnoticed and they escape to spread the Enemys infection? If such a calamity were to occur, then Falling Rain would have brought disaster to the Bekhai, and perhaps even to the Empire itself.
Enough, Dienne said, inwardly rolling his eyes. A little heavy handed with the rhetoric, but I understand your meaning. You think me overly ambitious to remain here?
Small one dare not criticize, Akopa replied, though his tone was far from deferential and almost a little mocking in its monotone. Though now that Blood Ward mentions it, small one notes many parallels. Truly, Blood Ward is brilliant to have seen so.
A tad flippant, but the man had earned the right to it. First among a thousand of his peers, Akopa was Diennes Khadga, a sword to be wielded in the battle against the Defiled and his most trusted confidante. They both knew he was the stronger and more talented warrior, but Akopa forfeited so Dienne could advance, surrendering before he could order the Oath-sworn warrior to do his best. A distressing state of affairs, for perhaps Akopa could have defeated Falling Rain on stage and won great glory for the South, but sadly, there was no cure for regret.
Still unconvinced, Dienne sighed once more. A strange matter comes to mind, one I cannot comprehend for the life of me. Falling Rain fought the Defiled at Sanshu, but before, he took part in a Purge. He experienced the hidden dangers of the Enemy firsthand and saw the extreme consequences which go with them, so how could he be ignorant of the ramifications of his actions here? Shaking his head, Dienne muttered, Contradictions within contradictions. Though a woman and half-beast, surely Akanai is competent enough to see the inherent danger, yet she sends no support or reinforcements, not even advice or a request for updates. Such freedom is unheard of for a talent such as he, yet Nian Zu and Baatar also leave Falling Rain to his own devices, while Ive already ignored three of Fathers letters. Either all three highly-ranked Northern officers are gravely incompetent or there is a factor in play which we do not understand.
Dienne had no proof, but he suspected it had something to do with Sanshu. More than a year had passed since the Defiled rebellion, yet there was still no sign of a resurgence of Enemy influence. How could it be possible? Most of the Empire expected Sanshu would have been razed to the ground, and for good reason. The Fathers Taint was dark and insidious, a malignant disease lurking in the hearts of humanity, yet against all odds, Sanshu emerged uninfected after the most disastrous Defiled outbreak in recent history. As ridiculous as the thought might be, could this also have something to do with Falling Rain?
Goujian certainly seemed to think so.
Depending on who you asked, Goujian was the Mothers Sanguinary Priest or the Emperors Mad Dog, but whatever his reputation, few would have doubted the Confessors loyalty. Then, five weeks ago, the deranged lunatic dispatched countless missives to the nobles of the Empire declaring Falling Rain, the Legate, and the Emperor himself were the true Enemy and that hed joined forces with the Chosen to overthrow the dog Emperor and his unholy heathen lackeys. Madness is what it was, but for Goujian to turn against the Empire... well, these were dark times indeed.
Dienne put no stock in the turn-coat torturers claims, though he disagreed with the Legates response. By issuing an Imperial Edict commanding the letters be destroyed and never spoken of again, the Legate lent credence to the rumours, laughable though they might be. Falling Rain was no Defiled in disguise, for if he were, he would not have the allegiance of so many creatures. Most wild beasts of the Empire harboured a natural aversion to the Enemy and all its agents, an instinctive hostility borne of self-preservation, especially more powerful creatures like the Divine Turtle. Thats what made the Arid Wastes so impenetrable to the Defiled, for even if they could withstand the difficult terrain and inhospitable clime, those deadly beasts lurking within would not react kindly to Enemy intrusion. Its also how the Queyen Clan dealt with their suspected Tainted, by giving them a choice: either banishment to the Arid Wastes or be brought before Ehani and judged. How accurate she might be was up for debate, but history proved few Defiled willingly allowed themselves to be brought before the little ancestor, while none ever survived the Arid Wastes.
Then again, in all her years, Ehani had only ever spared one life, a child not even three years of age, so perhaps the innocent would be right to refuse her judgment and test their luck.
After four weeks of constant fighting, Dienne had difficulty keeping his mind focused. How might a lesser man fare? In the end, this thought more than anything helped him reach a decision, for he had yet to make heads or tails of the mysteries surrounding Falling Rain. Send word to Colonel Hongji and request a leave of absence.
By your will, Blood Ward.
The order given, Dienne felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. Allowing himself a small smile, he patted Ehani on the cheek and leaned against her, taking comfort in having made the correct decision. No need to compete with Falling Rain in time spent on the front lines, for only the Enemy would profit from this asinine contest. Better to take a step back for the sake of physical and mental well-being, lest he lose his mind and run off to join the Chosen.
Whether they be Chosen or Defiled, let them come. Queyen Dienne would gladly teach them the meaning of regret, for he was a true son the Empire and Defender of its people.
Chapter Meme
Chapter 419: and 420Nowadays, battles rarely end with a bang.Instead, they close out with a slow burn, where the resolution is set in stone but the Defiled are too stubborn to concede or retreat, so everyones forced to play along and fight to the bitter end. Im tired, my soldiers are tired, the animals are tired, hell, even the Defiled are tired, but were not willing to let them live and theyre not willing to quietly die. Sure, I could turn up the Succ and send the Defiled running for the hills, but then wed have to chase them down which is even more exhausting.Figuratively speaking, that is. About the hills. No hills here on the border, just grass and dirt as far as the eye can see. Where are the rolling meadows or lush forests, the rocky barrens or coastal backdrops? If this world was truly crafted by an omnipotent being, then you can tell they definitely phoned it in while making most of Central.A Defiled warrior charges forward with a hobbling gait, moving painfully slowly through the mud and corpses yet still almost too quickly for me to respond. My overworked arms move Unity in place and the Defiled impales himself on the blade, offering one, last, brief struggle before the hatred fades from his eyes and leaves a lifeless corpse in its place. Enemy though he might be, its hard to hate the Defiled knowing what I know now. Theyre afflicted with a disease, not in body or mind, but in spirit, and much like a rabid dog, theyve little to no control over their actions. It really puts a damper on all this wholesale slaughter, since my anger and hatred have been replaced by sorrow and pity which are much less motivating. Too tired to lift my legs, I hone Unity and watch my fallen foe slide off the blade to join the carpet of corpses stretching out at my feet, the bodies stacked four or five deep in some places after hours of non-stop fighting.How are there still so many god-damned Defiled?Howling in wordless fury, yet another Defiled Champion rushes forward to challenge me in mortal combat, brandishing an ugly bleached-bone battle-axe exuding a sense of loathsome damnation. Responding with a scream of my own, I eke out what strength I have left and thrust Unity at my Enemys throat. Swiping the attack aside, the Champion lowers his shoulder and charges. Caught off guard, the tackle hits me head on and fractures my clavicle, not yet broken but close. More through luck than skill, the charge lifts me off my feet and pushes me back. Lightening for all Im worth, I pray I stick the landing, but as per usual, no ones listening. The tempo of battle has churned dirt and blood into viscous sludge which sucks my boots in deep, and only with Unitys aid do I keep myself from falling back into the muck. It will take precious seconds to free myself, time which I lack as the Defiled Champion winds back to cleave my torso in twain and offer my blood to his unholy weaponWhere I once might have clenched my jaw and taken the hit, Ive learned much in the last two months. Rescinding my Aura with a single thought, I hurtle a Honed blade of fear and self-loathing at the Champion which hits him like a thunderbolt. Staggered by the incorporeal assault, he recovers in time to watch me leap away in a splash of gore and mud as I use multiple Keystones to full effect. Landing delicately atop a Defiled corpse, I fire three lancing jabs in rapid succession, but my foe wards them off with ease. Retreating before his relentless advance, I spring from corpse to corpse to avoid getting stuck in the mud while testing his defences, aiming high then low, low then high, jabbing and thrusting, feinting and slashing, yet no matter what I try, I see no way to break past his impenetrable guard.This guy is good. Not crazed and wild like most axe-wielders, but calm and cautious, a patient hunter waiting for the perfect opportunity. Does this make him more Defiled, or less? Can he be saved? Mahakala said they could, but the question is how? Also, where the fuck is the Abbot? I sent Wugang and Yelu Shi to tell him about Mahakala almost three months ago, but theres still no word from any of them. I couldve crawled to Nan Ping and back by now, much less cloud-walk. What the fuck dude?Unfortunately, saving my opponent is less important than saving me from him. Though I hold the range advantage, he has the upper hand in leverage. With stance low and axe held close to his chest, all it takes is one good parry or Deflection to send Unity aside, leaving me wide open for chopping. My options limited, I hammer him with a second blade of Honed Aura and turn my probing jab into a Reinforced and Amplified thrust, but the Champion barely flinches beneath the emotional assault. Already committed to the killing blow, I follow through to disastrous results as he parries the attack, grabs Unitys crossbar, and yanks hard. His one hand overpowering my two, I involuntarily leap into a backhanded swing which knocks multiple teeth loose and sends me careening into the mud.By the time my vision clears and I get back on my feet, the Champion lies dead and Argat stands guard over me, his spear dripping with the blood of my fallen foe. Ive lost track of how many times the two brothers have saved my life and it shames me to rely so heavily on their protection. Strong against the weak and weak against the strong, that about sums up my current plight. Maybe I wouldve had an easier time against the Champion if I were fresh and well-rested, or if Id killed him the first time I used my Honed Aura instead of running away, but excuses are worthless. I need to become stronger, but my Martial Path has reached a bottleneck as I stand stuck and confused at the dividing line between trash and treasure. The Defiled Champion had me beat in raw stats, so if I want to easily defeat him, I must learn to use Chi externally. A single step which might as well be an impassable gorge, because for the life of me, I cant figure it out. Even with Tenjin and Lei Gongs occasional advice, Im still unable Send without skin contact, much less Conceal or craft water bullets and blades. All I can do is a shitty impression of a fountain, spitting a tiny stream of water which dissipates into nothingness as the Heavens reclaims my Chi like a starving beggar devours free rice.Gasping for breath, I embrace the pain to clear my mind and assess the situation. Noting precious few Defiled still standing, I turn my gaze to the thick fog of Spectres floating about, their ghastly faces twisted in sadistic delight as they survey their handiwork and whisper into the minds of Defiled and Imperial alike. I dont know why theyre driving the Defiled to massed suicide, but theyre loving every nightmarish minute, which makes this next part much more satisfying. Focusing on all my repressed anger and hatred, I open myself to them and they surge forward to take the bait, gathering in droves to whisper their sweet lies. Its as if they can sense how close I once was to accepting their murderous ways and cant resist the allure of possibly bringing me back into the fold.Im like ghost bait, and now that theyre all nice and close, its time to once again unleash my battle-ending ultimate move: Infinite Suck!The Spectres wails are like music to my ears as I draw them into my abyss... ew. As I banish them to my void. As I consign them to the gaping hole in my soul... fuck it. I dont care anymore. It doesnt have to sound cool, Im eating Spectres and its awesome. Useful as the Talent is, Devouring is limited by a range of around fifty meters, about a swimming pools length in any direction. The range has grown since I arrived on the front lines, which tells me repeated use makes it stronger, but Im limited to once per battle since any Spectres and Defiled outside its range turn tail and run the second chow time comes around. It never used to be like this; Sanshu was rife with Spectres hanging about and I spent two weeks clearing them out. Hell, they even seemed kinda happy to drop in for a visit, but it appears word has gotten out about my Heavenly Energy Hoarding Endeavours and none of them care to donate to the cause.Closing my mind to their empty promises and hollow threats, I leave the trapped Spectres for later and oversee the cleanup instead, sending my injured and weary warriors back to rest while the reserves stack corpses for disposal and scouts check the surroundings to make sure were safe. The blood bakes against my skin beneath the hot summer sun and the fetid stench of death soon becomes overwhelming as I await the final tally, which arrives soon enough from the lips of a gloomy Mister Rustram. Eighteen dead, he says, and my heart seizes in my chest. Seventy-nine others too wounded to walk or ride, mostly from the Protectorate. Guan Suos turtle defenders arent privy to the secrets of Panacea and lack the Death Corps heavy armour to protect them. Ive done my best to keep them out of the thick of things, but when were killing hundreds to thousands of Defiled a day, sometimes the only choice is to send everyone into the meat-grinder.Adding todays losses to the butchers bill leaves me with a number which turns my stomach. Exactly fifty-nine days ago, I arrived in Sinuji with seven-hundred and ninety-four soldiers. Today, Im left with five-hundred and ninety-six still breathing, and less than half at fighting strength. Twenty-five percent losses doesnt sound too bad, until you realize it means one in four of my people have died. Lang Yis bunch took the worst of it, with a mere twenty-eight remaining from the original eighty. Theirs was a story of miracles, of rescued slaves turned Martial Warriors in a staggeringly short time, but there are no happy endings here. Dastans retinue and the Death Corps shouldered most of the remaining deaths, losing more than half and a little less than a third respectively while crippling the backbone of my retinue in the process.My hammer and anvil have been sorely abused, so perhaps its time I learned a new trick. Sadly, tactics are not a part of my packaged memories, though I have songs and memes a plenty.Its not all bad news. Since they primarily fought at range, the Protectorate only lost twenty-three warriors, while the rest of my retinue suffered precious few losses. Thanks to Taduks field-medic training and Panacea, the former bandits of Sanshu proved hardy enough to survive anything short of instant death. There were still over two dozen casualties scattered among them, but the repurposed Mothers Militia is still going strong. Even better news is I have yet to lose a Spiritual Weapon wielder, so my original eight from Shen Huo are all still alive and kicking.So what have I learned? Panacea helps a lot. The Protectorate is largely intact, but down to a third of effective strength due to injuries. Armour is useful against schmucks, but relying on it too much means the Death Corps die in droves against Spiritual Weapon-wielding Champions. Dastans retinue has the same Healing training as the rest of my troops, but its harder to save your injured comrades when youre surrounded by the Enemy. I might have to reevaluate how I use them and keep them for cleanup rather than an opener.The most important lesson Ive learned? Range is king.Wow. What a surprise. Who knew?...Everyone. Fucking everyone knows it, but theyre too stubborn to admit it.Things might change once Demons and Wraiths take the field, but against massed Defiled, the best solution is to fill them full of arrows from a respectable distance. Asinine as it is, the general aversion to ranged weapons works fine when youve got a nice big wall to stand behind, so I understand their disdain. Martial Warriors are a prideful lot, which they deserve considering theyre essentially super-human, and it probably sucks seeing their years of hard training be outperformed by some peasant with a crossbow. Still, this is no time to coddle a bunch of arrogant idiots and their overblown pride. The survival of the Empire is on the line and were massively outnumbered, so efficiency is the name of the game. On an open field against the Defiled, the bow reigns supreme and the crossbow sits firmly in second place. Both are useless against Demons and vulnerable in a melee, but the benefits are too overwhelming to ignore. A longbow takes a lifetime of training, but any idiot can use a crossbow. Ammunition is a problem considering my small retinue is churning through thousands of arrows and bolts per week. Theyre simple enough to make using bamboo or cast iron, but if I want to scale manufacturing up to supply weapons and ammunition to the entire Imperial Army, then Ill need more help than even Yuzhen can provide.For one, even if I had an infinite number of crossbows and bolts, how do I convince an Empire of close-combat purists to put aside their preconceptions and take up a ranged weapon?I cant. I literally cant. Im working my ass off out here killing more Defiled with fewer losses than anyone else, yet no one will accept the real reason for my success. I say Crossbows, and they all think Im holding out. Its gotta be hidden Experts in my ranks which is admittedly true, or the higher quality of my troops again, also true, but it only goes so far, or some other asinine theory like the Divine Turtle racking up all the kills which I wish was true, but neither Ping Ping nor Pong Pong have contributed to the war effort and instead spend their days in the lap of luxury devouring inordinate amounts of shrimp. This means Ive yet to sell a single crossbow to the military, and even Fung, BoShui, and Zian wont buy them. In their eyes, ranged weapons are for peasant hunters and nothing more, an Empire-wide symbol of weakness and poverty. How am I supposed to overcome prejudice when even cold hard facts and incredible results fail to sway their minds?Sometimes, I feel like the Empire deserves to die, but the Defiled are far, far worse, so its not much of a choice.Why bother? I should let everything burn to clear out the choking undergrowth, reset the world, and be there to plant the seeds of renewal in the aftermath....Tch. Fucking Spectres. Theyre real tricky bastards and only get trickier with time and numbers, but Ive no choice but to leave them to stew in the void. I ran out of Spiritual Water three days into this patrol, so I have to wait until my next bath at Sinuji to make more. Im also collecting more Spectres with every patrol, not just because Im getting better at it, but also because more Spectres are showing up and bringing more Defiled, more Champions, more twisted Spiritual Weapons, and more duels. I dont know how much longer I can keep at it, but such is life.Hongji, I thought we were cool man. Why wont you give me a break? Do you think I enjoy this? Okay, I kinda do and the Heavenly Energy is great, but still. I need a vacation.And from the looks of things, Im not the only one. There are no cheers or celebrations for our overwhelming victory, and instead my people go about their business with cold indifference and weary disregard. Piles of burning corpses which would have once inspired and uplifted are now part and parcel of their daily routine, retreating away from the oily smoke to eat, drink, and rest while they can. Overall, morale is more ragged than our uniforms, which says a lot considering Guan Suo hasnt changed his clothes in weeks and is still one of the better dressed individuals of my retinue.I can see why the Protectorate dress so shabbily now. No point wearing nice things if it all gets torn to shit, and with armour in short supply, getting replacement gear isnt merely a matter of doling out coin.Tattered gear, lost comrades, and extended battles all take a toll on morale, but the Spectres influence is the greatest contributing factor to the retinues poor mood. Though Im here to vacuum all the bad ghosts away, once the Spectres place a thought in someones mind, Im powerless to remove it. Their influence is easy to spot once you know what to look for, most common of which is the thousand-kilometre stare. The afflicted sit there amidst their squads and units, a part of the group yet mentally alone, gazing off into the distance with wide, unblinking eyes as they contemplate whatever lies the Spectre told them. Lang Er is the worst off, almost wholly reliant on his brother to do anything outside of battle including eat and drink. Left alone, Im pretty sure hed soil himself and starve to death, but maybe Im being overly dramatic.The other signs are less obvious, but still difficult to deal with. Its mostly minor issues like A-Gui purposely inciting jealousy amongst her many suitors, Jinoes increasingly macabre humour, Awdars growing drug problem, and Ravils fetish for punishing infractions. Then theres the more-serious-but-also-not-so-obvious signs of Spectres, like Dastans wild desperation to prove himself, Ulfsaars barely restrained rage, and Neeras growing gloominess at being unable to help him. Even without the Spectres constantly reinforcing these behaviours, my people still embark down the self-destructive paths laid out before them and theres little I can do to stop it.Thats the trickiest thing about Spectres. All they do is provide the rope and leave us to hang ourselves with it.It takes two hours to tally the dead, clear the battlefield, cremate our fallen comrades, and gather enough strength to get back underway. There are still many hours of travel before were done for the day, but were close to the finish line. By this time tomorrow, well be back in Sinuji for a week of rest and relaxation, aside from the odd Defiled war-band or two. Ill give Hongji a day or two to redeem himself, but if Colonel Braid-Beard doesnt schedule my people for a break, then rank be damned, because Im gonna march into his tent and make him eat his stupid poems.Son Time is of the essence. I must strike while the iron is hot. Speaking over Fathers protests, Hideo demanded, Bring me a fresh retinue. Ill speak with Colonel Hongji and secure a place on the coming patrol. Its perfect, even if the soldiers are different, the commander remains the same, and no one has ever gone on two consecutive patrols. Ill No. Fathers refusal stopped Hideo in his tracks, for he could hardly believe his ears. This obsession has consumed you, Father said, shaking his head in stern disapproval. Ive let this go on too long. Come home son, else you risk losing Balance or worse.And thus, Fathers true fears became apparent. You think me inferior to a tribal savage? Hideo asked, disbelief turning to anger as Father kept silent. You think I, Mitsu Hideo, cannot match a mere Falling Rain? Preposterous! Neck throbbing and spittle flying, Hideo stomped his foot to vent his anger and set the world around them to shaking. Horses screamed and soldiers shouted, but Hideo ignored the fuss and advanced on Father, screaming, I will defeat him and prove my superiority! You cannot stop me! Raising his foot for a second stomp, Hideo intended to show Father how strong hed become.Kill him and you inherit everything. No one but Mentor to tell you what to do, and hes always supported your decisions.The thought made Hideo hesitate for the briefest of moments, but he steeled his resolve and followed through. Time slowed as his foot crashed down, his Chi pulsing and ready to sunder earth and flesh alike.Im sorry Son. With those words, Father disappeared from Hideos sight and the world went dark as he collapsed into quiet slumber.So many mistakes, so many failures. How was Hideo ever to recover what was rightfully his?If only he were stronger. Stronger than Father, stronger than Mentor, stronger than the Emperor Himself.Only then would he recoup his losses and redeem his failures.He would trade anything for this strength.Anything.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~With two sharp pats on her rough, wrinkly skin, Dienne requested Ehani lift her foot for inspection and the large girl happily complied. Though he found no injuries, he noted her toenails were too long and at risk of cracking, a dire injury for a creature as large and heavy as she. Placing a sturdy footstool beneath the ponderous pad, he respectfully presented his nail file to Ehani so she knew what to expect. In a mischievous mood, her long, serpentine nose snatched the file out of Diennes hand and held it up high so he couldnt retrieve it. Though hed happily play along if they were at home or in a secluded area, privacy was lacking here on the front lines of Sinuji. Please, little ancestor, he implored, scratching Ehanis chin to appease her. Small one cannot play here, for appearances must be kept.As the Number One Talent of the South, he could hardly allow himself to be seen leaping about and being played for a fool by an elephant, no matter how much he enjoyed their games.Trumpeting what he interpreted as a snort, Ehani returned the file with a huff and refused his offering of dried mangoes, quite literally turning her nose up at the sweet treat. Resisting the urge to bow and scrape to appease the dramatic beast, he set to filing her nails and hoped her anger would soon pass. The old girl was senior even to Diennes great grandfather, so should he lose her support, then Fathers tenuous hold over the clan would slip even further. A loyal creature which had formed a Spiritual Heart was not unheard of, but few were as powerful and capable as Ehani. Strong, intelligent, and an Expert in her own right, the Queyen clan called her their little ancestor because every rider she bonded with had gone on to become Patriarch.Keeping his voice low, Dienne said, Little ancestor, small one knows these past weeks have been difficult and you desire rest, but he still requires your aid. Small one lacks the prodigious talents of his peers and his fighting style is not suitable for duels, so warfare is the only area where his expertise might shine. If small one cannot make great accomplishments here and now, then he will forever be stuck in Falling Rains shadow.Though Ehani didnt understand everything he said, she read his tone well enough. Flapping her large, leathery ears, she glanced at him as if to say, Hmph. A mere runt with a giant turtle thinks he can outdo us on the battlefield? A frog stuck in a well.Or perhaps she regretted turning down the dried mango. Even after twenty plus years, Dienne still wasnt entirely sure what went on in Ehanis mind.Just as Dienne finished filing Ehanis last toenail, Akopa returned from his task. Blood Ward, it has been confirmed. Falling Rain marches for SuiHua. Needing time to think things through, Dienne offered Ehani the dried mangoes again and she accepted them with grace and aplomb, eating one piece at a time and chewing thoroughly to enjoy the taste.Still uncertain after considering all the information at hand, Dienne fed Ehani the last piece of dried mango before addressing Akopa. Your thoughts?Falling Rain has proven himself unworthy of consideration. Never one to mince words, Akopa launched into a scathing condemnation. What we believed to be a lie has now been proven truth. The beardless runt fought for sixty days because he was unaware of proper procedure. A child playing games of war while adults who should know better leave him to run free. His voice heavy with scorn, Akopa continued, His exploits speak for themselves and his low casualty rate is admirable, but to recklessly persist without understanding the consequences... He is no leader of men. A true leader would have seen his soldiers plight and known he risked losing them to madness. How many soldiers will Falling Rain be forced to cull, driven mad with anger and hatred thanks to their extended excursions? Or worse, what if some Tainted go unnoticed and they escape to spread the Enemys infection? If such a calamity were to occur, then Falling Rain would have brought disaster to the Bekhai, and perhaps even to the Empire itself.Enough, Dienne said, inwardly rolling his eyes. A little heavy handed with the rhetoric, but I understand your meaning. You think me overly ambitious to remain here?Small one dare not criticize, Akopa replied, though his tone was far from deferential and almost a little mocking in its monotone. Though now that Blood Ward mentions it, small one notes many parallels. Truly, Blood Ward is brilliant to have seen so.A tad flippant, but the man had earned the right to it. First among a thousand of his peers, Akopa was Diennes Khadga, a sword to be wielded in the battle against the Defiled and his most trusted confidante. They both knew he was the stronger and more talented warrior, but Akopa forfeited so Dienne could advance, surrendering before he could order the Oath-sworn warrior to do his best. A distressing state of affairs, for perhaps Akopa could have defeated Falling Rain on stage and won great glory for the South, but sadly, there was no cure for regret.Still unconvinced, Dienne sighed once more. A strange matter comes to mind, one I cannot comprehend for the life of me. Falling Rain fought the Defiled at Sanshu, but before, he took part in a Purge. He experienced the hidden dangers of the Enemy firsthand and saw the extreme consequences which go with them, so how could he be ignorant of the ramifications of his actions here? Shaking his head, Dienne muttered, Contradictions within contradictions. Though a woman and half-beast, surely Akanai is competent enough to see the inherent danger, yet she sends no support or reinforcements, not even advice or a request for updates. Such freedom is unheard of for a talent such as he, yet Nian Zu and Baatar also leave Falling Rain to his own devices, while Ive already ignored three of Fathers letters. Either all three highly-ranked Northern officers are gravely incompetent or there is a factor in play which we do not understand.Dienne had no proof, but he suspected it had something to do with Sanshu. More than a year had passed since the Defiled rebellion, yet there was still no sign of a resurgence of Enemy influence. How could it be possible? Most of the Empire expected Sanshu would have been razed to the ground, and for good reason. The Fathers Taint was dark and insidious, a malignant disease lurking in the hearts of humanity, yet against all odds, Sanshu emerged uninfected after the most disastrous Defiled outbreak in recent history. As ridiculous as the thought might be, could this also have something to do with Falling Rain?Goujian certainly seemed to think so.Depending on who you asked, Goujian was the Mothers Sanguinary Priest or the Emperors Mad Dog, but whatever his reputation, few would have doubted the Confessors loyalty. Then, five weeks ago, the deranged lunatic dispatched countless missives to the nobles of the Empire declaring Falling Rain, the Legate, and the Emperor himself were the true Enemy and that hed joined forces with the Chosen to overthrow the dog Emperor and his unholy heathen lackeys. Madness is what it was, but for Goujian to turn against the Empire... well, these were dark times indeed.Dienne put no stock in the turn-coat torturers claims, though he disagreed with the Legates response. By issuing an Imperial Edict commanding the letters be destroyed and never spoken of again, the Legate lent credence to the rumours, laughable though they might be. Falling Rain was no Defiled in disguise, for if he were, he would not have the allegiance of so many creatures. Most wild beasts of the Empire harboured a natural aversion to the Enemy and all its agents, an instinctive hostility borne of self-preservation, especially more powerful creatures like the Divine Turtle. Thats what made the Arid Wastes so impenetrable to the Defiled, for even if they could withstand the difficult terrain and inhospitable clime, those deadly beasts lurking within would not react kindly to Enemy intrusion. Its also how the Queyen Clan dealt with their suspected Tainted, by giving them a choice: either banishment to the Arid Wastes or be brought before Ehani and judged. How accurate she might be was up for debate, but history proved few Defiled willingly allowed themselves to be brought before the little ancestor, while none ever survived the Arid Wastes.Then again, in all her years, Ehani had only ever spared one life, a child not even three years of age, so perhaps the innocent would be right to refuse her judgment and test their luck.After four weeks of constant fighting, Dienne had difficulty keeping his mind focused. How might a lesser man fare? In the end, this thought more than anything helped him reach a decision, for he had yet to make heads or tails of the mysteries surrounding Falling Rain. Send word to Colonel Hongji and request a leave of absence.By your will, Blood Ward.The order given, Dienne felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. Allowing himself a small smile, he patted Ehani on the cheek and leaned against her, taking comfort in having made the correct decision. No need to compete with Falling Rain in time spent on the front lines, for only the Enemy would profit from this asinine contest. Better to take a step back for the sake of physical and mental well-being, lest he lose his mind and run off to join the Chosen.Whether they be Chosen or Defiled, let them come. Queyen Dienne would gladly teach them the meaning of regret, for he was a true son the Empire and Defender of its people.Chapter Meme
