Chapter 622
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Chapter 622
Though only twenty five years young, Bulat had always considered himself older and wiser than his years.
Aged before his time is how Ma framed it, often looking sad as she did, but he took pride in being the mature one in the group. Old Bulat, he called himself, and while no one else ever used it, he was willing to look past his friends lacking manners, for they were young men who didnt know any better. It wasnt easy being the person everyone turned to for guidance, especially since it didnt come naturally to him. He was no different from any other hot-blooded youth, but while others paid no mind to the consequences on account of their age and ignorance, Bulat knew exactly how much he had to lose.
He was seven when Da passed away from the flux, a reoccurring affliction that broke out every few years in the city. Most were hit hard, then eventually shook it off, but Da had been in poor health for as long as Bulat could remember and this time, the flux had been the final push that put him over the edge. There he lay upon his pallet, tucked into the farthest corner of their modest little hut so as to keep the rest of them from catching it, but Bulat didnt care and snuck off every night to lay down beside him. There they were on Das final night, holding hands while Bulat prayed for him to get better, when Da turned to him, squeezed his hand tight, and smiled. Baby Bulat, he whispered, struggling to draw breath with his fluid filled lungs and pale as a cloud in blue summer skies. Yell be the man of the family, soon enough, so ye look after yer ma and little sisters now, ye hear? Bulat remembered nodding, but he wasnt sure if Da ever saw it, because after uttering one last Love ye, son, Da went into the arms of the Mother Above.
That was the last day of Bulats youth, because from then on, he was a man.
Life was tough for them all afterwards, as Ma struggled to raise a son and two daughters in the slums of Shen Huo. He remembered how hard she worked to keep everyone happy and together, telling him and his sisters living in the streets was like camping in the wilderness without having to worry about waking to find wolves gnawing on your ankles. It was nothing like that of course, with plenty of squatting in alleys and street corners by day and sleeping in a ramshackle lean-to by night. Every few days, hired toughs would come clear out their shelters and the struggle to find a new place to live ensued, but throughout it all, Ma kept them fed, clothed, and most importantly, she kept them safe.
Cognizant of Das last words, Bulat did what he could to help the family. Barely a week after starting their new life, hed already fallen in with a pack of grifters and secured himself a job. It all sort of just happened, as he was just sitting in an alley when he saw a con-man at work passing shiny rocks off as gemstones to unwary buyers. When the grifter finished for the day, Bulat followed him back to his hideout and asked for a job. A risky proposition, but the way Old Bulat saw things, if these grifters were the murderous sort, then theyd be thieves and robbers instead, which made it a fairly safe bet. Thieving was no good, since Ma would beat him with a switch if she caught him stealing and the city guard would do worse, but grifting was just convincing some fool to part with his coin. Course, back then, Bulat only knew this because Da kept calling the medicine peddlers grifters, there to sell them false hope and nothing else. Despite that, Bulat also knew Ma bought medicine from them in secret, and Da had still died, so he was of the mind to never be fooled again.
Grifting was a field in which there was plenty of work for young children, especially if you were quick on the uptake like young Old Bulat. For a time, he played his part as corner-boy and lookout until he earned the groups trust, at which point they promoted him to errand and bag boy. The pay wasnt great, but he was fed every day he worked and had enough to save some food every day to pass on to Ma and his sisters when he got home. He even got a few extra coppers every now and then when the grifters were coming off the back of a big score or just drunk and feeling generous. Over the next few years however, he learned all the ins and outs of the grift by watching the others, and eventually started running his own cons with no small success, until he became the most popular point-man in the gang. He knew how to win another persons confidence or distract them at the perfect time, how to shave the odds in your favour and present them in a way that not only hid this advantage, but also presented it as a disadvantage. Games of chance were his weapon of choice, because then it all came down to a throw of the dice, and despite risking everything he had on gamble after gamble, he kept coming out ahead and bringing good coin into his familys pockets.
Or at least what he thought was good coin, but the silvers he brought home every month were nothing compared to the tens of hundreds of gold coins a politician could collect in a single day, making them the biggest grifters of all.
The moment the bossman sat down and explained the concept behind his War Bonds, Bulat saw it for what it was. Not a scam exactly, but a means to convince all the tight-fisted, copper-pinching nobles of the Empire to open their purse-strings and throw away all their hard earned coin in return for a piece of parchment. It wasnt even a unique piece of work, as was the case with art, and it was mind-boggling how no one had ever come up with the concept before. Then again, maybe they had, but only someone in the bossmans position could execute such a brilliant idea, literally selling face in the form of reasonably cheap silk paper.
Altogether, Bulat maybe earned a good twenty or so gold from eighteen years of grifting, because he never stopped, not even to this day. It wasnt a vast fortune by any standards, but for a farmer boy from the slums, it wasnt half bad either. He mightve made more if he worked harder at it, but when he was thirteen, he did the math and realized the quickest way to get rich (and coincidentally, avoid being killed by all the gullible idiots hed fleeced) was to become a Martial Warrior. With that goal in mind, he set aside a few hours each day to seek Balance and Form his Core and eventually, randomly succeeded at some three years later. To this day, he had no idea why it took so long, or why it even eventually worked, but years of sitting around and letting his mind go still finally paid off, and then he made the dumbest, and ultimately, the best decision of his life.
He joined the Imperial Army for what he thought would be an easy, steady paycheck.
The rest was history. He survived basic training, met Ravil, Pran, and Saluk, served under Rustram doing patrols and scouting missions, all while drawing decent wages which put Ma in a decent home and paid for his sisters dowries. Then, he went and lost his foot in his first real battle ever, and the bossman came along and changed Bulats life forever, leaving him a happily married man, the mayor of a bustling little district, and wealthy beyond measure. It still felt like a dream, selling the bossmans generously gifted War Bond for almost eighty-thousand gold to some idiot fool who could easily afford it, but that was the best sort of grift in Bulats eyes, one in which both conman and mark walk away satisfied.
Of course, having a wife, a job, and plenty of coin brought with it a whole slew of new problems, because hed forgotten how boring civilian life could be. Even though politicians were all cheats, Bulat had accepted this job as mayor with the hopes of being the first honest politician in history, except the damned townspeople werent making it easy. Running unscrupulous businessmen out of the District was simple enough, but he had to see the townspeople each and every day, and the farmers and labourers once or twice a week at a minimum, so he couldnt be too harsh on them. They all knew he was a wealthy Martial Warrior and made all the important decisions in town, so they were constantly trying to make friends and ply him with wine, women, and other such gifts in hopes of future favours. Even the Bekkies werent above greasing a few palms, though civilians and Khishigs alike were quick to resort to the stick if they ever felt the carrot had failed them.
And the worst part was? There was nothing particularly important about Bulats duties. Things like land permits, crop prices, work contracts and anything of value, all of that was handled by the bossmans office, those Minister of Finance clerks working day and night in a concentrated effort to drown Bulat in paperwork. A good thing all the Bekkies knew how to read, so it was a simple matter of hiring a couple kids to read the papers to him, but the jobs left to him were always in regards to the most mundane problems imaginable. This neighbours fence was a handspan off his property, that neighbours barn was blocking all the natural light, this path was too steep and needs to be evened out, or that ditch there was hard to see and a wagon might roll into it. One idiot merchant even came to him with complaints about how some drunkard ogled his wife and she had the audacity to make eyes back. He had already taught his wife a lesson on how to behave appropriately, but he wanted the drunkard lashed and shamed in public for his transgression.
What did any of this have to do with Old Bulat? That was the answer he usually gave, and what followed was usually a long and boring discourse on how he should fix things, made longer by the need to repeatedly mention how they werent trying to tell Bulat how to do his job, while doing just that. It was all so frustrating, mostly because he couldnt just pick those fools up and toss them out his office, though he came close to doing so more than once. Luckily for him, Ma was always around to cool everyones tempers, because while Old Bulat was the man of the family, he could never bear to utter a harsh word to Ma.
The fool with the battered wife learned why first-hand. Ma threw him out on his ear and threatened to set her Baby Bulat and Hunky Husband on him if he ever dared lay a hand on his wife, which would be difficult considering said wife left him the next day, with a little help from Ma of course.
Such was life for Bulat these past few months, a boring, miserable experience in which the only two things to look forward to were his nights spent in the arms of his beautiful wife, and his mornings spent indulging in her delicious pastries, made with fresh beet sugar which came straight from the bossmans farms and was deposited directly into Bulats belly. Overall, things were rather uneventful, aside from the handful of days it took to transform the district from an empty field to a bustling walled town, surrounded by hundreds of thriving farms all progressing towards the final harvest. Now, construction was ongoing each and every day, with more coin flowing through Bulats office than hed ever seen before in his life. No wonder the bossman needed trustworthy, literate people to serve as mayor for his districts, because even loyal, wealthy, virtuous Bulat was tempted to filch a coin or three. He didnt of course, especially since most of the coin was for things like construction costs and payments for goods and services to keep everyone safe and happy. The bossman was a kindhearted soul, and that didnt change when he was raised to Minister of Finance.
Then the whole brouhaha with the Legate, the provisional Legate, and the Bristleboar Divinity went down, and Bulats respect for the bossman went up a few notches, which he hadnt even thought was possible. Not because of how bossman stood up to a Divinity, which wasnt even all that surprising, since he would probably criticize the Mother Herself if She ever deigned to make an appearance. Bulat could imagine it now. Why so many trials and tribulations? the bossman would ask, arms crossed with a scowl etched across his face, And is it too much to ask for detailed instructions instead of vague Insights? For an omnipotent being, your communication skills are sorely lacking.
No, the amazing thing was how the bossman didnt even try to hide his shocking past. Oh how Bulat wished hed been in the citadel to hear their exchange, for there was no way the tales could ever do it justice. Yes, everyone heard the bossman say, confirming the Bristleboar Divinitys accusations were true. I was that slave. A simple admission, but one no one could have ever expected from even someone as humble and grounded as Falling Rain. Even Bulat himself rarely spoke of growing up in the slums, because he was a Martial Warrior now and people expected more of him, so he kept quiet about his past and pretended he knew how to read while everyone in the district gave face and played along with the ruse. It was just how polite society worked, where those with low status pretended not to notice the flaws of their betters, and most people of the outer provinces would have gladly forgotten what the Bristleboar Divinity revealed, for there were few people of higher status than Falling Rain.
But instead, the bossman proudly acknowledged his past and claimed it was part and parcel of the trials and tribulations set out for him to overcome, and overcome it he did. A slave at twelve, a Martial Warrior by thirteen, accomplished duellist at fifteen, Warrant Officer by seventeen, Expert by eighteen, Number One Young Talent of the Empire by nineteen, and now, at twenty years old, Falling Rain was the Imperial Minister of Finance and Legate of the outer provinces, a man who could call the winds and summon the rains with a wave of his hand and had the last say in all military and economic decisions of all three provinces.
Rolling her eyes, Dei An leaned back to study his expression and see if he was taking the piss, but Bulat was serious as could be. Confused by his lack of understanding, Dei An struggled to come up with the words to explain it, since even though she spoke Common all the time now, she was still not entirely comfortable expressing herself in the language, not like she did in her native tongue. Another peculiarity about the Bekkies, how they had their own language, something which wasnt exactly illegal, but highly frowned upon since language was one of the few constants across the Empire. Accents and colloquialisms differed across the provinces, but the written, formal language had not been changed in thousands of years except to add new characters.
After long seconds of deliberation, Dei An finally said, You do not seek joy. Not only you, dear husband, but all outlanders fall so easily into complacency. You take the path before you without considering any other, because the path you see is safe and simple, and all other paths unknowns. Take your sisters and their husbands, who refused to even consider coming to start a farm here on the border, and even Mother-In-Law took much convincing before she agreed to come here with Dagen.
Well, I cant say I really blame em. This here is the battlefront, and aint many willing to risk what they have for what may be.
True. Nuzzling in close to him once more, Dei An sighed and said, But better to risk it all to be with family than to live safely without.
That was another thing that the Bekkies did differently. Dei An couldnt understand why Bulat rarely visited his sisters for fear of imposing. They were family, so how could family impose on one another? The Bekkies were a tight-knit bunch, and Bulat wished his family was the same, because he did miss his little sisters dearly. Their husbands were both good men, but a big brother would always worry, and he would much rather prefer if his little sisters and their adorable children were close by. Well, Bulat rumbled, kissing Dei Ans temple, Work might be joyless, but I got plenty of joy here at home, more than any one man has the right to have.
Home and your wife will always be here for you, Dei An countered, never willing to give in without a fight. So why not seek joy in all aspects of your life, rather than limit it to one?
So what? Ye want I should quit as mayor and spend all me days at home?
Heavens no. I love you dear husband, but you would drive me mad if you were always underfoot. Grinning as she rubbed his bulging belly, she added, And I fear what would happen if you had nothing to keep you away from the kitchens.
Fair enough. Then what should I do?
Sitting up to look him in the eye, Dei An answered in a matter-of-fact tone as if the answer was obvious. Seek joy. Find your passion and pursue it dear husband, as I pursue mine in baking. I love kneading the dough and seeing it rise, the smell of crispy bread baking and the taste of a freshly steamed bun. What I enjoy most is seeing the products of my labour bring more joy to the world, whether it be a satisfied customer leaving the store with a bright smile on their face, or a hungry Khishig offering a small nod of appreciation as they ride off to war. Waving towards the kitchen, Dei An continued, This is work, yes, but it is also my passion, my source of joy and satisfaction, something I enjoy more than my weekly games of Mahjong or riding quins along the mountainside. To pursue this is another sort of Balance, that of Balance in life itself, for there is more to life than mere survival.
It made sense to Bulat, and he quietly mused his wifes wisdom over, until he arrived at a question he couldnt answer. Whyd ye bring the bossman into this? Whats wrong with his life? He seems happy enough. Two wives, with a third on the way, and a concubine to boot, if Falling Rain wasnt happy, then he was doing something wrong.
He pursues the wrong passions, Dei An explained, frowning as if she couldnt understand why Bulat still had to ask. Anyone with eyes can see his temperament is not suited for war and bloodshed, no matter how talented he might be, for the weight of responsibility weighs heavily upon him. He would have been much happier living the life of a Healer or herbalist, but now I see he was meant for more. As Minister of Finance and Legate of the outer provinces, he is finally able to pursue his true passion, which is to better humanity as a whole, but now he errs again and treads the path of war once more. Poor Falling Rain. I did not know he was found as a slave, though we all suspected he suffered something traumatic, and at least now I understand why he is so driven to grow strong. Stifling a yawn, Dei An shrugged and concluded, He fears being helpless once more and at the mercy of evil people, so he chases strength just as others chase wealth or reputation, without knowing or caring that it will not bring him true joy.
Just like being a wealthy mayor wouldnt bring Bulat true joy, but he suspected he knew what would. A few days ago, the bossman won his greatest victory yet and rose higher than anyone ever thought possible, but Bulat had done nothing to help him achieve it, which left a sour taste in his mouth. Not because of the lack of honour and glory, but because he hadnt been there when the bossman needed him. Even Bulat hadnt noticed it, but sweet Dei An knew him better than he knew himself. I need to go, dear wife. Meeting her eyes which snapped wide open in both fear and support, Bulat said, The bossman needs me. War aint his path, but mine is to be the mature one of the group, looking after my friends and guardin Falling Rain against the Enemy, so that he might one day do what he was meant to. If not for this war, the bossman might never have become the man that he was today, but if they were able to end the Defiled threat or even bring it down to a manageable level, there was a good chance Falling Rain would lead the Empire into a new age of progress and prosperity. Bulat knew this for truth, because hed already seen how much good the bossman had done in a few short months, so what might he accomplish if given years, or even decades to work with?
Dei An was right. Despite his prodigious talent, the Martial Path was not suitable for the bossman. He was a leader and visionary, a trailblazer and trendsetter, a man who brought radical new ideas to the Empire and would eventually change it for the better, so long as he survived this war against the Enemy.
And Bulat meant to do everything he could to make that happen.
Long seconds passed in silence as he locked eyes with his beautiful wife, and for a moment, he feared she would ask him to stay and he would be too weak to refuse. Then, she nodded, ever so slightly, and though he could see how much it pained her to see him go and knew how much she would worry while he was gone, this had to be done. Go pack your soldiers kit and weapons, she said, surprising him with her lack of protest. I will pack you what food we have and meet you out by the stables. It may not be much, but know that I will think of you each and every day.
It is everything, dear wife, and know that I will do the same.
Their farewells took a little longer than hed like, since they both got a little carried away on the couch, and then the floor, then once more on their bed, but Bulat felt it necessary since he wouldnt be seeing her for a few weeks at least. Luckily, hed purchased a good horse after it won him a small fortune in a race, a horse he only bet on it because it was named Little Hero. It seemed like a sign from the Heavens to bet on the horse, and when he won, Bulat brought the hoofed champion home and let him grow fat and happy in his stables, but alas, now they were heading off to war together. As he set out for the Citadel and raced to catch up with the Bekkies, Bulat felt the wind course through his hair as Little Hero cut loose for the first time in weeks, and finally, the world felt right.
For he was Old Bulat, the most mature twenty-five year old alive, husband to Dei An, son of Maira and Daulet, Aura Capable Warrior of the Empire, and friend of the little hero, Falling Rain.
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Chapter 622
Though only twenty five years young, Bulat had always considered himself older and wiser than his years.
Aged before his time is how Ma framed it, often looking sad as she did, but he took pride in being the mature one in the group. Old Bulat, he called himself, and while no one else ever used it, he was willing to look past his friends lacking manners, for they were young men who didnt know any better. It wasnt easy being the person everyone turned to for guidance, especially since it didnt come naturally to him. He was no different from any other hot-blooded youth, but while others paid no mind to the consequences on account of their age and ignorance, Bulat knew exactly how much he had to lose.
He was seven when Da passed away from the flux, a reoccurring affliction that broke out every few years in the city. Most were hit hard, then eventually shook it off, but Da had been in poor health for as long as Bulat could remember and this time, the flux had been the final push that put him over the edge. There he lay upon his pallet, tucked into the farthest corner of their modest little hut so as to keep the rest of them from catching it, but Bulat didnt care and snuck off every night to lay down beside him. There they were on Das final night, holding hands while Bulat prayed for him to get better, when Da turned to him, squeezed his hand tight, and smiled. Baby Bulat, he whispered, struggling to draw breath with his fluid filled lungs and pale as a cloud in blue summer skies. Yell be the man of the family, soon enough, so ye look after yer ma and little sisters now, ye hear? Bulat remembered nodding, but he wasnt sure if Da ever saw it, because after uttering one last Love ye, son, Da went into the arms of the Mother Above.
That was the last day of Bulats youth, because from then on, he was a man.
Life was tough for them all afterwards, as Ma struggled to raise a son and two daughters in the slums of Shen Huo. He remembered how hard she worked to keep everyone happy and together, telling him and his sisters living in the streets was like camping in the wilderness without having to worry about waking to find wolves gnawing on your ankles. It was nothing like that of course, with plenty of squatting in alleys and street corners by day and sleeping in a ramshackle lean-to by night. Every few days, hired toughs would come clear out their shelters and the struggle to find a new place to live ensued, but throughout it all, Ma kept them fed, clothed, and most importantly, she kept them safe.
Cognizant of Das last words, Bulat did what he could to help the family. Barely a week after starting their new life, hed already fallen in with a pack of grifters and secured himself a job. It all sort of just happened, as he was just sitting in an alley when he saw a con-man at work passing shiny rocks off as gemstones to unwary buyers. When the grifter finished for the day, Bulat followed him back to his hideout and asked for a job. A risky proposition, but the way Old Bulat saw things, if these grifters were the murderous sort, then theyd be thieves and robbers instead, which made it a fairly safe bet. Thieving was no good, since Ma would beat him with a switch if she caught him stealing and the city guard would do worse, but grifting was just convincing some fool to part with his coin. Course, back then, Bulat only knew this because Da kept calling the medicine peddlers grifters, there to sell them false hope and nothing else. Despite that, Bulat also knew Ma bought medicine from them in secret, and Da had still died, so he was of the mind to never be fooled again.
Grifting was a field in which there was plenty of work for young children, especially if you were quick on the uptake like young Old Bulat. For a time, he played his part as corner-boy and lookout until he earned the groups trust, at which point they promoted him to errand and bag boy. The pay wasnt great, but he was fed every day he worked and had enough to save some food every day to pass on to Ma and his sisters when he got home. He even got a few extra coppers every now and then when the grifters were coming off the back of a big score or just drunk and feeling generous. Over the next few years however, he learned all the ins and outs of the grift by watching the others, and eventually started running his own cons with no small success, until he became the most popular point-man in the gang. He knew how to win another persons confidence or distract them at the perfect time, how to shave the odds in your favour and present them in a way that not only hid this advantage, but also presented it as a disadvantage. Games of chance were his weapon of choice, because then it all came down to a throw of the dice, and despite risking everything he had on gamble after gamble, he kept coming out ahead and bringing good coin into his familys pockets.
Or at least what he thought was good coin, but the silvers he brought home every month were nothing compared to the tens of hundreds of gold coins a politician could collect in a single day, making them the biggest grifters of all.
The moment the bossman sat down and explained the concept behind his War Bonds, Bulat saw it for what it was. Not a scam exactly, but a means to convince all the tight-fisted, copper-pinching nobles of the Empire to open their purse-strings and throw away all their hard earned coin in return for a piece of parchment. It wasnt even a unique piece of work, as was the case with art, and it was mind-boggling how no one had ever come up with the concept before. Then again, maybe they had, but only someone in the bossmans position could execute such a brilliant idea, literally selling face in the form of reasonably cheap silk paper.
Altogether, Bulat maybe earned a good twenty or so gold from eighteen years of grifting, because he never stopped, not even to this day. It wasnt a vast fortune by any standards, but for a farmer boy from the slums, it wasnt half bad either. He mightve made more if he worked harder at it, but when he was thirteen, he did the math and realized the quickest way to get rich (and coincidentally, avoid being killed by all the gullible idiots hed fleeced) was to become a Martial Warrior. With that goal in mind, he set aside a few hours each day to seek Balance and Form his Core and eventually, randomly succeeded at some three years later. To this day, he had no idea why it took so long, or why it even eventually worked, but years of sitting around and letting his mind go still finally paid off, and then he made the dumbest, and ultimately, the best decision of his life.
He joined the Imperial Army for what he thought would be an easy, steady paycheck.
The rest was history. He survived basic training, met Ravil, Pran, and Saluk, served under Rustram doing patrols and scouting missions, all while drawing decent wages which put Ma in a decent home and paid for his sisters dowries. Then, he went and lost his foot in his first real battle ever, and the bossman came along and changed Bulats life forever, leaving him a happily married man, the mayor of a bustling little district, and wealthy beyond measure. It still felt like a dream, selling the bossmans generously gifted War Bond for almost eighty-thousand gold to some idiot fool who could easily afford it, but that was the best sort of grift in Bulats eyes, one in which both conman and mark walk away satisfied.
Of course, having a wife, a job, and plenty of coin brought with it a whole slew of new problems, because hed forgotten how boring civilian life could be. Even though politicians were all cheats, Bulat had accepted this job as mayor with the hopes of being the first honest politician in history, except the damned townspeople werent making it easy. Running unscrupulous businessmen out of the District was simple enough, but he had to see the townspeople each and every day, and the farmers and labourers once or twice a week at a minimum, so he couldnt be too harsh on them. They all knew he was a wealthy Martial Warrior and made all the important decisions in town, so they were constantly trying to make friends and ply him with wine, women, and other such gifts in hopes of future favours. Even the Bekkies werent above greasing a few palms, though civilians and Khishigs alike were quick to resort to the stick if they ever felt the carrot had failed them.
And the worst part was? There was nothing particularly important about Bulats duties. Things like land permits, crop prices, work contracts and anything of value, all of that was handled by the bossmans office, those Minister of Finance clerks working day and night in a concentrated effort to drown Bulat in paperwork. A good thing all the Bekkies knew how to read, so it was a simple matter of hiring a couple kids to read the papers to him, but the jobs left to him were always in regards to the most mundane problems imaginable. This neighbours fence was a handspan off his property, that neighbours barn was blocking all the natural light, this path was too steep and needs to be evened out, or that ditch there was hard to see and a wagon might roll into it. One idiot merchant even came to him with complaints about how some drunkard ogled his wife and she had the audacity to make eyes back. He had already taught his wife a lesson on how to behave appropriately, but he wanted the drunkard lashed and shamed in public for his transgression.
What did any of this have to do with Old Bulat? That was the answer he usually gave, and what followed was usually a long and boring discourse on how he should fix things, made longer by the need to repeatedly mention how they werent trying to tell Bulat how to do his job, while doing just that. It was all so frustrating, mostly because he couldnt just pick those fools up and toss them out his office, though he came close to doing so more than once. Luckily for him, Ma was always around to cool everyones tempers, because while Old Bulat was the man of the family, he could never bear to utter a harsh word to Ma.
The fool with the battered wife learned why first-hand. Ma threw him out on his ear and threatened to set her Baby Bulat and Hunky Husband on him if he ever dared lay a hand on his wife, which would be difficult considering said wife left him the next day, with a little help from Ma of course.
Such was life for Bulat these past few months, a boring, miserable experience in which the only two things to look forward to were his nights spent in the arms of his beautiful wife, and his mornings spent indulging in her delicious pastries, made with fresh beet sugar which came straight from the bossmans farms and was deposited directly into Bulats belly. Overall, things were rather uneventful, aside from the handful of days it took to transform the district from an empty field to a bustling walled town, surrounded by hundreds of thriving farms all progressing towards the final harvest. Now, construction was ongoing each and every day, with more coin flowing through Bulats office than hed ever seen before in his life. No wonder the bossman needed trustworthy, literate people to serve as mayor for his districts, because even loyal, wealthy, virtuous Bulat was tempted to filch a coin or three. He didnt of course, especially since most of the coin was for things like construction costs and payments for goods and services to keep everyone safe and happy. The bossman was a kindhearted soul, and that didnt change when he was raised to Minister of Finance.
Then the whole brouhaha with the Legate, the provisional Legate, and the Bristleboar Divinity went down, and Bulats respect for the bossman went up a few notches, which he hadnt even thought was possible. Not because of how bossman stood up to a Divinity, which wasnt even all that surprising, since he would probably criticize the Mother Herself if She ever deigned to make an appearance. Bulat could imagine it now. Why so many trials and tribulations? the bossman would ask, arms crossed with a scowl etched across his face, And is it too much to ask for detailed instructions instead of vague Insights? For an omnipotent being, your communication skills are sorely lacking.
No, the amazing thing was how the bossman didnt even try to hide his shocking past. Oh how Bulat wished hed been in the citadel to hear their exchange, for there was no way the tales could ever do it justice. Yes, everyone heard the bossman say, confirming the Bristleboar Divinitys accusations were true. I was that slave. A simple admission, but one no one could have ever expected from even someone as humble and grounded as Falling Rain. Even Bulat himself rarely spoke of growing up in the slums, because he was a Martial Warrior now and people expected more of him, so he kept quiet about his past and pretended he knew how to read while everyone in the district gave face and played along with the ruse. It was just how polite society worked, where those with low status pretended not to notice the flaws of their betters, and most people of the outer provinces would have gladly forgotten what the Bristleboar Divinity revealed, for there were few people of higher status than Falling Rain.
But instead, the bossman proudly acknowledged his past and claimed it was part and parcel of the trials and tribulations set out for him to overcome, and overcome it he did. A slave at twelve, a Martial Warrior by thirteen, accomplished duellist at fifteen, Warrant Officer by seventeen, Expert by eighteen, Number One Young Talent of the Empire by nineteen, and now, at twenty years old, Falling Rain was the Imperial Minister of Finance and Legate of the outer provinces, a man who could call the winds and summon the rains with a wave of his hand and had the last say in all military and economic decisions of all three provinces.
Rolling her eyes, Dei An leaned back to study his expression and see if he was taking the piss, but Bulat was serious as could be. Confused by his lack of understanding, Dei An struggled to come up with the words to explain it, since even though she spoke Common all the time now, she was still not entirely comfortable expressing herself in the language, not like she did in her native tongue. Another peculiarity about the Bekkies, how they had their own language, something which wasnt exactly illegal, but highly frowned upon since language was one of the few constants across the Empire. Accents and colloquialisms differed across the provinces, but the written, formal language had not been changed in thousands of years except to add new characters.
After long seconds of deliberation, Dei An finally said, You do not seek joy. Not only you, dear husband, but all outlanders fall so easily into complacency. You take the path before you without considering any other, because the path you see is safe and simple, and all other paths unknowns. Take your sisters and their husbands, who refused to even consider coming to start a farm here on the border, and even Mother-In-Law took much convincing before she agreed to come here with Dagen.
Well, I cant say I really blame em. This here is the battlefront, and aint many willing to risk what they have for what may be.
True. Nuzzling in close to him once more, Dei An sighed and said, But better to risk it all to be with family than to live safely without.
That was another thing that the Bekkies did differently. Dei An couldnt understand why Bulat rarely visited his sisters for fear of imposing. They were family, so how could family impose on one another? The Bekkies were a tight-knit bunch, and Bulat wished his family was the same, because he did miss his little sisters dearly. Their husbands were both good men, but a big brother would always worry, and he would much rather prefer if his little sisters and their adorable children were close by. Well, Bulat rumbled, kissing Dei Ans temple, Work might be joyless, but I got plenty of joy here at home, more than any one man has the right to have.
Home and your wife will always be here for you, Dei An countered, never willing to give in without a fight. So why not seek joy in all aspects of your life, rather than limit it to one?
So what? Ye want I should quit as mayor and spend all me days at home?
Heavens no. I love you dear husband, but you would drive me mad if you were always underfoot. Grinning as she rubbed his bulging belly, she added, And I fear what would happen if you had nothing to keep you away from the kitchens.
Fair enough. Then what should I do?
Sitting up to look him in the eye, Dei An answered in a matter-of-fact tone as if the answer was obvious. Seek joy. Find your passion and pursue it dear husband, as I pursue mine in baking. I love kneading the dough and seeing it rise, the smell of crispy bread baking and the taste of a freshly steamed bun. What I enjoy most is seeing the products of my labour bring more joy to the world, whether it be a satisfied customer leaving the store with a bright smile on their face, or a hungry Khishig offering a small nod of appreciation as they ride off to war. Waving towards the kitchen, Dei An continued, This is work, yes, but it is also my passion, my source of joy and satisfaction, something I enjoy more than my weekly games of Mahjong or riding quins along the mountainside. To pursue this is another sort of Balance, that of Balance in life itself, for there is more to life than mere survival.
It made sense to Bulat, and he quietly mused his wifes wisdom over, until he arrived at a question he couldnt answer. Whyd ye bring the bossman into this? Whats wrong with his life? He seems happy enough. Two wives, with a third on the way, and a concubine to boot, if Falling Rain wasnt happy, then he was doing something wrong.
He pursues the wrong passions, Dei An explained, frowning as if she couldnt understand why Bulat still had to ask. Anyone with eyes can see his temperament is not suited for war and bloodshed, no matter how talented he might be, for the weight of responsibility weighs heavily upon him. He would have been much happier living the life of a Healer or herbalist, but now I see he was meant for more. As Minister of Finance and Legate of the outer provinces, he is finally able to pursue his true passion, which is to better humanity as a whole, but now he errs again and treads the path of war once more. Poor Falling Rain. I did not know he was found as a slave, though we all suspected he suffered something traumatic, and at least now I understand why he is so driven to grow strong. Stifling a yawn, Dei An shrugged and concluded, He fears being helpless once more and at the mercy of evil people, so he chases strength just as others chase wealth or reputation, without knowing or caring that it will not bring him true joy.
Just like being a wealthy mayor wouldnt bring Bulat true joy, but he suspected he knew what would. A few days ago, the bossman won his greatest victory yet and rose higher than anyone ever thought possible, but Bulat had done nothing to help him achieve it, which left a sour taste in his mouth. Not because of the lack of honour and glory, but because he hadnt been there when the bossman needed him. Even Bulat hadnt noticed it, but sweet Dei An knew him better than he knew himself. I need to go, dear wife. Meeting her eyes which snapped wide open in both fear and support, Bulat said, The bossman needs me. War aint his path, but mine is to be the mature one of the group, looking after my friends and guardin Falling Rain against the Enemy, so that he might one day do what he was meant to. If not for this war, the bossman might never have become the man that he was today, but if they were able to end the Defiled threat or even bring it down to a manageable level, there was a good chance Falling Rain would lead the Empire into a new age of progress and prosperity. Bulat knew this for truth, because hed already seen how much good the bossman had done in a few short months, so what might he accomplish if given years, or even decades to work with?
Dei An was right. Despite his prodigious talent, the Martial Path was not suitable for the bossman. He was a leader and visionary, a trailblazer and trendsetter, a man who brought radical new ideas to the Empire and would eventually change it for the better, so long as he survived this war against the Enemy.
And Bulat meant to do everything he could to make that happen.
Long seconds passed in silence as he locked eyes with his beautiful wife, and for a moment, he feared she would ask him to stay and he would be too weak to refuse. Then, she nodded, ever so slightly, and though he could see how much it pained her to see him go and knew how much she would worry while he was gone, this had to be done. Go pack your soldiers kit and weapons, she said, surprising him with her lack of protest. I will pack you what food we have and meet you out by the stables. It may not be much, but know that I will think of you each and every day.
It is everything, dear wife, and know that I will do the same.
Their farewells took a little longer than hed like, since they both got a little carried away on the couch, and then the floor, then once more on their bed, but Bulat felt it necessary since he wouldnt be seeing her for a few weeks at least. Luckily, hed purchased a good horse after it won him a small fortune in a race, a horse he only bet on it because it was named Little Hero. It seemed like a sign from the Heavens to bet on the horse, and when he won, Bulat brought the hoofed champion home and let him grow fat and happy in his stables, but alas, now they were heading off to war together. As he set out for the Citadel and raced to catch up with the Bekkies, Bulat felt the wind course through his hair as Little Hero cut loose for the first time in weeks, and finally, the world felt right.
For he was Old Bulat, the most mature twenty-five year old alive, husband to Dei An, son of Maira and Daulet, Aura Capable Warrior of the Empire, and friend of the little hero, Falling Rain.
Chapter Meme
Chapter 622Though only twenty five years young, Bulat had always considered himself older and wiser than his years.Aged before his time is how Ma framed it, often looking sad as she did, but he took pride in being the mature one in the group. Old Bulat, he called himself, and while no one else ever used it, he was willing to look past his friends lacking manners, for they were young men who didnt know any better. It wasnt easy being the person everyone turned to for guidance, especially since it didnt come naturally to him. He was no different from any other hot-blooded youth, but while others paid no mind to the consequences on account of their age and ignorance, Bulat knew exactly how much he had to lose.He was seven when Da passed away from the flux, a reoccurring affliction that broke out every few years in the city. Most were hit hard, then eventually shook it off, but Da had been in poor health for as long as Bulat could remember and this time, the flux had been the final push that put him over the edge. There he lay upon his pallet, tucked into the farthest corner of their modest little hut so as to keep the rest of them from catching it, but Bulat didnt care and snuck off every night to lay down beside him. There they were on Das final night, holding hands while Bulat prayed for him to get better, when Da turned to him, squeezed his hand tight, and smiled. Baby Bulat, he whispered, struggling to draw breath with his fluid filled lungs and pale as a cloud in blue summer skies. Yell be the man of the family, soon enough, so ye look after yer ma and little sisters now, ye hear? Bulat remembered nodding, but he wasnt sure if Da ever saw it, because after uttering one last Love ye, son, Da went into the arms of the Mother Above.That was the last day of Bulats youth, because from then on, he was a man.Life was tough for them all afterwards, as Ma struggled to raise a son and two daughters in the slums of Shen Huo. He remembered how hard she worked to keep everyone happy and together, telling him and his sisters living in the streets was like camping in the wilderness without having to worry about waking to find wolves gnawing on your ankles. It was nothing like that of course, with plenty of squatting in alleys and street corners by day and sleeping in a ramshackle lean-to by night. Every few days, hired toughs would come clear out their shelters and the struggle to find a new place to live ensued, but throughout it all, Ma kept them fed, clothed, and most importantly, she kept them safe.Cognizant of Das last words, Bulat did what he could to help the family. Barely a week after starting their new life, hed already fallen in with a pack of grifters and secured himself a job. It all sort of just happened, as he was just sitting in an alley when he saw a con-man at work passing shiny rocks off as gemstones to unwary buyers. When the grifter finished for the day, Bulat followed him back to his hideout and asked for a job. A risky proposition, but the way Old Bulat saw things, if these grifters were the murderous sort, then theyd be thieves and robbers instead, which made it a fairly safe bet. Thieving was no good, since Ma would beat him with a switch if she caught him stealing and the city guard would do worse, but grifting was just convincing some fool to part with his coin. Course, back then, Bulat only knew this because Da kept calling the medicine peddlers grifters, there to sell them false hope and nothing else. Despite that, Bulat also knew Ma bought medicine from them in secret, and Da had still died, so he was of the mind to never be fooled again.Grifting was a field in which there was plenty of work for young children, especially if you were quick on the uptake like young Old Bulat. For a time, he played his part as corner-boy and lookout until he earned the groups trust, at which point they promoted him to errand and bag boy. The pay wasnt great, but he was fed every day he worked and had enough to save some food every day to pass on to Ma and his sisters when he got home. He even got a few extra coppers every now and then when the grifters were coming off the back of a big score or just drunk and feeling generous. Over the next few years however, he learned all the ins and outs of the grift by watching the others, and eventually started running his own cons with no small success, until he became the most popular point-man in the gang. He knew how to win another persons confidence or distract them at the perfect time, how to shave the odds in your favour and present them in a way that not only hid this advantage, but also presented it as a disadvantage. Games of chance were his weapon of choice, because then it all came down to a throw of the dice, and despite risking everything he had on gamble after gamble, he kept coming out ahead and bringing good coin into his familys pockets.Or at least what he thought was good coin, but the silvers he brought home every month were nothing compared to the tens of hundreds of gold coins a politician could collect in a single day, making them the biggest grifters of all.The moment the bossman sat down and explained the concept behind his War Bonds, Bulat saw it for what it was. Not a scam exactly, but a means to convince all the tight-fisted, copper-pinching nobles of the Empire to open their purse-strings and throw away all their hard earned coin in return for a piece of parchment. It wasnt even a unique piece of work, as was the case with art, and it was mind-boggling how no one had ever come up with the concept before. Then again, maybe they had, but only someone in the bossmans position could execute such a brilliant idea, literally selling face in the form of reasonably cheap silk paper.Altogether, Bulat maybe earned a good twenty or so gold from eighteen years of grifting, because he never stopped, not even to this day. It wasnt a vast fortune by any standards, but for a farmer boy from the slums, it wasnt half bad either. He mightve made more if he worked harder at it, but when he was thirteen, he did the math and realized the quickest way to get rich and coincidentally, avoid being killed by all the gullible idiots hed fleeced was to become a Martial Warrior. With that goal in mind, he set aside a few hours each day to seek Balance and Form his Core and eventually, randomly succeeded at some three years later. To this day, he had no idea why it took so long, or why it even eventually worked, but years of sitting around and letting his mind go still finally paid off, and then he made the dumbest, and ultimately, the best decision of his life.He joined the Imperial Army for what he thought would be an easy, steady paycheck.The rest was history. He survived basic training, met Ravil, Pran, and Saluk, served under Rustram doing patrols and scouting missions, all while drawing decent wages which put Ma in a decent home and paid for his sisters dowries. Then, he went and lost his foot in his first real battle ever, and the bossman came along and changed Bulats life forever, leaving him a happily married man, the mayor of a bustling little district, and wealthy beyond measure. It still felt like a dream, selling the bossmans generously gifted War Bond for almost eighty-thousand gold to some idiot fool who could easily afford it, but that was the best sort of grift in Bulats eyes, one in which both conman and mark walk away satisfied.Of course, having a wife, a job, and plenty of coin brought with it a whole slew of new problems, because hed forgotten how boring civilian life could be. Even though politicians were all cheats, Bulat had accepted this job as mayor with the hopes of being the first honest politician in history, except the damned townspeople werent making it easy. Running unscrupulous businessmen out of the District was simple enough, but he had to see the townspeople each and every day, and the farmers and labourers once or twice a week at a minimum, so he couldnt be too harsh on them. They all knew he was a wealthy Martial Warrior and made all the important decisions in town, so they were constantly trying to make friends and ply him with wine, women, and other such gifts in hopes of future favours. Even the Bekkies werent above greasing a few palms, though civilians and Khishigs alike were quick to resort to the stick if they ever felt the carrot had failed them.And the worst part was? There was nothing particularly important about Bulats duties. Things like land permits, crop prices, work contracts and anything of value, all of that was handled by the bossmans office, those Minister of Finance clerks working day and night in a concentrated effort to drown Bulat in paperwork. A good thing all the Bekkies knew how to read, so it was a simple matter of hiring a couple kids to read the papers to him, but the jobs left to him were always in regards to the most mundane problems imaginable. This neighbours fence was a handspan off his property, that neighbours barn was blocking all the natural light, this path was too steep and needs to be evened out, or that ditch there was hard to see and a wagon might roll into it. One idiot merchant even came to him with complaints about how some drunkard ogled his wife and she had the audacity to make eyes back. He had already taught his wife a lesson on how to behave appropriately, but he wanted the drunkard lashed and shamed in public for his transgression.What did any of this have to do with Old Bulat? That was the answer he usually gave, and what followed was usually a long and boring discourse on how he should fix things, made longer by the need to repeatedly mention how they werent trying to tell Bulat how to do his job, while doing just that. It was all so frustrating, mostly because he couldnt just pick those fools up and toss them out his office, though he came close to doing so more than once. Luckily for him, Ma was always around to cool everyones tempers, because while Old Bulat was the man of the family, he could never bear to utter a harsh word to Ma.The fool with the battered wife learned why first-hand. Ma threw him out on his ear and threatened to set her Baby Bulat and Hunky Husband on him if he ever dared lay a hand on his wife, which would be difficult considering said wife left him the next day, with a little help from Ma of course.Such was life for Bulat these past few months, a boring, miserable experience in which the only two things to look forward to were his nights spent in the arms of his beautiful wife, and his mornings spent indulging in her delicious pastries, made with fresh beet sugar which came straight from the bossmans farms and was deposited directly into Bulats belly. Overall, things were rather uneventful, aside from the handful of days it took to transform the district from an empty field to a bustling walled town, surrounded by hundreds of thriving farms all progressing towards the final harvest. Now, construction was ongoing each and every day, with more coin flowing through Bulats office than hed ever seen before in his life. No wonder the bossman needed trustworthy, literate people to serve as mayor for his districts, because even loyal, wealthy, virtuous Bulat was tempted to filch a coin or three. He didnt of course, especially since most of the coin was for things like construction costs and payments for goods and services to keep everyone safe and happy. The bossman was a kindhearted soul, and that didnt change when he was raised to Minister of Finance.Then the whole brouhaha with the Legate, the provisional Legate, and the Bristleboar Divinity went down, and Bulats respect for the bossman went up a few notches, which he hadnt even thought was possible. Not because of how bossman stood up to a Divinity, which wasnt even all that surprising, since he would probably criticize the Mother Herself if She ever deigned to make an appearance. Bulat could imagine it now. Why so many trials and tribulations? the bossman would ask, arms crossed with a scowl etched across his face, And is it too much to ask for detailed instructions instead of vague Insights? For an omnipotent being, your communication skills are sorely lacking.No, the amazing thing was how the bossman didnt even try to hide his shocking past. Oh how Bulat wished hed been in the citadel to hear their exchange, for there was no way the tales could ever do it justice. Yes, everyone heard the bossman say, confirming the Bristleboar Divinitys accusations were true. I was that slave. A simple admission, but one no one could have ever expected from even someone as humble and grounded as Falling Rain. Even Bulat himself rarely spoke of growing up in the slums, because he was a Martial Warrior now and people expected more of him, so he kept quiet about his past and pretended he knew how to read while everyone in the district gave face and played along with the ruse. It was just how polite society worked, where those with low status pretended not to notice the flaws of their betters, and most people of the outer provinces would have gladly forgotten what the Bristleboar Divinity revealed, for there were few people of higher status than Falling Rain.But instead, the bossman proudly acknowledged his past and claimed it was part and parcel of the trials and tribulations set out for him to overcome, and overcome it he did. A slave at twelve, a Martial Warrior by thirteen, accomplished duellist at fifteen, Warrant Officer by seventeen, Expert by eighteen, Number One Young Talent of the Empire by nineteen, and now, at twenty years old, Falling Rain was the Imperial Minister of Finance and Legate of the outer provinces, a man who could call the winds and summon the rains with a wave of his hand and had the last say in all military and economic decisions of all three provinces.Rolling her eyes, Dei An leaned back to study his expression and see if he was taking the piss, but Bulat was serious as could be. Confused by his lack of understanding, Dei An struggled to come up with the words to explain it, since even though she spoke Common all the time now, she was still not entirely comfortable expressing herself in the language, not like she did in her native tongue. Another peculiarity about the Bekkies, how they had their own language, something which wasnt exactly illegal, but highly frowned upon since language was one of the few constants across the Empire. Accents and colloquialisms differed across the provinces, but the written, formal language had not been changed in thousands of years except to add new characters.After long seconds of deliberation, Dei An finally said, You do not seek joy. Not only you, dear husband, but all outlanders fall so easily into complacency. You take the path before you without considering any other, because the path you see is safe and simple, and all other paths unknowns. Take your sisters and their husbands, who refused to even consider coming to start a farm here on the border, and even Mother-In-Law took much convincing before she agreed to come here with Dagen.Well, I cant say I really blame em. This here is the battlefront, and aint many willing to risk what they have for what may be.True. Nuzzling in close to him once more, Dei An sighed and said, But better to risk it all to be with family than to live safely without.That was another thing that the Bekkies did differently. Dei An couldnt understand why Bulat rarely visited his sisters for fear of imposing. They were family, so how could family impose on one another? The Bekkies were a tight-knit bunch, and Bulat wished his family was the same, because he did miss his little sisters dearly. Their husbands were both good men, but a big brother would always worry, and he would much rather prefer if his little sisters and their adorable children were close by. Well, Bulat rumbled, kissing Dei Ans temple, Work might be joyless, but I got plenty of joy here at home, more than any one man has the right to have.Home and your wife will always be here for you, Dei An countered, never willing to give in without a fight. So why not seek joy in all aspects of your life, rather than limit it to one?So what? Ye want I should quit as mayor and spend all me days at home?Heavens no. I love you dear husband, but you would drive me mad if you were always underfoot. Grinning as she rubbed his bulging belly, she added, And I fear what would happen if you had nothing to keep you away from the kitchens.Fair enough. Then what should I do?Sitting up to look him in the eye, Dei An answered in a matter-of-fact tone as if the answer was obvious. Seek joy. Find your passion and pursue it dear husband, as I pursue mine in baking. I love kneading the dough and seeing it rise, the smell of crispy bread baking and the taste of a freshly steamed bun. What I enjoy most is seeing the products of my labour bring more joy to the world, whether it be a satisfied customer leaving the store with a bright smile on their face, or a hungry Khishig offering a small nod of appreciation as they ride off to war. Waving towards the kitchen, Dei An continued, This is work, yes, but it is also my passion, my source of joy and satisfaction, something I enjoy more than my weekly games of Mahjong or riding quins along the mountainside. To pursue this is another sort of Balance, that of Balance in life itself, for there is more to life than mere survival.It made sense to Bulat, and he quietly mused his wifes wisdom over, until he arrived at a question he couldnt answer. Whyd ye bring the bossman into this? Whats wrong with his life? He seems happy enough. Two wives, with a third on the way, and a concubine to boot, if Falling Rain wasnt happy, then he was doing something wrong.He pursues the wrong passions, Dei An explained, frowning as if she couldnt understand why Bulat still had to ask. Anyone with eyes can see his temperament is not suited for war and bloodshed, no matter how talented he might be, for the weight of responsibility weighs heavily upon him. He would have been much happier living the life of a Healer or herbalist, but now I see he was meant for more. As Minister of Finance and Legate of the outer provinces, he is finally able to pursue his true passion, which is to better humanity as a whole, but now he errs again and treads the path of war once more. Poor Falling Rain. I did not know he was found as a slave, though we all suspected he suffered something traumatic, and at least now I understand why he is so driven to grow strong. Stifling a yawn, Dei An shrugged and concluded, He fears being helpless once more and at the mercy of evil people, so he chases strength just as others chase wealth or reputation, without knowing or caring that it will not bring him true joy.Just like being a wealthy mayor wouldnt bring Bulat true joy, but he suspected he knew what would. A few days ago, the bossman won his greatest victory yet and rose higher than anyone ever thought possible, but Bulat had done nothing to help him achieve it, which left a sour taste in his mouth. Not because of the lack of honour and glory, but because he hadnt been there when the bossman needed him. Even Bulat hadnt noticed it, but sweet Dei An knew him better than he knew himself. I need to go, dear wife. Meeting her eyes which snapped wide open in both fear and support, Bulat said, The bossman needs me. War aint his path, but mine is to be the mature one of the group, looking after my friends and guardin Falling Rain against the Enemy, so that he might one day do what he was meant to. If not for this war, the bossman might never have become the man that he was today, but if they were able to end the Defiled threat or even bring it down to a manageable level, there was a good chance Falling Rain would lead the Empire into a new age of progress and prosperity. Bulat knew this for truth, because hed already seen how much good the bossman had done in a few short months, so what might he accomplish if given years, or even decades to work with?Dei An was right. Despite his prodigious talent, the Martial Path was not suitable for the bossman. He was a leader and visionary, a trailblazer and trendsetter, a man who brought radical new ideas to the Empire and would eventually change it for the better, so long as he survived this war against the Enemy.And Bulat meant to do everything he could to make that happen.Long seconds passed in silence as he locked eyes with his beautiful wife, and for a moment, he feared she would ask him to stay and he would be too weak to refuse. Then, she nodded, ever so slightly, and though he could see how much it pained her to see him go and knew how much she would worry while he was gone, this had to be done. Go pack your soldiers kit and weapons, she said, surprising him with her lack of protest. I will pack you what food we have and meet you out by the stables. It may not be much, but know that I will think of you each and every day.It is everything, dear wife, and know that I will do the same.Their farewells took a little longer than hed like, since they both got a little carried away on the couch, and then the floor, then once more on their bed, but Bulat felt it necessary since he wouldnt be seeing her for a few weeks at least. Luckily, hed purchased a good horse after it won him a small fortune in a race, a horse he only bet on it because it was named Little Hero. It seemed like a sign from the Heavens to bet on the horse, and when he won, Bulat brought the hoofed champion home and let him grow fat and happy in his stables, but alas, now they were heading off to war together. As he set out for the Citadel and raced to catch up with the Bekkies, Bulat felt the wind course through his hair as Little Hero cut loose for the first time in weeks, and finally, the world felt right.For he was Old Bulat, the most mature twenty-five year old alive, husband to Dei An, son of Maira and Daulet, Aura Capable Warrior of the Empire, and friend of the little hero, Falling Rain.Chapter Meme
