Chapter 646
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Chapter 646
As the Demons and Defiled broke through the Death Corps line, Huushal set out to meet them, but events conspired against his success.
Less than two-hundred metres separated his retinue from the Demons apparent target, Rains newly revealed carriage, but the panicked, routing Irregulars formed a moving wall of flesh which impeded his passage. Streaming through and around his mounted retinue, the terrified commoners slowed his progress to a crawl, so focused on the Demons behind them that they failed to realize the quins presented almost as much of a threat. These war-trained beasts were battle-ready and liable to attack anyone who rushed into range, but thankfully, the Irregulars had no swords or spears and Huushals retinue had enough time to rein their quins in beforehand.
Be that as it may, the Irregulars welfare was not Huushal's first concern, as various other groups of reinforcements were also stuck in similar straits, leaving only a small squad of elites to guard Rain, around thirty Warriors in total. Fools one and all, these Irregulars, and Huushal would be well within his rights to damn the losses and ride roughshod over the commoners. The wolf inside yearned to do just this, to spill their blood and teach them the folly of their ways, but as much as he yearned to slaughter his way to Rains side, he knew his friend would never approve and might never forgive. Rain cared for the commoners in ways most didnt entirely understand, because Martial Warriors typically saw themselves as wolves among dogs and behaved appropriately. It was difficult not to considering the vast differences between them, as Martial Warriors were generally larger, stronger, faster, and more attractive than their common counterparts. Almost every Martial Warrior Huushal knew was guilty of this innate superiority in some way, even those with noble intentions who merely wanted to coddle and safeguard their less able brethren, like Ma with Pa and Elia.
Even Pa and Elia went along with it, else why would Ma be Ma when Pa and Elia had been together longer?
Rain was different though. Not only did he treat commoners no differently than Martial Warriors, he genuinely believed in their abilities, as lacklustre as they might be. Even distracted as he was with his own trials and tribulations, Huushal had heard plenty about Rains thoughts on the subject, mostly from Ma who thoroughly disagreed with Rain and believed commoners needed to be safeguarded from all threats, including themselves. Not only did Rain arm millions of civilians with crossbows and catapults, he now wanted to train them to fight with spear and sword upon the battlefield. An army of commoners, what a wildly impractical idea, or so Huushal thought right up until this very moment.
The Demonic Aura crashed into him like an avalanche of ice and snow. Buried beneath a mountain of raw terror and bleak despair, he fought to keep his wits about him but his mind refused to comply, raving in gibbering dread about the doom and death which awaited. All was lost. The battle, the war, the Empire, and beyond. Fighting would only prolong death, as would fleeing, so better to sit and await sweet release from this waking nightmare. Why struggle against the inevitable? Why hold out hope for the impossible? Death would be a mercy of sorts, as then he would no longer be a threat to his family, friends, and people, free from the conflict between the man and the wolf inside.
You are neither man nor wolf, possessing the best and worst qualities of both, yet only you can decide your next step. Not your blood, not your instincts, but you, Huushal of the People, husband, son, friend, and Sentinel.
Burning courage melting frozen terror, he sat petrified in place and tried to make sense of the chaotic confusion, then everything changed in the blink of an eye. The Demons were still slaughtering their way towards Rains revealed position and the reinforcements still too far away, but the Irregulars were no longer fleeing, as shocked and immobilized as Huushal himself. A part of him was glad to see them stop in place, because if they kept fleeing, he was not sure if he possessed the wherewithal to keep himself from joining them. The maleficent Aura was gone now, but the memory lingered on the periphery of his perceptions, an unsettling dagger hanging over his head, and even kindling his own Aura did nothing to clear it away. The bleak misery was no longer there, yet the damage had been done, and even with the help of this hopeful and courageous Aura, he could not shake the stubborn remnants of dread and discomfort. If not for a single Aura-Capable Warrior, Rain could have been torn limb from limb before Huushals eyes, and he would not have lifted a finger to stop it. This was the truth, one which hurt more than the Demonic Aura itself, the knowledge that he was so weak and fragile as to crumble apart at a glance and needed time to put himself back together.
But not the Irregulars. They too suffered through this same trial, yet while Huushal was still struggling to even begin his recovery, these hardy men and women came through unscathed and ascertained the gravity of their situation. He wasnt sure who shouted it first, but someone in the crowd did, and a chorus of voices picked up and repeated the message. The Legates carriage!
The Legates in danger.
The Legate! Save the Legate!
And as one, the Irregulars howled and threw themselves upon the Chosen with reckless fury. Though clearly not wolves, they fought with the hearts of lions as they swarmed the enemy like locusts upon a summer harvest. Without orders or guidance from the Officers above, they charged forward to engage the Defiled, heedless of the hefty butchers bill they paid just to get past the Demons standing at the forefront. There was no fear or hesitation from these common men and women, no shirkers or cowards among them, heroes and soldiers all as they died in droves to Demon claws and Defiled blades. The battle wasnt entirely one-sided, as Yan, Mila, and the rest of Rains guards lent their weight to the attacks, but if more than one Defiled died for every twenty Irregulars, Huushal would eat his boots, metal braces and all.
Yet despite taking on horrific casualties, the Irregulars pressed on, selling their lives wholesale so that the Defiled and Demon offensive couldnt overwhelm Rains previously outnumbered guards.
All while Huushal sat idly by and watched.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))
Shamed and inspired to action, he growled, Conceal us from the commoners. Raising his sabre high, he barked at his retinue to follow his lead and prayed the old coot would do as he asked. Signalling his quin to move out, he started off slow and watched to make certain his idea would work, and miracle of miracles, it did. While he plodded forward, the crazed Irregulars streamed around him and the other members of his retinue, never seeing them yet registering and avoiding their presence all the same. A lesser working might well have failed, but the old geezer of a great, great, great, whatever grand-mentor was a veritable master of Concealment, second to none according to Ma. Even with the harness straps digging tightly into his shoulder, Huushal still sometimes forgot the old geezer was there, but it was a wonder to watch as the Irregulars parted around him while his quin picked up speed.
There was no point charging into the mass of Defiled and Demons. Huushals retinue was woefully short on Demon Slayers as most left to join Ma on the front lines. If Rains guard detail couldnt handle the admittedly shocking number of powerful Demons, then there was nothing Huushal could do to help, but what he could do was plug up the gap on the front lines and keep more Defiled from streaming in and overwhelming the Irregulars. Everyone had their limits, and he was uncertain how much longer it would be before these brave mortal heroes found theirs, so it was best to strike while the iron was hot.
The sea of commoners came to an abrupt end as Huushal led his retinue into the heart of the Imperial Army, where he spotted a thin line of armoured Defiled streaming out of a gap in the front lines, one torn open by a coordinated effort of multiple Demons which left the Death Corps ragged and reeling. Most of the Defiled pushed onwards to take Rains head, but some were looping around to attack the Death Corps from behind, a minor irritation, but a debilitating one if not contained in time. Even stalwart, Oath-Sworn Death Corps had their limits, and the rear of their formation was where soldiers were sent to rest, a futile gesture if they were forced to remain alert while being attacked from all sides.
But now Huushal had arrived, and he was finally free to unleash the wolf within.
Howling in a mixture of glee and rage, he charged into the thin line of Chosen and set his pack loose, cutting down the scattered Defiled with a tenth of his riders while the rest put their bows to work thinning out the crowd out front to take pressure off the Death Corps. There was a time when Huushal would have been unable to even picture four and a half thousand archers in one place, but here on the battlefield, their combined efforts seemed meagre and paltry in the grand scheme of things. The close combat was over far too quickly, as the advancing Defiled were unable to put together an effective defence against Huushals skirmishing pack, who divided and slaughtered the Enemy piece by delectable piece before pushing them back from whence they came.
It was always difficult holding to Balance in battle, especially with the Fathers foul minions baiting him on. A barrage of stray thoughts besieged him as he traded blows with the Defiled, urging him to take the time to appreciate a particularly beautiful spray of blood emanating from one mans neck, or track the arc of another mans dismembered head, all the while wondering what it must be like to taste that blood and flesh upon his lips. Take your time, kill them slowly, savour those quiet moments of desperation and despair as you back your foes into a corner. Strike to wound so that they can lend their voices to the symphony of suffering as they slowly bleed out and die. Give them hope only to take it away, because that makes the game that much sweeter.
Battle and bloodshed are your brides, dealing death and destruction your profession. Why pretend otherwise while stringing Yesui and Yosai along? None of you will ever be happy, not while you deny your true self. Nothing will change even if you build a home and play at being a family, together with the unwanted cast-offs sired by someone else. What sort of father will you be anyways? A terrible one, for you are a killer to the core, nothing more, nothing less. Why fight your birthright and feign civility when you would be much happier slaughtering your foes to your hearts content?
Warrior and Husband. One does not preclude the other. The vicious wolf hunts with savage glee, but the whole pack shares in his spoils. The choice to start a family is yours to make, but no man is born a perfect father, and no woman the perfect mother. At least with two mothers and a father, you have good examples to draw from and loving people to rely on.
Thoroughly enjoying himself for the first time in weeks, he planted his feet and traded blows with the whelp, savouring the powerful impacts and planning how to best demoralize and dismantle this foe. The sabre was not the only threat, as the whelp used his armoured shoulder-guard to good effect, charging in shoulder first to hide the angle of his sabre attacks. Though unwilling to accept a soft southlander into his tribe, Vithar wasnt above helping this worthy southlander Transcend, for the hallowed Transcendent were the will of the Ancestors made manifest. Lashing out with a grin, he slipped in a blow and left a shallow cut on the whelps cheek, just to let him know he was outmatched. As expected, this only infuriated the whelp even further, his rage and fury driving him to risk life and limb to return the insult in kind. No longer content to stand in place, the whelp backed out of Vithars range and stalked about the battlefield, left alone by the tribesmen and southlanders battling around them. This was a duel between two warriors, one Huushals comrades respected, which Vithar had never expected from weak southlanders. He heard Hideo say that these Bekhai lived in the far north of the Empire, where they endured freezing weather and sparse landscapes for many moons over a season. This was nothing compared to life in the homeland, but it was clear these harsh conditions had born Warriors of repute within the Empires otherwise soft and plentiful borders.
Dragging the sabre through the dirt like a heavy burden, Huushal presented his armoured shoulder to Vithar as if daring him to strike. A trade then, a desperate gambit with his life on the line, hoping to accept a blow on his armour in hopes of delivering Vithar a killing strike, but he was not so foolish as to accept. Feinting a trade, he pulled his axe back with a smile and watched the whelps sabre flash harmlessly by. Unable to let this opportunity pass, Vithar put an end to this fight by delivering a single, crippling cut to the back of his preys legs and severing the vital tendons there. Blood spurted and the whelp let out a pained, helpless cry before tumbling into the dirt. Smiling as Huushal twisted about in a futile effort to bring his weapon to bear, Vithar hefted his axe, but stayed his hand from delivering the killing blow. This would not do, there was not yet enough fear and despair, so Vithar backed off and let the whelp stew in panic.
Only to cock his head in confusion at seeing Huushal push himself to his feet, his tawny eyes still burning with determination.
Healing? How unfortunate. This would make defeating the whelp without killing him considerably more difficult. A challenge Vithar looked forward to, but in his excitement, he did not forget to keep a close eye on his tribesmen, and the battle was going poorly. More southlander cavalry had joined the fight, armoured from head to toe in unyielding steel, and now his tribesmen were caught between them and half the Bekhai, while the remainder gave his allied gajashias the run around. Fools, chasing after empty promises when a true battle lay so close nearby, but it was his tribesmen paying the price for his allies folly, so he no longer had the time to play.
Charging shoulder first towards him, Huushals sabre thrummed as it cut through the air, but Vithar did not stand to receive it. Stepping aside as if dodging a charging garo, he hamstrung the whelp as he passed, ducked under the wild, empty-handed strike, and shoved Huushal into the dirt again. Casually dismembering his foes arm, he sent it flying off with armour and all before leaving Huushal to writhe in the dirt, his strangled scream doing little to raise Vithars spirits. Yes, his tribe needed culling, but not like this, caught in a battle they could not win and ground into dust beneath the enemy talons. Charging into the fray, he killed two horsemen and a Bekhai warrior before rejoining his tribe, thinking it was well past time they withdrew to fight another day. Grabbing the reins of a blood-maddened garo, he jerked down to bring the beast in line, but the stubborn creature growled and snapped at his head. Backing away from the attack, he watched as the garos head burst apart as Huushals sabre struck it from the side, a throw which wouldve taken Vithar clean through the neck if not for the beasts timely disobedience.
Yet another humiliation which must be answered.
Stalking over in a rage, he brought the whelps sabre with him and tossed it at Huushals feet, and was only mildly surprised to see him stand with all his limbs intact. Troublesome, this Healing ability, closing opened arteries and reattaching severed limbs, but better to avoid injury in the first place. Raising his axe without warning, he delivered a crushing, overhand blow which brought the whelp down to one knee, his sabre braced in both hands and held overhead to fend off the killing strike. A second blow broke Huushals right arm, and the sabre dropped, but he was still not yet ready to die. Blocking the third blow with his armoured left, he fell back into the dirt before Vithars onslaught, beaten, broken, but not yet defeated, his tawny eyes still burning with rage and desired vengeance. There was no chance to kill him slowly anymore, even with the gajashias finally lending aid to Vithars tribesmen, for the damage had been done and his people needed to withdraw, else he would become a Chieftain without a tribe.
Which is exactly what the Uniter wants.
Frozen in place with axe raised overhead, Vithars brow furrowed in bewildered confusion. Why would the Ancestors turn against the Uniter now? For many moons, the Ancestors urged Vithar to join forces with the Uniter, to bring bloodshed to the southlanders and reap rewards a plenty, but now they claimed the Uniter unfaithful?
How many other tribes have fallen before Imperial blades?
Why does he not share his wondrous armour and weapons with you and your tribesmen?
Did he not lure away the strongest members of your tribe? How many Chieftains and Champions still remain?
What has he given you besides that which you took yourself? Where are the rewards he promised?
Ye gonna take a swing, or ye feel like standing there all day?
Blinking at the wizened form before him, Vithar took five steps back and still felt unsafe. The aged, silvered half-beast appeared weak and frail, but the Ancestors screamed at him to flee and retreat. Dangerous, too dangerous, for the Ancestors had only warned Vithar like this once before, on the day he thought to plant his axe in between the Uniters eyes. Fights over, the monstrous elder said, glancing elsewhere as if tracking another. Away with ye now. The girl plays at being hard and tough, but if mama bear sees what ye did to her pup, shell tear ye limb from limb, and thatd be a waste of a good whetstone. Waving him off with a snort, the hunched half-beast turned his back on Vithar to check on the whelp, but even then, he lacked the courage to attack or even remain in place. Finding himself another garo, he ordered his tribesmen to retreat with all haste, and not a moment too soon.
Dark shadows emerged from darker clouds and the skies boomed overhead, but not with thunder to herald the coming of rain. No, this was the sound of Peak Experts arriving with all haste, and Vithar spotted billowing dust erupt from within his allies lines. Bodies flew as the ground exploded beneath this new arrival, hiding whoever had landed within, but the Warrior soon identified himself with a boisterous chuckle that echoed across the battlefield. Gongsun Qi, a crisp, high-pitched voice said. Long have I, Mitsue Juichi yearned to test your mettle.
Turning his gaze east, Vithar grit his teeth and growled, for there on the horizon, he spotted another army streaming towards them. Imperial reinforcements had arrived, and even Vithar knew the name of the Obsidian Shadow who led them, one of the most powerful Warriors the Empire had to offer. Even as his blood heated at the prospect of true struggle, his body chilled as two more voices sounded out and spoke names he also recognized.
Come now, comrade Mitsue, a dry, passionless voice began, Did we not agree to give way to our junior and let Comrade Ryo Dae Jung have the first try?
Thank you for the consideration, Colonel General Shuai Jiao, a third voice said, so plain and unremarkable Vithar would have difficulty identifying the speaker even if he heard it again, But there is no need to quibble. I am more than happy to wait my turn, for there are plenty of Defiled here to keep me company.
The Sword King and the Grasping Vine. Three Colonel Generals here on the battlefield, warriors to match Gongsun Qi himself. Though Vithar knew little of tactics and deployments, he suspected theyd overstayed their welcome and the Imperials would make them pay dearly for this.
Vithar had thought the southlands were ripe for the taking, but to his chagrin, this was a land of death just like the homeland hed left behind. Death in a different form, a slow, lingering death, but death nonetheless, so perhaps it was time to rethink his options. Strength was his goal, glory and bloodshed his desire, but thus far, hed found precious little of both here in the southlands. Returning to the Western province to resume old feuds and start fresh ones seemed far more appealing than being toyed to death by the Uniter and Imperials both, so perhaps it was time to speak with other Chieftains and see if their Ancestors had offered similar advice. At the very least, Vithar had no intentions of surrendering just yet, not to the Imperials, the Uniter, or even the whims of the Ancestors. He was his own man, a Chieftain and Warrior, one whod forgotten the first rule of survival: to place personal strength above all else. The food, women, entertainment, none of it mattered, for without strength, anyone could simply take it all away.
Regardless of his decision, there was no point staying around to fight to the bitter end. Victory or defeat, Vithar was certain his tribe would not fall today, not with so many slower allies behind them.
Chapter Meme
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Chapter 646
As the Demons and Defiled broke through the Death Corps line, Huushal set out to meet them, but events conspired against his success.
Less than two-hundred metres separated his retinue from the Demons apparent target, Rains newly revealed carriage, but the panicked, routing Irregulars formed a moving wall of flesh which impeded his passage. Streaming through and around his mounted retinue, the terrified commoners slowed his progress to a crawl, so focused on the Demons behind them that they failed to realize the quins presented almost as much of a threat. These war-trained beasts were battle-ready and liable to attack anyone who rushed into range, but thankfully, the Irregulars had no swords or spears and Huushals retinue had enough time to rein their quins in beforehand.
Be that as it may, the Irregulars welfare was not Huushal's first concern, as various other groups of reinforcements were also stuck in similar straits, leaving only a small squad of elites to guard Rain, around thirty Warriors in total. Fools one and all, these Irregulars, and Huushal would be well within his rights to damn the losses and ride roughshod over the commoners. The wolf inside yearned to do just this, to spill their blood and teach them the folly of their ways, but as much as he yearned to slaughter his way to Rains side, he knew his friend would never approve and might never forgive. Rain cared for the commoners in ways most didnt entirely understand, because Martial Warriors typically saw themselves as wolves among dogs and behaved appropriately. It was difficult not to considering the vast differences between them, as Martial Warriors were generally larger, stronger, faster, and more attractive than their common counterparts. Almost every Martial Warrior Huushal knew was guilty of this innate superiority in some way, even those with noble intentions who merely wanted to coddle and safeguard their less able brethren, like Ma with Pa and Elia.
Even Pa and Elia went along with it, else why would Ma be Ma when Pa and Elia had been together longer?
Rain was different though. Not only did he treat commoners no differently than Martial Warriors, he genuinely believed in their abilities, as lacklustre as they might be. Even distracted as he was with his own trials and tribulations, Huushal had heard plenty about Rains thoughts on the subject, mostly from Ma who thoroughly disagreed with Rain and believed commoners needed to be safeguarded from all threats, including themselves. Not only did Rain arm millions of civilians with crossbows and catapults, he now wanted to train them to fight with spear and sword upon the battlefield. An army of commoners, what a wildly impractical idea, or so Huushal thought right up until this very moment.
The Demonic Aura crashed into him like an avalanche of ice and snow. Buried beneath a mountain of raw terror and bleak despair, he fought to keep his wits about him but his mind refused to comply, raving in gibbering dread about the doom and death which awaited. All was lost. The battle, the war, the Empire, and beyond. Fighting would only prolong death, as would fleeing, so better to sit and await sweet release from this waking nightmare. Why struggle against the inevitable? Why hold out hope for the impossible? Death would be a mercy of sorts, as then he would no longer be a threat to his family, friends, and people, free from the conflict between the man and the wolf inside.
You are neither man nor wolf, possessing the best and worst qualities of both, yet only you can decide your next step. Not your blood, not your instincts, but you, Huushal of the People, husband, son, friend, and Sentinel.
Burning courage melting frozen terror, he sat petrified in place and tried to make sense of the chaotic confusion, then everything changed in the blink of an eye. The Demons were still slaughtering their way towards Rains revealed position and the reinforcements still too far away, but the Irregulars were no longer fleeing, as shocked and immobilized as Huushal himself. A part of him was glad to see them stop in place, because if they kept fleeing, he was not sure if he possessed the wherewithal to keep himself from joining them. The maleficent Aura was gone now, but the memory lingered on the periphery of his perceptions, an unsettling dagger hanging over his head, and even kindling his own Aura did nothing to clear it away. The bleak misery was no longer there, yet the damage had been done, and even with the help of this hopeful and courageous Aura, he could not shake the stubborn remnants of dread and discomfort. If not for a single Aura-Capable Warrior, Rain could have been torn limb from limb before Huushals eyes, and he would not have lifted a finger to stop it. This was the truth, one which hurt more than the Demonic Aura itself, the knowledge that he was so weak and fragile as to crumble apart at a glance and needed time to put himself back together.
But not the Irregulars. They too suffered through this same trial, yet while Huushal was still struggling to even begin his recovery, these hardy men and women came through unscathed and ascertained the gravity of their situation. He wasnt sure who shouted it first, but someone in the crowd did, and a chorus of voices picked up and repeated the message. The Legates carriage!
The Legates in danger.
The Legate! Save the Legate!
And as one, the Irregulars howled and threw themselves upon the Chosen with reckless fury. Though clearly not wolves, they fought with the hearts of lions as they swarmed the enemy like locusts upon a summer harvest. Without orders or guidance from the Officers above, they charged forward to engage the Defiled, heedless of the hefty butchers bill they paid just to get past the Demons standing at the forefront. There was no fear or hesitation from these common men and women, no shirkers or cowards among them, heroes and soldiers all as they died in droves to Demon claws and Defiled blades. The battle wasnt entirely one-sided, as Yan, Mila, and the rest of Rains guards lent their weight to the attacks, but if more than one Defiled died for every twenty Irregulars, Huushal would eat his boots, metal braces and all.
Yet despite taking on horrific casualties, the Irregulars pressed on, selling their lives wholesale so that the Defiled and Demon offensive couldnt overwhelm Rains previously outnumbered guards.
All while Huushal sat idly by and watched.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))
Shamed and inspired to action, he growled, Conceal us from the commoners. Raising his sabre high, he barked at his retinue to follow his lead and prayed the old coot would do as he asked. Signalling his quin to move out, he started off slow and watched to make certain his idea would work, and miracle of miracles, it did. While he plodded forward, the crazed Irregulars streamed around him and the other members of his retinue, never seeing them yet registering and avoiding their presence all the same. A lesser working might well have failed, but the old geezer of a great, great, great, whatever grand-mentor was a veritable master of Concealment, second to none according to Ma. Even with the harness straps digging tightly into his shoulder, Huushal still sometimes forgot the old geezer was there, but it was a wonder to watch as the Irregulars parted around him while his quin picked up speed.
There was no point charging into the mass of Defiled and Demons. Huushals retinue was woefully short on Demon Slayers as most left to join Ma on the front lines. If Rains guard detail couldnt handle the admittedly shocking number of powerful Demons, then there was nothing Huushal could do to help, but what he could do was plug up the gap on the front lines and keep more Defiled from streaming in and overwhelming the Irregulars. Everyone had their limits, and he was uncertain how much longer it would be before these brave mortal heroes found theirs, so it was best to strike while the iron was hot.
The sea of commoners came to an abrupt end as Huushal led his retinue into the heart of the Imperial Army, where he spotted a thin line of armoured Defiled streaming out of a gap in the front lines, one torn open by a coordinated effort of multiple Demons which left the Death Corps ragged and reeling. Most of the Defiled pushed onwards to take Rains head, but some were looping around to attack the Death Corps from behind, a minor irritation, but a debilitating one if not contained in time. Even stalwart, Oath-Sworn Death Corps had their limits, and the rear of their formation was where soldiers were sent to rest, a futile gesture if they were forced to remain alert while being attacked from all sides.
But now Huushal had arrived, and he was finally free to unleash the wolf within.
Howling in a mixture of glee and rage, he charged into the thin line of Chosen and set his pack loose, cutting down the scattered Defiled with a tenth of his riders while the rest put their bows to work thinning out the crowd out front to take pressure off the Death Corps. There was a time when Huushal would have been unable to even picture four and a half thousand archers in one place, but here on the battlefield, their combined efforts seemed meagre and paltry in the grand scheme of things. The close combat was over far too quickly, as the advancing Defiled were unable to put together an effective defence against Huushals skirmishing pack, who divided and slaughtered the Enemy piece by delectable piece before pushing them back from whence they came.
It was always difficult holding to Balance in battle, especially with the Fathers foul minions baiting him on. A barrage of stray thoughts besieged him as he traded blows with the Defiled, urging him to take the time to appreciate a particularly beautiful spray of blood emanating from one mans neck, or track the arc of another mans dismembered head, all the while wondering what it must be like to taste that blood and flesh upon his lips. Take your time, kill them slowly, savour those quiet moments of desperation and despair as you back your foes into a corner. Strike to wound so that they can lend their voices to the symphony of suffering as they slowly bleed out and die. Give them hope only to take it away, because that makes the game that much sweeter.
Battle and bloodshed are your brides, dealing death and destruction your profession. Why pretend otherwise while stringing Yesui and Yosai along? None of you will ever be happy, not while you deny your true self. Nothing will change even if you build a home and play at being a family, together with the unwanted cast-offs sired by someone else. What sort of father will you be anyways? A terrible one, for you are a killer to the core, nothing more, nothing less. Why fight your birthright and feign civility when you would be much happier slaughtering your foes to your hearts content?
Warrior and Husband. One does not preclude the other. The vicious wolf hunts with savage glee, but the whole pack shares in his spoils. The choice to start a family is yours to make, but no man is born a perfect father, and no woman the perfect mother. At least with two mothers and a father, you have good examples to draw from and loving people to rely on.
Thoroughly enjoying himself for the first time in weeks, he planted his feet and traded blows with the whelp, savouring the powerful impacts and planning how to best demoralize and dismantle this foe. The sabre was not the only threat, as the whelp used his armoured shoulder-guard to good effect, charging in shoulder first to hide the angle of his sabre attacks. Though unwilling to accept a soft southlander into his tribe, Vithar wasnt above helping this worthy southlander Transcend, for the hallowed Transcendent were the will of the Ancestors made manifest. Lashing out with a grin, he slipped in a blow and left a shallow cut on the whelps cheek, just to let him know he was outmatched. As expected, this only infuriated the whelp even further, his rage and fury driving him to risk life and limb to return the insult in kind. No longer content to stand in place, the whelp backed out of Vithars range and stalked about the battlefield, left alone by the tribesmen and southlanders battling around them. This was a duel between two warriors, one Huushals comrades respected, which Vithar had never expected from weak southlanders. He heard Hideo say that these Bekhai lived in the far north of the Empire, where they endured freezing weather and sparse landscapes for many moons over a season. This was nothing compared to life in the homeland, but it was clear these harsh conditions had born Warriors of repute within the Empires otherwise soft and plentiful borders.
Dragging the sabre through the dirt like a heavy burden, Huushal presented his armoured shoulder to Vithar as if daring him to strike. A trade then, a desperate gambit with his life on the line, hoping to accept a blow on his armour in hopes of delivering Vithar a killing strike, but he was not so foolish as to accept. Feinting a trade, he pulled his axe back with a smile and watched the whelps sabre flash harmlessly by. Unable to let this opportunity pass, Vithar put an end to this fight by delivering a single, crippling cut to the back of his preys legs and severing the vital tendons there. Blood spurted and the whelp let out a pained, helpless cry before tumbling into the dirt. Smiling as Huushal twisted about in a futile effort to bring his weapon to bear, Vithar hefted his axe, but stayed his hand from delivering the killing blow. This would not do, there was not yet enough fear and despair, so Vithar backed off and let the whelp stew in panic.
Only to cock his head in confusion at seeing Huushal push himself to his feet, his tawny eyes still burning with determination.
Healing? How unfortunate. This would make defeating the whelp without killing him considerably more difficult. A challenge Vithar looked forward to, but in his excitement, he did not forget to keep a close eye on his tribesmen, and the battle was going poorly. More southlander cavalry had joined the fight, armoured from head to toe in unyielding steel, and now his tribesmen were caught between them and half the Bekhai, while the remainder gave his allied gajashias the run around. Fools, chasing after empty promises when a true battle lay so close nearby, but it was his tribesmen paying the price for his allies folly, so he no longer had the time to play.
Charging shoulder first towards him, Huushals sabre thrummed as it cut through the air, but Vithar did not stand to receive it. Stepping aside as if dodging a charging garo, he hamstrung the whelp as he passed, ducked under the wild, empty-handed strike, and shoved Huushal into the dirt again. Casually dismembering his foes arm, he sent it flying off with armour and all before leaving Huushal to writhe in the dirt, his strangled scream doing little to raise Vithars spirits. Yes, his tribe needed culling, but not like this, caught in a battle they could not win and ground into dust beneath the enemy talons. Charging into the fray, he killed two horsemen and a Bekhai warrior before rejoining his tribe, thinking it was well past time they withdrew to fight another day. Grabbing the reins of a blood-maddened garo, he jerked down to bring the beast in line, but the stubborn creature growled and snapped at his head. Backing away from the attack, he watched as the garos head burst apart as Huushals sabre struck it from the side, a throw which wouldve taken Vithar clean through the neck if not for the beasts timely disobedience.
Yet another humiliation which must be answered.
Stalking over in a rage, he brought the whelps sabre with him and tossed it at Huushals feet, and was only mildly surprised to see him stand with all his limbs intact. Troublesome, this Healing ability, closing opened arteries and reattaching severed limbs, but better to avoid injury in the first place. Raising his axe without warning, he delivered a crushing, overhand blow which brought the whelp down to one knee, his sabre braced in both hands and held overhead to fend off the killing strike. A second blow broke Huushals right arm, and the sabre dropped, but he was still not yet ready to die. Blocking the third blow with his armoured left, he fell back into the dirt before Vithars onslaught, beaten, broken, but not yet defeated, his tawny eyes still burning with rage and desired vengeance. There was no chance to kill him slowly anymore, even with the gajashias finally lending aid to Vithars tribesmen, for the damage had been done and his people needed to withdraw, else he would become a Chieftain without a tribe.
Which is exactly what the Uniter wants.
Frozen in place with axe raised overhead, Vithars brow furrowed in bewildered confusion. Why would the Ancestors turn against the Uniter now? For many moons, the Ancestors urged Vithar to join forces with the Uniter, to bring bloodshed to the southlanders and reap rewards a plenty, but now they claimed the Uniter unfaithful?
How many other tribes have fallen before Imperial blades?
Why does he not share his wondrous armour and weapons with you and your tribesmen?
Did he not lure away the strongest members of your tribe? How many Chieftains and Champions still remain?
What has he given you besides that which you took yourself? Where are the rewards he promised?
Ye gonna take a swing, or ye feel like standing there all day?
Blinking at the wizened form before him, Vithar took five steps back and still felt unsafe. The aged, silvered half-beast appeared weak and frail, but the Ancestors screamed at him to flee and retreat. Dangerous, too dangerous, for the Ancestors had only warned Vithar like this once before, on the day he thought to plant his axe in between the Uniters eyes. Fights over, the monstrous elder said, glancing elsewhere as if tracking another. Away with ye now. The girl plays at being hard and tough, but if mama bear sees what ye did to her pup, shell tear ye limb from limb, and thatd be a waste of a good whetstone. Waving him off with a snort, the hunched half-beast turned his back on Vithar to check on the whelp, but even then, he lacked the courage to attack or even remain in place. Finding himself another garo, he ordered his tribesmen to retreat with all haste, and not a moment too soon.
Dark shadows emerged from darker clouds and the skies boomed overhead, but not with thunder to herald the coming of rain. No, this was the sound of Peak Experts arriving with all haste, and Vithar spotted billowing dust erupt from within his allies lines. Bodies flew as the ground exploded beneath this new arrival, hiding whoever had landed within, but the Warrior soon identified himself with a boisterous chuckle that echoed across the battlefield. Gongsun Qi, a crisp, high-pitched voice said. Long have I, Mitsue Juichi yearned to test your mettle.
Turning his gaze east, Vithar grit his teeth and growled, for there on the horizon, he spotted another army streaming towards them. Imperial reinforcements had arrived, and even Vithar knew the name of the Obsidian Shadow who led them, one of the most powerful Warriors the Empire had to offer. Even as his blood heated at the prospect of true struggle, his body chilled as two more voices sounded out and spoke names he also recognized.
Come now, comrade Mitsue, a dry, passionless voice began, Did we not agree to give way to our junior and let Comrade Ryo Dae Jung have the first try?
Thank you for the consideration, Colonel General Shuai Jiao, a third voice said, so plain and unremarkable Vithar would have difficulty identifying the speaker even if he heard it again, But there is no need to quibble. I am more than happy to wait my turn, for there are plenty of Defiled here to keep me company.
The Sword King and the Grasping Vine. Three Colonel Generals here on the battlefield, warriors to match Gongsun Qi himself. Though Vithar knew little of tactics and deployments, he suspected theyd overstayed their welcome and the Imperials would make them pay dearly for this.
Vithar had thought the southlands were ripe for the taking, but to his chagrin, this was a land of death just like the homeland hed left behind. Death in a different form, a slow, lingering death, but death nonetheless, so perhaps it was time to rethink his options. Strength was his goal, glory and bloodshed his desire, but thus far, hed found precious little of both here in the southlands. Returning to the Western province to resume old feuds and start fresh ones seemed far more appealing than being toyed to death by the Uniter and Imperials both, so perhaps it was time to speak with other Chieftains and see if their Ancestors had offered similar advice. At the very least, Vithar had no intentions of surrendering just yet, not to the Imperials, the Uniter, or even the whims of the Ancestors. He was his own man, a Chieftain and Warrior, one whod forgotten the first rule of survival: to place personal strength above all else. The food, women, entertainment, none of it mattered, for without strength, anyone could simply take it all away.
Regardless of his decision, there was no point staying around to fight to the bitter end. Victory or defeat, Vithar was certain his tribe would not fall today, not with so many slower allies behind them.
Chapter Meme
Chapter 646As the Demons and Defiled broke through the Death Corps line, Huushal set out to meet them, but events conspired against his success.Less than two-hundred metres separated his retinue from the Demons apparent target, Rains newly revealed carriage, but the panicked, routing Irregulars formed a moving wall of flesh which impeded his passage. Streaming through and around his mounted retinue, the terrified commoners slowed his progress to a crawl, so focused on the Demons behind them that they failed to realize the quins presented almost as much of a threat. These war-trained beasts were battle-ready and liable to attack anyone who rushed into range, but thankfully, the Irregulars had no swords or spears and Huushals retinue had enough time to rein their quins in beforehand.Be that as it may, the Irregulars welfare was not Huushal's first concern, as various other groups of reinforcements were also stuck in similar straits, leaving only a small squad of elites to guard Rain, around thirty Warriors in total. Fools one and all, these Irregulars, and Huushal would be well within his rights to damn the losses and ride roughshod over the commoners. The wolf inside yearned to do just this, to spill their blood and teach them the folly of their ways, but as much as he yearned to slaughter his way to Rains side, he knew his friend would never approve and might never forgive. Rain cared for the commoners in ways most didnt entirely understand, because Martial Warriors typically saw themselves as wolves among dogs and behaved appropriately. It was difficult not to considering the vast differences between them, as Martial Warriors were generally larger, stronger, faster, and more attractive than their common counterparts. Almost every Martial Warrior Huushal knew was guilty of this innate superiority in some way, even those with noble intentions who merely wanted to coddle and safeguard their less able brethren, like Ma with Pa and Elia.Even Pa and Elia went along with it, else why would Ma be Ma when Pa and Elia had been together longer?Rain was different though. Not only did he treat commoners no differently than Martial Warriors, he genuinely believed in their abilities, as lacklustre as they might be. Even distracted as he was with his own trials and tribulations, Huushal had heard plenty about Rains thoughts on the subject, mostly from Ma who thoroughly disagreed with Rain and believed commoners needed to be safeguarded from all threats, including themselves. Not only did Rain arm millions of civilians with crossbows and catapults, he now wanted to train them to fight with spear and sword upon the battlefield. An army of commoners, what a wildly impractical idea, or so Huushal thought right up until this very moment.The Demonic Aura crashed into him like an avalanche of ice and snow. Buried beneath a mountain of raw terror and bleak despair, he fought to keep his wits about him but his mind refused to comply, raving in gibbering dread about the doom and death which awaited. All was lost. The battle, the war, the Empire, and beyond. Fighting would only prolong death, as would fleeing, so better to sit and await sweet release from this waking nightmare. Why struggle against the inevitable? Why hold out hope for the impossible? Death would be a mercy of sorts, as then he would no longer be a threat to his family, friends, and people, free from the conflict between the man and the wolf inside.You are neither man nor wolf, possessing the best and worst qualities of both, yet only you can decide your next step. Not your blood, not your instincts, but you, Huushal of the People, husband, son, friend, and Sentinel.Burning courage melting frozen terror, he sat petrified in place and tried to make sense of the chaotic confusion, then everything changed in the blink of an eye. The Demons were still slaughtering their way towards Rains revealed position and the reinforcements still too far away, but the Irregulars were no longer fleeing, as shocked and immobilized as Huushal himself. A part of him was glad to see them stop in place, because if they kept fleeing, he was not sure if he possessed the wherewithal to keep himself from joining them. The maleficent Aura was gone now, but the memory lingered on the periphery of his perceptions, an unsettling dagger hanging over his head, and even kindling his own Aura did nothing to clear it away. The bleak misery was no longer there, yet the damage had been done, and even with the help of this hopeful and courageous Aura, he could not shake the stubborn remnants of dread and discomfort. If not for a single Aura-Capable Warrior, Rain could have been torn limb from limb before Huushals eyes, and he would not have lifted a finger to stop it. This was the truth, one which hurt more than the Demonic Aura itself, the knowledge that he was so weak and fragile as to crumble apart at a glance and needed time to put himself back together.But not the Irregulars. They too suffered through this same trial, yet while Huushal was still struggling to even begin his recovery, these hardy men and women came through unscathed and ascertained the gravity of their situation. He wasnt sure who shouted it first, but someone in the crowd did, and a chorus of voices picked up and repeated the message. The Legates carriage!The Legates in danger.The Legate! Save the Legate!And as one, the Irregulars howled and threw themselves upon the Chosen with reckless fury. Though clearly not wolves, they fought with the hearts of lions as they swarmed the enemy like locusts upon a summer harvest. Without orders or guidance from the Officers above, they charged forward to engage the Defiled, heedless of the hefty butchers bill they paid just to get past the Demons standing at the forefront. There was no fear or hesitation from these common men and women, no shirkers or cowards among them, heroes and soldiers all as they died in droves to Demon claws and Defiled blades. The battle wasnt entirely one-sided, as Yan, Mila, and the rest of Rains guards lent their weight to the attacks, but if more than one Defiled died for every twenty Irregulars, Huushal would eat his boots, metal braces and all.Yet despite taking on horrific casualties, the Irregulars pressed on, selling their lives wholesale so that the Defiled and Demon offensive couldnt overwhelm Rains previously outnumbered guards.All while Huushal sat idly by and watched.The source of this content novelbinShamed and inspired to action, he growled, Conceal us from the commoners. Raising his sabre high, he barked at his retinue to follow his lead and prayed the old coot would do as he asked. Signalling his quin to move out, he started off slow and watched to make certain his idea would work, and miracle of miracles, it did. While he plodded forward, the crazed Irregulars streamed around him and the other members of his retinue, never seeing them yet registering and avoiding their presence all the same. A lesser working might well have failed, but the old geezer of a great, great, great, whatever grand-mentor was a veritable master of Concealment, second to none according to Ma. Even with the harness straps digging tightly into his shoulder, Huushal still sometimes forgot the old geezer was there, but it was a wonder to watch as the Irregulars parted around him while his quin picked up speed.There was no point charging into the mass of Defiled and Demons. Huushals retinue was woefully short on Demon Slayers as most left to join Ma on the front lines. If Rains guard detail couldnt handle the admittedly shocking number of powerful Demons, then there was nothing Huushal could do to help, but what he could do was plug up the gap on the front lines and keep more Defiled from streaming in and overwhelming the Irregulars. Everyone had their limits, and he was uncertain how much longer it would be before these brave mortal heroes found theirs, so it was best to strike while the iron was hot.The sea of commoners came to an abrupt end as Huushal led his retinue into the heart of the Imperial Army, where he spotted a thin line of armoured Defiled streaming out of a gap in the front lines, one torn open by a coordinated effort of multiple Demons which left the Death Corps ragged and reeling. Most of the Defiled pushed onwards to take Rains head, but some were looping around to attack the Death Corps from behind, a minor irritation, but a debilitating one if not contained in time. Even stalwart, Oath-Sworn Death Corps had their limits, and the rear of their formation was where soldiers were sent to rest, a futile gesture if they were forced to remain alert while being attacked from all sides.But now Huushal had arrived, and he was finally free to unleash the wolf within.Howling in a mixture of glee and rage, he charged into the thin line of Chosen and set his pack loose, cutting down the scattered Defiled with a tenth of his riders while the rest put their bows to work thinning out the crowd out front to take pressure off the Death Corps. There was a time when Huushal would have been unable to even picture four and a half thousand archers in one place, but here on the battlefield, their combined efforts seemed meagre and paltry in the grand scheme of things. The close combat was over far too quickly, as the advancing Defiled were unable to put together an effective defence against Huushals skirmishing pack, who divided and slaughtered the Enemy piece by delectable piece before pushing them back from whence they came.It was always difficult holding to Balance in battle, especially with the Fathers foul minions baiting him on. A barrage of stray thoughts besieged him as he traded blows with the Defiled, urging him to take the time to appreciate a particularly beautiful spray of blood emanating from one mans neck, or track the arc of another mans dismembered head, all the while wondering what it must be like to taste that blood and flesh upon his lips. Take your time, kill them slowly, savour those quiet moments of desperation and despair as you back your foes into a corner. Strike to wound so that they can lend their voices to the symphony of suffering as they slowly bleed out and die. Give them hope only to take it away, because that makes the game that much sweeter.Battle and bloodshed are your brides, dealing death and destruction your profession. Why pretend otherwise while stringing Yesui and Yosai along? None of you will ever be happy, not while you deny your true self. Nothing will change even if you build a home and play at being a family, together with the unwanted cast-offs sired by someone else. What sort of father will you be anyways? A terrible one, for you are a killer to the core, nothing more, nothing less. Why fight your birthright and feign civility when you would be much happier slaughtering your foes to your hearts content?Warrior and Husband. One does not preclude the other. The vicious wolf hunts with savage glee, but the whole pack shares in his spoils. The choice to start a family is yours to make, but no man is born a perfect father, and no woman the perfect mother. At least with two mothers and a father, you have good examples to draw from and loving people to rely on.Thoroughly enjoying himself for the first time in weeks, he planted his feet and traded blows with the whelp, savouring the powerful impacts and planning how to best demoralize and dismantle this foe. The sabre was not the only threat, as the whelp used his armoured shoulder-guard to good effect, charging in shoulder first to hide the angle of his sabre attacks. Though unwilling to accept a soft southlander into his tribe, Vithar wasnt above helping this worthy southlander Transcend, for the hallowed Transcendent were the will of the Ancestors made manifest. Lashing out with a grin, he slipped in a blow and left a shallow cut on the whelps cheek, just to let him know he was outmatched. As expected, this only infuriated the whelp even further, his rage and fury driving him to risk life and limb to return the insult in kind. No longer content to stand in place, the whelp backed out of Vithars range and stalked about the battlefield, left alone by the tribesmen and southlanders battling around them. This was a duel between two warriors, one Huushals comrades respected, which Vithar had never expected from weak southlanders. He heard Hideo say that these Bekhai lived in the far north of the Empire, where they endured freezing weather and sparse landscapes for many moons over a season. This was nothing compared to life in the homeland, but it was clear these harsh conditions had born Warriors of repute within the Empires otherwise soft and plentiful borders.Dragging the sabre through the dirt like a heavy burden, Huushal presented his armoured shoulder to Vithar as if daring him to strike. A trade then, a desperate gambit with his life on the line, hoping to accept a blow on his armour in hopes of delivering Vithar a killing strike, but he was not so foolish as to accept. Feinting a trade, he pulled his axe back with a smile and watched the whelps sabre flash harmlessly by. Unable to let this opportunity pass, Vithar put an end to this fight by delivering a single, crippling cut to the back of his preys legs and severing the vital tendons there. Blood spurted and the whelp let out a pained, helpless cry before tumbling into the dirt. Smiling as Huushal twisted about in a futile effort to bring his weapon to bear, Vithar hefted his axe, but stayed his hand from delivering the killing blow. This would not do, there was not yet enough fear and despair, so Vithar backed off and let the whelp stew in panic.Only to cock his head in confusion at seeing Huushal push himself to his feet, his tawny eyes still burning with determination.Healing? How unfortunate. This would make defeating the whelp without killing him considerably more difficult. A challenge Vithar looked forward to, but in his excitement, he did not forget to keep a close eye on his tribesmen, and the battle was going poorly. More southlander cavalry had joined the fight, armoured from head to toe in unyielding steel, and now his tribesmen were caught between them and half the Bekhai, while the remainder gave his allied gajashias the run around. Fools, chasing after empty promises when a true battle lay so close nearby, but it was his tribesmen paying the price for his allies folly, so he no longer had the time to play.Charging shoulder first towards him, Huushals sabre thrummed as it cut through the air, but Vithar did not stand to receive it. Stepping aside as if dodging a charging garo, he hamstrung the whelp as he passed, ducked under the wild, empty-handed strike, and shoved Huushal into the dirt again. Casually dismembering his foes arm, he sent it flying off with armour and all before leaving Huushal to writhe in the dirt, his strangled scream doing little to raise Vithars spirits. Yes, his tribe needed culling, but not like this, caught in a battle they could not win and ground into dust beneath the enemy talons. Charging into the fray, he killed two horsemen and a Bekhai warrior before rejoining his tribe, thinking it was well past time they withdrew to fight another day. Grabbing the reins of a blood-maddened garo, he jerked down to bring the beast in line, but the stubborn creature growled and snapped at his head. Backing away from the attack, he watched as the garos head burst apart as Huushals sabre struck it from the side, a throw which wouldve taken Vithar clean through the neck if not for the beasts timely disobedience.Yet another humiliation which must be answered.Stalking over in a rage, he brought the whelps sabre with him and tossed it at Huushals feet, and was only mildly surprised to see him stand with all his limbs intact. Troublesome, this Healing ability, closing opened arteries and reattaching severed limbs, but better to avoid injury in the first place. Raising his axe without warning, he delivered a crushing, overhand blow which brought the whelp down to one knee, his sabre braced in both hands and held overhead to fend off the killing strike. A second blow broke Huushals right arm, and the sabre dropped, but he was still not yet ready to die. Blocking the third blow with his armoured left, he fell back into the dirt before Vithars onslaught, beaten, broken, but not yet defeated, his tawny eyes still burning with rage and desired vengeance. There was no chance to kill him slowly anymore, even with the gajashias finally lending aid to Vithars tribesmen, for the damage had been done and his people needed to withdraw, else he would become a Chieftain without a tribe.Which is exactly what the Uniter wants.Frozen in place with axe raised overhead, Vithars brow furrowed in bewildered confusion. Why would the Ancestors turn against the Uniter now? For many moons, the Ancestors urged Vithar to join forces with the Uniter, to bring bloodshed to the southlanders and reap rewards a plenty, but now they claimed the Uniter unfaithful?How many other tribes have fallen before Imperial blades?Why does he not share his wondrous armour and weapons with you and your tribesmen?Did he not lure away the strongest members of your tribe? How many Chieftains and Champions still remain?What has he given you besides that which you took yourself? Where are the rewards he promised?Ye gonna take a swing, or ye feel like standing there all day?Blinking at the wizened form before him, Vithar took five steps back and still felt unsafe. The aged, silvered half-beast appeared weak and frail, but the Ancestors screamed at him to flee and retreat. Dangerous, too dangerous, for the Ancestors had only warned Vithar like this once before, on the day he thought to plant his axe in between the Uniters eyes. Fights over, the monstrous elder said, glancing elsewhere as if tracking another. Away with ye now. The girl plays at being hard and tough, but if mama bear sees what ye did to her pup, shell tear ye limb from limb, and thatd be a waste of a good whetstone. Waving him off with a snort, the hunched half-beast turned his back on Vithar to check on the whelp, but even then, he lacked the courage to attack or even remain in place. Finding himself another garo, he ordered his tribesmen to retreat with all haste, and not a moment too soon.Dark shadows emerged from darker clouds and the skies boomed overhead, but not with thunder to herald the coming of rain. No, this was the sound of Peak Experts arriving with all haste, and Vithar spotted billowing dust erupt from within his allies lines. Bodies flew as the ground exploded beneath this new arrival, hiding whoever had landed within, but the Warrior soon identified himself with a boisterous chuckle that echoed across the battlefield. Gongsun Qi, a crisp, high-pitched voice said. Long have I, Mitsue Juichi yearned to test your mettle.Turning his gaze east, Vithar grit his teeth and growled, for there on the horizon, he spotted another army streaming towards them. Imperial reinforcements had arrived, and even Vithar knew the name of the Obsidian Shadow who led them, one of the most powerful Warriors the Empire had to offer. Even as his blood heated at the prospect of true struggle, his body chilled as two more voices sounded out and spoke names he also recognized.Come now, comrade Mitsue, a dry, passionless voice began, Did we not agree to give way to our junior and let Comrade Ryo Dae Jung have the first try?Thank you for the consideration, Colonel General Shuai Jiao, a third voice said, so plain and unremarkable Vithar would have difficulty identifying the speaker even if he heard it again, But there is no need to quibble. I am more than happy to wait my turn, for there are plenty of Defiled here to keep me company.The Sword King and the Grasping Vine. Three Colonel Generals here on the battlefield, warriors to match Gongsun Qi himself. Though Vithar knew little of tactics and deployments, he suspected theyd overstayed their welcome and the Imperials would make them pay dearly for this.Vithar had thought the southlands were ripe for the taking, but to his chagrin, this was a land of death just like the homeland hed left behind. Death in a different form, a slow, lingering death, but death nonetheless, so perhaps it was time to rethink his options. Strength was his goal, glory and bloodshed his desire, but thus far, hed found precious little of both here in the southlands. Returning to the Western province to resume old feuds and start fresh ones seemed far more appealing than being toyed to death by the Uniter and Imperials both, so perhaps it was time to speak with other Chieftains and see if their Ancestors had offered similar advice. At the very least, Vithar had no intentions of surrendering just yet, not to the Imperials, the Uniter, or even the whims of the Ancestors. He was his own man, a Chieftain and Warrior, one whod forgotten the first rule of survival: to place personal strength above all else. The food, women, entertainment, none of it mattered, for without strength, anyone could simply take it all away.Regardless of his decision, there was no point staying around to fight to the bitter end. Victory or defeat, Vithar was certain his tribe would not fall today, not with so many slower allies behind them.Chapter Meme
