Chapter 689
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Chapter 689
and so they lived happily ever after again as husband and wife.
Though narrated in the halting manner of someone unfamiliar with the words, Jorani nonetheless applauded Asmanis efforts, for the imposing woman had come far in so short a time. Truth be told, he felt more than a little ashamed considering how quickly shed overtaken him in the realm of literacy, proving that while she might be uneducated, she was far from stupid, sharp as a spear and twice as deadly. Unmoved by his accolades, Asmani sat in stoic silence while studying the scroll before her, a childrens tale about a husband and wife who argued and later reconciled, some silly piece about cherishing the people you love. Having known her for almost two months now, Jorani was getting better at reading her expressions, and he could tell she was just brimming with questions, but wanted to gather her thoughts before unleashing the deluge upon him.
If she was unhappy with her... husband, she began, stumbling over the unfamiliar word, Then why did she not kill him?
There were still many social barriers to overcome before Asmani and her tribesmen would fit into polite society, but thankfully, the only civilized people around were the monks, who seemed more than capable of looking out for themselves. See, Jorani began, trying to think of a way to properly frame it, There are lots of ways to settle yer differences besides killing, which is really something of a last resort.
But you said marriage was a bond between two people, Asmani countered, One that is to lasts unto death. Did the wife not break this bond by leaving her husband.
Well... yea.
Why?
What do you mean why?
Brow furrowing in confusion, Asmani regarded Jorani with a look hed seen her give the Defiled children when they were being particularly annoying. She gave her word, to stay with her man until death. Then she left, proving she is not true to her words. Why would she do that? Would she not be shunned by the rest of her people?
It took a moment to understand what she was asking, though Jorani still wasnt quite sure why. Yer asking how could she break her word?
Yes. Nodding, she went on to explain as if Jorani were a particularly dumb child, A word given as bond must be upheld, else all would know you for false. The Ancestors sometimes speak in falsehoods, but they are dead and lack control over what they share. As for this wife, it would be better if she had killed her husband and stayed true to her words, for in death, their bond would be no more.
How odd. Asmani didnt think twice about murder, but lying and oath-breaking? That was simply unacceptable. Well, puttin aside the morality of it all, lets look at it another way. If she killed her husband, shed have never been able to settle their issues, like they did at the end of the story. They had their differences, but they made up and lived happily ever after, which wouldnt have happened if she killed him, yea?
Yes, but then why did he not kill her, for breaking her word?
Whoo boy. This was the sort of thing Monk Happy would be better at, but Joranis many pleas went unanswered thus far, so there was no point in complaining yet again. Instead, he did his best to work around Asmanis preconceived notions and convince her that killing was wrong and lying the lesser of two evils, but the Defiled woman wasnt having any of it. A word given is bond, she insisted, unable to even fathom the concept of lying. No tribe will ever ride with one who speaks false or has broken their bond.
That was news to Jorani, but it made a twisted sort of sense. The Defiled were happy to kill one another at the drop of a hat, but they were upright and honest about it at the very least. People dont like liars here in the Empire either, he said, shrugging because he didnt know what else to say. We dont exile them or kill em though, not unless their lying caused some harm, like lyin to steal or something.Updated from novelbIn.(c)om
What is this word? Steal?
Yet another foreign concept to the Defiled, where might made right in every sense of the word. Taking from someone else only happened when you were stronger than the other party, meaning you had every right to help yourself to their things. The strong thrive, the weak survive, thats how the Defiled lived their lives and Jorani found it difficult to disagree considering things werent all that different here in the Empire. People were just less honest about it, making all sorts of excuses to take what didnt belong to them, just like he had during his years as a bandit. If he didnt rob those poor farmers and fishers, then someone else would, so why shouldnt Jorani look after himself first? The Defiled might be a bloodthirsty bunch of savages, but they put the prosperity of the tribe above all else, meaning every tribe member was always working towards the betterment of the group, even when taking things from their kin. A strong Chieftain meant a strong tribe, and a weak Chieftain meant death for them all, so in their eyes, the constant tribal tensions were merely preparation for the harsh trials and tribulations of Heaven.
For this reason, the Defiled were constantly challenging Jorani for his undesired title of Chieftain. Thankfully, the tribesmen fought in good faith and were open and honest with most of their attempts on his life, plus hed improved by leaps and bounds in recent weeks, else Jorani might well have met his death here outside the monastery walls. More to the point, Asmani never tried to challenge him again, though she did ask several times if he was going to lay with her. Not out of desire it would seem, but rather because she wanted to know where they stood, because if he wasnt going to fuck her, then she suspected he intended to kill her instead. Jorani did his best to let her down gently and reassure her of her safety, but thankfully, the fearsome and pregnant woman didnt seem too upset by his rejection, more confused because she thought his lingering glances were indicative of interest.
Because they were. Mother knows how long itd been since Jorani had lain with a woman, but only a fool would risk death by sleeping with someone liable to crush him between her thighs.
For long hours, Jorani sat with Asmani and answered her questions about the simple childrens fable and other intricacies of civilized life, though it wasnt so easy considering he couldnt read the damn thing and had forgotten most of the tale in the telling. There was nothing more shameful than being looked down on by a tribal Defiled for his lacking literacy, especially given her blunt and forthright demeanour. Reading is simple, Asmani said, when asked how she picked it up so quickly. Just memorize the symbols, the thing it represents, and the sound you are supposed to make. A very literal answer, but after some more questioning, Jorani realized Asmani had a Natal Palace, one she used to good effect learning to read, write, and speak common, but while he also had a Natal Palace himself, he had no idea how to use it.
His Natal Palace was just a small room, the spitting image of his guest quarters inside the monastery, a stark, cozy little suite with a bed, desk, and writing table. Sure, he could change stuff inside it to practice with his Chi, but it always reverted back to the monastery suite in time, so how in the high Heavens was this supposed to help him memorize things? He tried writing things down inside his Natal Palace to see if that would take, but by the time he found Balance and entered the damned thing, hed already forgotten the character he meant to write down, rendering all his efforts worthless. Monk Happy said it probably had something to do with Joranis atypical advancement to Natal Palace Formation, an unwelcome reminder that he only succeeded at this milestone thanks to Kukkus inadvertent help and Old Vyakhyas meddling.
No matter though. Even if hed taken a shortcut, Jorani was still pleased as punch to have a Natal Palace at all, so he tried not to be envious and kept working hard to find success in literacy and the Martial Path both. Sitting in with Asmanis lessons and following as she read along helped more than he thought it would, but he was still lagging behind her ridiculously speedy process, slowed only by her unfamiliarity with concepts such as marriage, lying, and other Imperial norms. These childrens tales were Monk Happys idea, to help familiarize her with Imperial life while she practised her reading and comprehension, and Jorani was tasked to answer the inevitable questions that followed.
Once her curiosity was sated, Jorani stood up and stretched while once again marvelling at how well-built Asmanis hut was, especially considering it was her first time ever working with wood. The monks taught her well, and you could barely tell where the wood joints were locked in place, the entire round structure held together without nails or twine. Aside from two supporting pillars, the whole hut was open and undivided, with only a plain wooden table and woven-grass mats for furniture, but it was clear she took pride in her accommodations. The mats were kept clean of dirt and other debris, her bristle broom already showing signs of wear from overuse, which was odd considering her aversion to bathing. Waste of water was a cardinal sin, which Jorani understood well enough considering the frozen wastes had precious little freshwater to drink, what with their lack of coal or firewood to melt ice and snow. How she kept her clothes clean without water was a complete mystery however, but at least she was wearing more than a loincloth now, looking less savage and out of sorts in her loose, hemp shirt, one that she made herself which stretched down to her thighs. On another woman, Jorani wouldve called it a dress, and a scandalously short one at that, but somehow, even on big-bellied Asmani, he couldnt see it as anything more than a long shirt.
Oddly enough, the tribesmen were adamant at making their own way in the world, having refused the clothes prepared for them by the monks, but they saw nothing wrong with accepting the raw materials needed to make their own clothes, so Jorani wasnt entirely sure where the distinction lay. He tried asking of course, but Asmani was so horrified by the fact that she might have incurred a debt, she tried to take off her dress and return it to the monks at once. It took a lot of convincing to assure her that she owed the monks nothing, and that the raw hemp was basically worthless plant matter that took almost no effort to grow or harvest. Of course, Jorani wasnt entirely sure the monks were telling the truth, but even if they were to go against the Right Speech and tell a little white lie, he saw no harm in letting Asmani believe it.
Bring it back, the bossman commanded, and Jorani complied, pulling his weapon out of reach of his foes just as the Chi storm dispersed. A brief burst of power is all it was, one that made use of the force created by cracking his Rope, but therein lay the beauty of the attack. Since it made use of external force, it didnt require all that much Chi to fuel it, and Jorani could crack his Rope as easily as lifting a hand.
Again his weapon whipped out, and again it claimed the lives of several Chosen, their Runic Armour proving no defence against his Chi-enhanced attack. This was External Chi at its finest, a step Jorani never expected to reach, not so quickly at least, but dire circumstances and fortuitous Insight hastened him along to success, alongside more than a little luck from the Mother Above. Fighting retreat. Heeding the bossmans orders without thinking twice, he backpedalled away from the converging Chosen and was delighted to find himself propelling through the air, not quite Cloud-Stepping as he was still low to the ground, yet bounding along so quickly it couldnt be simple running. Like running on a taut canvas sheet is what it felt like, moving with a spring in his step as he covered the tribes retreat. Out and about his Spiritual Rope went, killing without even touching so long as a foe drew too close, and before he knew it, the monastery gates slipped into view and the bossman ordered him to stand down.
Arms heavy, legs aching, lungs burning, and spirits drained, Jorani huffed and heaved for sweet air that did not seem like it could come fast enough. The walls were no barrier to the Cloud-Stepping Chosen, but the dozens of monks arranged atop the battlements were enough to give the Enemy pause, their surprise offensive stalled before it could ever really begin.
OM MANI PADME HUM
Much like the bestial roar from before, the monks coordinated chanting took on life of its own as their deep, baritone recital filled the air with power and threat. The Brotherhood were a peaceful lot, but that didnt mean they were willing to just roll over and die when pressed. Barring entry through the gates, Monk Happy stood with spade at the ready, his robes billowing in the gentle wind as he made the Mudra of warding and chanted the Sutras alongside his brothers. Almost every monk was armed in some way, shape or form, but few held what anyone would call a conventional weapon. Many carried wooden fish drums similar to the Abbots, while Monk Bones had his broom in hand, the same one he used to sweep the courtyard every morning. Monk Sour-Face, the resident gardener, wielded a rake with Martial authority, while Monk Cook, the portly fellow in charge of the monastery kitchens, didnt have his knives in hand, but an oversized wok instead, while his kitchen attendants sported all manner of rollers, ladles, spatulas, and other such utensils. At least some monks had the good sense to take up their flails, and Jorani could only hope that their instincts would not betray them in the middle of battle and cause them to inadvertently turn their weapons against themselves.
That would just be the honey on top of the cake, now wouldnt it, for the Penitent Brotherhood to beat themselves silly in the middle of battle out of sheer habit...
Though still short of breath, Jorani joined in with the monks recital of the Sutra and felt his words resonate with power. He didnt understand what was happening, nor did he know why he felt compelled to join in, but he knew these words had power, even if that power wasnt evident at first glance. The chanting was safe and soothing to his ear, but evidently it was not the same for the Enemy as the army of Chosen stopped well outside the monastery walls. More than one armoured foe flinched as Monk Happys voice boomed across them, the weight of their sins bearing down upon them as the Sutras forced them to confront their greatest regrets.
Before the monks chanting could gain the necessary momentum, another bone-rattling roar shook the air and cut through the mystical emanations of the Sutras, and the change was startling to behold. This time, it was the monks turn to falter, and not just a handful at a time. Staggering back as if physically struck, Monk Happy retreated three steps before stopping in place, his body even sliding back across the dirt before his momentum came to a rest. Rakshasa, he uttered, his customary smile replaced by an ugly scowl as his words echoed through the near silent courtyard. So the apostate has returned, here to kill those who you once called brother. At least now, there can be no doubt in our minds, for your View is flawed while ours still holds true.
Hmph. Appearing out of thin air, Vyakhya stood at the forefront of the Chosen with a hulking tiger at his side, one whose shoulders stood well above the hunchbacked monks head. Where he once seemed gentle and eccentric, there was an air of malice and madness about the old Healer, and Jorani mourned the loss of the man he thought the monk had once been. What happened to make him so bitter and angry? What drew him to the Fathers lies and turned him against humanity itself? To seek the end of all creation just because he believed life not worth living, how could anyone condone such complete and utter lunacy?
Unaware of Joranis thoughts, Vyakhya laid one hand upon the massive tigers shoulder and its rumbling growl came to a stop. The monks had long since stopped chanting the Sutras, unable to continue in the face of Rakshasas attack, but they made no effort to resume it either, since itd been shown to be ineffective. Utterly unfazed by the anger and hostility directed towards him, Vyakhya flicked his sleeves and snorted a second time. Had this monk come to kill you, he began, speaking with a haughty air he lacked before his departure, Then he would not have given warning before the Chosen were in place. Catching Joranis eye, Vyakhya sighed and shook his head, his abject disappointment still painful despite his obvious delusion. Oh Jorani, he said, his voice heavy with regret, Again you stand in this monks Path? You should understand more than anyone what this monk seeks to achieve.
Nihility, Jorani replied, swallowing his rage and anguish. Betrayal only hurt because it came from those you trusted most, a realization that did little to ease his pain. Thanks, but no thanks. Me, Im real fond of existing and all, so Ill hafta ask ye to kindly fuck off.
Such anger, such sin. The customary Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo didnt follow after, and for some reason, Jorani found that more disturbing than anything else Vyakhya had done, a sign that the old Healer was truly dead and gone, or perhaps had never existed in the first place. So quick to spill blood, when no violence is truly needed, Vyakhya continued, gesturing at the Chosen around him. All this is merely a show of force, to ensure you blind fools understand this monks conviction when I tell you I am here for Falling Rain, and Falling Rain alone. Surrender him to me, and the rest of you will remain unharmed and free to carry on as you please. Refuse, and these Chosen will raze this monastery to the ground, alongside every other monastery in existence.
The worst part was the lack of heat in Vyakhyas voice, the threat given in almost bored tones as if he resented having to come all this way, accompanied by a stifling Aura of intimidation and conviction. The old Healer was ready to cut all ties with his former Brothers, to inflict violence upon them should his demands not be met, proving that he was no dissenting member of the Brotherhood who splintered off to form his own faction, but a traitor ready to do whatever was necessary to further his personal goals. Though it still came as something of a surprise to Jorani, Monk Bones visibly stumbled beneath the weight of Vyakhyas statement. How could you? he asked, his aged voice trembling with bitter disbelief as he clutched his broom to his chest. You said you wanted to reconcile with the Brotherhood, to find common ground again and reassess our Right View, but you lied and used what I shared with you in confidence for your own nefarious purposes.
Nefarious? Sneering in disdain, Vyakhya turned his gaze to the monks and asked, Who among you agree with the Abbots recent actions? Not only what he did after he lost himself in his grief, but long before, when he declared an unknown brat still stinking of mothers milk as a Wisdom of the Brotherhood, first among equals no less? Falling Rain, the Chosen Son of the Mother, or so the Imperial Clan would have you all believe, but he is nothing more than a puppet here to shepherd more souls towards their eternal suffering. The boy is soaked in blood and sin, yet you would accept him and allow his word to shape the Right View? Madness is what it is, and this monk will not stand for it.
And thats why youre here for Falling Rain? Rife with sarcasm, Monk Happy seized control of the dialogue once more. How magnanimous of you, to kill the child who so threatens the Eight-Fold Path. The Right View is the Right View, regardless of who presents it, for it is only the Right View if we all agree with it. Oh ye of little faith, apostate, but this one will not so easily be shaken. Begone from these lands, or suffer ignoble defeat.
Vyakhyas Aura redoubled with effort as he pressed them all with unspoken menace. Not even a Half-Step Divinity, and you dare threaten me?
No threat apostate. Bringing his spade to the ready, Monk Happy looked every bit the Warrior as he stood alone in the monastery gates. Only facts.
Rolling his eyes, Vyakhya stepped back and waved his hand, revealing the half-Demon Gen standing in his shadow. The young tyrants unblemished face stood in stark contrast to his twisted metallic frame, his body fused with his armour in some unholy ritual that turned flesh and blood into cold, hard steel. Barely able to contain his excitement, Gen stepped forward and puffed up his chest, like the self-important ponce he was, but before he could signal the charge, the Heavens whispered in Joranis ears using the bossmans voice.
Even the Chosen of Heaven respect strength. Show them their leaders weakness. Break their spirits before the battle begins, and victory will soon be yours.
Well. Nothing else to it.
Traitor Gen of nothing and nowhere, Jorani shouted, his voice infused with Chi thanks to a burst of Insight and stopping everyone in their tracks. I, Hangman Jorani, Warrior of Sanshu, challenge you to single combat. Face me if you dare, coward, and reap the sins you have sown.
Rage burned in Gens eyes, and flames burst into existence around him, a stark reminder that this Defiled nobody was an Elementally Blessed Warrior that once defeated the bossman himself in single combat. The savage runts pet rat challenges this Sovereign to single combat? Laughing without a smile ever touching his eyes, Gens lip curled into a sneer as he said, I accept.
Catching Monk Happys incredulous stare as well as Asmanis doubtful gaze, Jorani cursed himself for ever opening his mouth and brought his weapon to bear. The Heavens asked too much of him, but he supposed it was only fair, as hed come farther and gained more than he ever thought possible, all those years ago when hed been nothing more than a street-rat in Sanshu. Besides, if ever there was a face he wanted to punch, that face would be Gens, and not just because of what he did to the city Jorani grew up in.
Some people just had punchable faces, and if Gen claimed to have the second most punchable face, no one would dare claim themselves as first.
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Chapter 689
and so they lived happily ever after again as husband and wife.
Though narrated in the halting manner of someone unfamiliar with the words, Jorani nonetheless applauded Asmanis efforts, for the imposing woman had come far in so short a time. Truth be told, he felt more than a little ashamed considering how quickly shed overtaken him in the realm of literacy, proving that while she might be uneducated, she was far from stupid, sharp as a spear and twice as deadly. Unmoved by his accolades, Asmani sat in stoic silence while studying the scroll before her, a childrens tale about a husband and wife who argued and later reconciled, some silly piece about cherishing the people you love. Having known her for almost two months now, Jorani was getting better at reading her expressions, and he could tell she was just brimming with questions, but wanted to gather her thoughts before unleashing the deluge upon him.
If she was unhappy with her... husband, she began, stumbling over the unfamiliar word, Then why did she not kill him?
There were still many social barriers to overcome before Asmani and her tribesmen would fit into polite society, but thankfully, the only civilized people around were the monks, who seemed more than capable of looking out for themselves. See, Jorani began, trying to think of a way to properly frame it, There are lots of ways to settle yer differences besides killing, which is really something of a last resort.
But you said marriage was a bond between two people, Asmani countered, One that is to lasts unto death. Did the wife not break this bond by leaving her husband.
Well... yea.
Why?
What do you mean why?
Brow furrowing in confusion, Asmani regarded Jorani with a look hed seen her give the Defiled children when they were being particularly annoying. She gave her word, to stay with her man until death. Then she left, proving she is not true to her words. Why would she do that? Would she not be shunned by the rest of her people?
It took a moment to understand what she was asking, though Jorani still wasnt quite sure why. Yer asking how could she break her word?
Yes. Nodding, she went on to explain as if Jorani were a particularly dumb child, A word given as bond must be upheld, else all would know you for false. The Ancestors sometimes speak in falsehoods, but they are dead and lack control over what they share. As for this wife, it would be better if she had killed her husband and stayed true to her words, for in death, their bond would be no more.
How odd. Asmani didnt think twice about murder, but lying and oath-breaking? That was simply unacceptable. Well, puttin aside the morality of it all, lets look at it another way. If she killed her husband, shed have never been able to settle their issues, like they did at the end of the story. They had their differences, but they made up and lived happily ever after, which wouldnt have happened if she killed him, yea?
Yes, but then why did he not kill her, for breaking her word?
Whoo boy. This was the sort of thing Monk Happy would be better at, but Joranis many pleas went unanswered thus far, so there was no point in complaining yet again. Instead, he did his best to work around Asmanis preconceived notions and convince her that killing was wrong and lying the lesser of two evils, but the Defiled woman wasnt having any of it. A word given is bond, she insisted, unable to even fathom the concept of lying. No tribe will ever ride with one who speaks false or has broken their bond.
That was news to Jorani, but it made a twisted sort of sense. The Defiled were happy to kill one another at the drop of a hat, but they were upright and honest about it at the very least. People dont like liars here in the Empire either, he said, shrugging because he didnt know what else to say. We dont exile them or kill em though, not unless their lying caused some harm, like lyin to steal or something.Updated from novelbIn.(c)om
What is this word? Steal?
Yet another foreign concept to the Defiled, where might made right in every sense of the word. Taking from someone else only happened when you were stronger than the other party, meaning you had every right to help yourself to their things. The strong thrive, the weak survive, thats how the Defiled lived their lives and Jorani found it difficult to disagree considering things werent all that different here in the Empire. People were just less honest about it, making all sorts of excuses to take what didnt belong to them, just like he had during his years as a bandit. If he didnt rob those poor farmers and fishers, then someone else would, so why shouldnt Jorani look after himself first? The Defiled might be a bloodthirsty bunch of savages, but they put the prosperity of the tribe above all else, meaning every tribe member was always working towards the betterment of the group, even when taking things from their kin. A strong Chieftain meant a strong tribe, and a weak Chieftain meant death for them all, so in their eyes, the constant tribal tensions were merely preparation for the harsh trials and tribulations of Heaven.
For this reason, the Defiled were constantly challenging Jorani for his undesired title of Chieftain. Thankfully, the tribesmen fought in good faith and were open and honest with most of their attempts on his life, plus hed improved by leaps and bounds in recent weeks, else Jorani might well have met his death here outside the monastery walls. More to the point, Asmani never tried to challenge him again, though she did ask several times if he was going to lay with her. Not out of desire it would seem, but rather because she wanted to know where they stood, because if he wasnt going to fuck her, then she suspected he intended to kill her instead. Jorani did his best to let her down gently and reassure her of her safety, but thankfully, the fearsome and pregnant woman didnt seem too upset by his rejection, more confused because she thought his lingering glances were indicative of interest.
Because they were. Mother knows how long itd been since Jorani had lain with a woman, but only a fool would risk death by sleeping with someone liable to crush him between her thighs.
For long hours, Jorani sat with Asmani and answered her questions about the simple childrens fable and other intricacies of civilized life, though it wasnt so easy considering he couldnt read the damn thing and had forgotten most of the tale in the telling. There was nothing more shameful than being looked down on by a tribal Defiled for his lacking literacy, especially given her blunt and forthright demeanour. Reading is simple, Asmani said, when asked how she picked it up so quickly. Just memorize the symbols, the thing it represents, and the sound you are supposed to make. A very literal answer, but after some more questioning, Jorani realized Asmani had a Natal Palace, one she used to good effect learning to read, write, and speak common, but while he also had a Natal Palace himself, he had no idea how to use it.
His Natal Palace was just a small room, the spitting image of his guest quarters inside the monastery, a stark, cozy little suite with a bed, desk, and writing table. Sure, he could change stuff inside it to practice with his Chi, but it always reverted back to the monastery suite in time, so how in the high Heavens was this supposed to help him memorize things? He tried writing things down inside his Natal Palace to see if that would take, but by the time he found Balance and entered the damned thing, hed already forgotten the character he meant to write down, rendering all his efforts worthless. Monk Happy said it probably had something to do with Joranis atypical advancement to Natal Palace Formation, an unwelcome reminder that he only succeeded at this milestone thanks to Kukkus inadvertent help and Old Vyakhyas meddling.
No matter though. Even if hed taken a shortcut, Jorani was still pleased as punch to have a Natal Palace at all, so he tried not to be envious and kept working hard to find success in literacy and the Martial Path both. Sitting in with Asmanis lessons and following as she read along helped more than he thought it would, but he was still lagging behind her ridiculously speedy process, slowed only by her unfamiliarity with concepts such as marriage, lying, and other Imperial norms. These childrens tales were Monk Happys idea, to help familiarize her with Imperial life while she practised her reading and comprehension, and Jorani was tasked to answer the inevitable questions that followed.
Once her curiosity was sated, Jorani stood up and stretched while once again marvelling at how well-built Asmanis hut was, especially considering it was her first time ever working with wood. The monks taught her well, and you could barely tell where the wood joints were locked in place, the entire round structure held together without nails or twine. Aside from two supporting pillars, the whole hut was open and undivided, with only a plain wooden table and woven-grass mats for furniture, but it was clear she took pride in her accommodations. The mats were kept clean of dirt and other debris, her bristle broom already showing signs of wear from overuse, which was odd considering her aversion to bathing. Waste of water was a cardinal sin, which Jorani understood well enough considering the frozen wastes had precious little freshwater to drink, what with their lack of coal or firewood to melt ice and snow. How she kept her clothes clean without water was a complete mystery however, but at least she was wearing more than a loincloth now, looking less savage and out of sorts in her loose, hemp shirt, one that she made herself which stretched down to her thighs. On another woman, Jorani wouldve called it a dress, and a scandalously short one at that, but somehow, even on big-bellied Asmani, he couldnt see it as anything more than a long shirt.
Oddly enough, the tribesmen were adamant at making their own way in the world, having refused the clothes prepared for them by the monks, but they saw nothing wrong with accepting the raw materials needed to make their own clothes, so Jorani wasnt entirely sure where the distinction lay. He tried asking of course, but Asmani was so horrified by the fact that she might have incurred a debt, she tried to take off her dress and return it to the monks at once. It took a lot of convincing to assure her that she owed the monks nothing, and that the raw hemp was basically worthless plant matter that took almost no effort to grow or harvest. Of course, Jorani wasnt entirely sure the monks were telling the truth, but even if they were to go against the Right Speech and tell a little white lie, he saw no harm in letting Asmani believe it.
Bring it back, the bossman commanded, and Jorani complied, pulling his weapon out of reach of his foes just as the Chi storm dispersed. A brief burst of power is all it was, one that made use of the force created by cracking his Rope, but therein lay the beauty of the attack. Since it made use of external force, it didnt require all that much Chi to fuel it, and Jorani could crack his Rope as easily as lifting a hand.
Again his weapon whipped out, and again it claimed the lives of several Chosen, their Runic Armour proving no defence against his Chi-enhanced attack. This was External Chi at its finest, a step Jorani never expected to reach, not so quickly at least, but dire circumstances and fortuitous Insight hastened him along to success, alongside more than a little luck from the Mother Above. Fighting retreat. Heeding the bossmans orders without thinking twice, he backpedalled away from the converging Chosen and was delighted to find himself propelling through the air, not quite Cloud-Stepping as he was still low to the ground, yet bounding along so quickly it couldnt be simple running. Like running on a taut canvas sheet is what it felt like, moving with a spring in his step as he covered the tribes retreat. Out and about his Spiritual Rope went, killing without even touching so long as a foe drew too close, and before he knew it, the monastery gates slipped into view and the bossman ordered him to stand down.
Arms heavy, legs aching, lungs burning, and spirits drained, Jorani huffed and heaved for sweet air that did not seem like it could come fast enough. The walls were no barrier to the Cloud-Stepping Chosen, but the dozens of monks arranged atop the battlements were enough to give the Enemy pause, their surprise offensive stalled before it could ever really begin.
OM MANI PADME HUM
Much like the bestial roar from before, the monks coordinated chanting took on life of its own as their deep, baritone recital filled the air with power and threat. The Brotherhood were a peaceful lot, but that didnt mean they were willing to just roll over and die when pressed. Barring entry through the gates, Monk Happy stood with spade at the ready, his robes billowing in the gentle wind as he made the Mudra of warding and chanted the Sutras alongside his brothers. Almost every monk was armed in some way, shape or form, but few held what anyone would call a conventional weapon. Many carried wooden fish drums similar to the Abbots, while Monk Bones had his broom in hand, the same one he used to sweep the courtyard every morning. Monk Sour-Face, the resident gardener, wielded a rake with Martial authority, while Monk Cook, the portly fellow in charge of the monastery kitchens, didnt have his knives in hand, but an oversized wok instead, while his kitchen attendants sported all manner of rollers, ladles, spatulas, and other such utensils. At least some monks had the good sense to take up their flails, and Jorani could only hope that their instincts would not betray them in the middle of battle and cause them to inadvertently turn their weapons against themselves.
That would just be the honey on top of the cake, now wouldnt it, for the Penitent Brotherhood to beat themselves silly in the middle of battle out of sheer habit...
Though still short of breath, Jorani joined in with the monks recital of the Sutra and felt his words resonate with power. He didnt understand what was happening, nor did he know why he felt compelled to join in, but he knew these words had power, even if that power wasnt evident at first glance. The chanting was safe and soothing to his ear, but evidently it was not the same for the Enemy as the army of Chosen stopped well outside the monastery walls. More than one armoured foe flinched as Monk Happys voice boomed across them, the weight of their sins bearing down upon them as the Sutras forced them to confront their greatest regrets.
Before the monks chanting could gain the necessary momentum, another bone-rattling roar shook the air and cut through the mystical emanations of the Sutras, and the change was startling to behold. This time, it was the monks turn to falter, and not just a handful at a time. Staggering back as if physically struck, Monk Happy retreated three steps before stopping in place, his body even sliding back across the dirt before his momentum came to a rest. Rakshasa, he uttered, his customary smile replaced by an ugly scowl as his words echoed through the near silent courtyard. So the apostate has returned, here to kill those who you once called brother. At least now, there can be no doubt in our minds, for your View is flawed while ours still holds true.
Hmph. Appearing out of thin air, Vyakhya stood at the forefront of the Chosen with a hulking tiger at his side, one whose shoulders stood well above the hunchbacked monks head. Where he once seemed gentle and eccentric, there was an air of malice and madness about the old Healer, and Jorani mourned the loss of the man he thought the monk had once been. What happened to make him so bitter and angry? What drew him to the Fathers lies and turned him against humanity itself? To seek the end of all creation just because he believed life not worth living, how could anyone condone such complete and utter lunacy?
Unaware of Joranis thoughts, Vyakhya laid one hand upon the massive tigers shoulder and its rumbling growl came to a stop. The monks had long since stopped chanting the Sutras, unable to continue in the face of Rakshasas attack, but they made no effort to resume it either, since itd been shown to be ineffective. Utterly unfazed by the anger and hostility directed towards him, Vyakhya flicked his sleeves and snorted a second time. Had this monk come to kill you, he began, speaking with a haughty air he lacked before his departure, Then he would not have given warning before the Chosen were in place. Catching Joranis eye, Vyakhya sighed and shook his head, his abject disappointment still painful despite his obvious delusion. Oh Jorani, he said, his voice heavy with regret, Again you stand in this monks Path? You should understand more than anyone what this monk seeks to achieve.
Nihility, Jorani replied, swallowing his rage and anguish. Betrayal only hurt because it came from those you trusted most, a realization that did little to ease his pain. Thanks, but no thanks. Me, Im real fond of existing and all, so Ill hafta ask ye to kindly fuck off.
Such anger, such sin. The customary Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo didnt follow after, and for some reason, Jorani found that more disturbing than anything else Vyakhya had done, a sign that the old Healer was truly dead and gone, or perhaps had never existed in the first place. So quick to spill blood, when no violence is truly needed, Vyakhya continued, gesturing at the Chosen around him. All this is merely a show of force, to ensure you blind fools understand this monks conviction when I tell you I am here for Falling Rain, and Falling Rain alone. Surrender him to me, and the rest of you will remain unharmed and free to carry on as you please. Refuse, and these Chosen will raze this monastery to the ground, alongside every other monastery in existence.
The worst part was the lack of heat in Vyakhyas voice, the threat given in almost bored tones as if he resented having to come all this way, accompanied by a stifling Aura of intimidation and conviction. The old Healer was ready to cut all ties with his former Brothers, to inflict violence upon them should his demands not be met, proving that he was no dissenting member of the Brotherhood who splintered off to form his own faction, but a traitor ready to do whatever was necessary to further his personal goals. Though it still came as something of a surprise to Jorani, Monk Bones visibly stumbled beneath the weight of Vyakhyas statement. How could you? he asked, his aged voice trembling with bitter disbelief as he clutched his broom to his chest. You said you wanted to reconcile with the Brotherhood, to find common ground again and reassess our Right View, but you lied and used what I shared with you in confidence for your own nefarious purposes.
Nefarious? Sneering in disdain, Vyakhya turned his gaze to the monks and asked, Who among you agree with the Abbots recent actions? Not only what he did after he lost himself in his grief, but long before, when he declared an unknown brat still stinking of mothers milk as a Wisdom of the Brotherhood, first among equals no less? Falling Rain, the Chosen Son of the Mother, or so the Imperial Clan would have you all believe, but he is nothing more than a puppet here to shepherd more souls towards their eternal suffering. The boy is soaked in blood and sin, yet you would accept him and allow his word to shape the Right View? Madness is what it is, and this monk will not stand for it.
And thats why youre here for Falling Rain? Rife with sarcasm, Monk Happy seized control of the dialogue once more. How magnanimous of you, to kill the child who so threatens the Eight-Fold Path. The Right View is the Right View, regardless of who presents it, for it is only the Right View if we all agree with it. Oh ye of little faith, apostate, but this one will not so easily be shaken. Begone from these lands, or suffer ignoble defeat.
Vyakhyas Aura redoubled with effort as he pressed them all with unspoken menace. Not even a Half-Step Divinity, and you dare threaten me?
No threat apostate. Bringing his spade to the ready, Monk Happy looked every bit the Warrior as he stood alone in the monastery gates. Only facts.
Rolling his eyes, Vyakhya stepped back and waved his hand, revealing the half-Demon Gen standing in his shadow. The young tyrants unblemished face stood in stark contrast to his twisted metallic frame, his body fused with his armour in some unholy ritual that turned flesh and blood into cold, hard steel. Barely able to contain his excitement, Gen stepped forward and puffed up his chest, like the self-important ponce he was, but before he could signal the charge, the Heavens whispered in Joranis ears using the bossmans voice.
Even the Chosen of Heaven respect strength. Show them their leaders weakness. Break their spirits before the battle begins, and victory will soon be yours.
Well. Nothing else to it.
Traitor Gen of nothing and nowhere, Jorani shouted, his voice infused with Chi thanks to a burst of Insight and stopping everyone in their tracks. I, Hangman Jorani, Warrior of Sanshu, challenge you to single combat. Face me if you dare, coward, and reap the sins you have sown.
Rage burned in Gens eyes, and flames burst into existence around him, a stark reminder that this Defiled nobody was an Elementally Blessed Warrior that once defeated the bossman himself in single combat. The savage runts pet rat challenges this Sovereign to single combat? Laughing without a smile ever touching his eyes, Gens lip curled into a sneer as he said, I accept.
Catching Monk Happys incredulous stare as well as Asmanis doubtful gaze, Jorani cursed himself for ever opening his mouth and brought his weapon to bear. The Heavens asked too much of him, but he supposed it was only fair, as hed come farther and gained more than he ever thought possible, all those years ago when hed been nothing more than a street-rat in Sanshu. Besides, if ever there was a face he wanted to punch, that face would be Gens, and not just because of what he did to the city Jorani grew up in.
Some people just had punchable faces, and if Gen claimed to have the second most punchable face, no one would dare claim themselves as first.
Chapter Meme
Chapter 689and so they lived happily ever after again as husband and wife.Though narrated in the halting manner of someone unfamiliar with the words, Jorani nonetheless applauded Asmanis efforts, for the imposing woman had come far in so short a time. Truth be told, he felt more than a little ashamed considering how quickly shed overtaken him in the realm of literacy, proving that while she might be uneducated, she was far from stupid, sharp as a spear and twice as deadly. Unmoved by his accolades, Asmani sat in stoic silence while studying the scroll before her, a childrens tale about a husband and wife who argued and later reconciled, some silly piece about cherishing the people you love. Having known her for almost two months now, Jorani was getting better at reading her expressions, and he could tell she was just brimming with questions, but wanted to gather her thoughts before unleashing the deluge upon him.If she was unhappy with her... husband, she began, stumbling over the unfamiliar word, Then why did she not kill him?There were still many social barriers to overcome before Asmani and her tribesmen would fit into polite society, but thankfully, the only civilized people around were the monks, who seemed more than capable of looking out for themselves. See, Jorani began, trying to think of a way to properly frame it, There are lots of ways to settle yer differences besides killing, which is really something of a last resort.But you said marriage was a bond between two people, Asmani countered, One that is to lasts unto death. Did the wife not break this bond by leaving her husband.Well... yea.Why?What do you mean why?Brow furrowing in confusion, Asmani regarded Jorani with a look hed seen her give the Defiled children when they were being particularly annoying. She gave her word, to stay with her man until death. Then she left, proving she is not true to her words. Why would she do that? Would she not be shunned by the rest of her people?It took a moment to understand what she was asking, though Jorani still wasnt quite sure why. Yer asking how could she break her word?Yes. Nodding, she went on to explain as if Jorani were a particularly dumb child, A word given as bond must be upheld, else all would know you for false. The Ancestors sometimes speak in falsehoods, but they are dead and lack control over what they share. As for this wife, it would be better if she had killed her husband and stayed true to her words, for in death, their bond would be no more.How odd. Asmani didnt think twice about murder, but lying and oath-breaking? That was simply unacceptable. Well, puttin aside the morality of it all, lets look at it another way. If she killed her husband, shed have never been able to settle their issues, like they did at the end of the story. They had their differences, but they made up and lived happily ever after, which wouldnt have happened if she killed him, yea?Yes, but then why did he not kill her, for breaking her word?Whoo boy. This was the sort of thing Monk Happy would be better at, but Joranis many pleas went unanswered thus far, so there was no point in complaining yet again. Instead, he did his best to work around Asmanis preconceived notions and convince her that killing was wrong and lying the lesser of two evils, but the Defiled woman wasnt having any of it. A word given is bond, she insisted, unable to even fathom the concept of lying. No tribe will ever ride with one who speaks false or has broken their bond.That was news to Jorani, but it made a twisted sort of sense. The Defiled were happy to kill one another at the drop of a hat, but they were upright and honest about it at the very least. People dont like liars here in the Empire either, he said, shrugging because he didnt know what else to say. We dont exile them or kill em though, not unless their lying caused some harm, like lyin to steal or something.Updated from novelbIn.comWhat is this word? Steal?Yet another foreign concept to the Defiled, where might made right in every sense of the word. Taking from someone else only happened when you were stronger than the other party, meaning you had every right to help yourself to their things. The strong thrive, the weak survive, thats how the Defiled lived their lives and Jorani found it difficult to disagree considering things werent all that different here in the Empire. People were just less honest about it, making all sorts of excuses to take what didnt belong to them, just like he had during his years as a bandit. If he didnt rob those poor farmers and fishers, then someone else would, so why shouldnt Jorani look after himself first? The Defiled might be a bloodthirsty bunch of savages, but they put the prosperity of the tribe above all else, meaning every tribe member was always working towards the betterment of the group, even when taking things from their kin. A strong Chieftain meant a strong tribe, and a weak Chieftain meant death for them all, so in their eyes, the constant tribal tensions were merely preparation for the harsh trials and tribulations of Heaven.For this reason, the Defiled were constantly challenging Jorani for his undesired title of Chieftain. Thankfully, the tribesmen fought in good faith and were open and honest with most of their attempts on his life, plus hed improved by leaps and bounds in recent weeks, else Jorani might well have met his death here outside the monastery walls. More to the point, Asmani never tried to challenge him again, though she did ask several times if he was going to lay with her. Not out of desire it would seem, but rather because she wanted to know where they stood, because if he wasnt going to fuck her, then she suspected he intended to kill her instead. Jorani did his best to let her down gently and reassure her of her safety, but thankfully, the fearsome and pregnant woman didnt seem too upset by his rejection, more confused because she thought his lingering glances were indicative of interest.Because they were. Mother knows how long itd been since Jorani had lain with a woman, but only a fool would risk death by sleeping with someone liable to crush him between her thighs.For long hours, Jorani sat with Asmani and answered her questions about the simple childrens fable and other intricacies of civilized life, though it wasnt so easy considering he couldnt read the damn thing and had forgotten most of the tale in the telling. There was nothing more shameful than being looked down on by a tribal Defiled for his lacking literacy, especially given her blunt and forthright demeanour. Reading is simple, Asmani said, when asked how she picked it up so quickly. Just memorize the symbols, the thing it represents, and the sound you are supposed to make. A very literal answer, but after some more questioning, Jorani realized Asmani had a Natal Palace, one she used to good effect learning to read, write, and speak common, but while he also had a Natal Palace himself, he had no idea how to use it.His Natal Palace was just a small room, the spitting image of his guest quarters inside the monastery, a stark, cozy little suite with a bed, desk, and writing table. Sure, he could change stuff inside it to practice with his Chi, but it always reverted back to the monastery suite in time, so how in the high Heavens was this supposed to help him memorize things? He tried writing things down inside his Natal Palace to see if that would take, but by the time he found Balance and entered the damned thing, hed already forgotten the character he meant to write down, rendering all his efforts worthless. Monk Happy said it probably had something to do with Joranis atypical advancement to Natal Palace Formation, an unwelcome reminder that he only succeeded at this milestone thanks to Kukkus inadvertent help and Old Vyakhyas meddling.No matter though. Even if hed taken a shortcut, Jorani was still pleased as punch to have a Natal Palace at all, so he tried not to be envious and kept working hard to find success in literacy and the Martial Path both. Sitting in with Asmanis lessons and following as she read along helped more than he thought it would, but he was still lagging behind her ridiculously speedy process, slowed only by her unfamiliarity with concepts such as marriage, lying, and other Imperial norms. These childrens tales were Monk Happys idea, to help familiarize her with Imperial life while she practised her reading and comprehension, and Jorani was tasked to answer the inevitable questions that followed.Once her curiosity was sated, Jorani stood up and stretched while once again marvelling at how well-built Asmanis hut was, especially considering it was her first time ever working with wood. The monks taught her well, and you could barely tell where the wood joints were locked in place, the entire round structure held together without nails or twine. Aside from two supporting pillars, the whole hut was open and undivided, with only a plain wooden table and woven-grass mats for furniture, but it was clear she took pride in her accommodations. The mats were kept clean of dirt and other debris, her bristle broom already showing signs of wear from overuse, which was odd considering her aversion to bathing. Waste of water was a cardinal sin, which Jorani understood well enough considering the frozen wastes had precious little freshwater to drink, what with their lack of coal or firewood to melt ice and snow. How she kept her clothes clean without water was a complete mystery however, but at least she was wearing more than a loincloth now, looking less savage and out of sorts in her loose, hemp shirt, one that she made herself which stretched down to her thighs. On another woman, Jorani wouldve called it a dress, and a scandalously short one at that, but somehow, even on big-bellied Asmani, he couldnt see it as anything more than a long shirt.Oddly enough, the tribesmen were adamant at making their own way in the world, having refused the clothes prepared for them by the monks, but they saw nothing wrong with accepting the raw materials needed to make their own clothes, so Jorani wasnt entirely sure where the distinction lay. He tried asking of course, but Asmani was so horrified by the fact that she might have incurred a debt, she tried to take off her dress and return it to the monks at once. It took a lot of convincing to assure her that she owed the monks nothing, and that the raw hemp was basically worthless plant matter that took almost no effort to grow or harvest. Of course, Jorani wasnt entirely sure the monks were telling the truth, but even if they were to go against the Right Speech and tell a little white lie, he saw no harm in letting Asmani believe it.Bring it back, the bossman commanded, and Jorani complied, pulling his weapon out of reach of his foes just as the Chi storm dispersed. A brief burst of power is all it was, one that made use of the force created by cracking his Rope, but therein lay the beauty of the attack. Since it made use of external force, it didnt require all that much Chi to fuel it, and Jorani could crack his Rope as easily as lifting a hand.Again his weapon whipped out, and again it claimed the lives of several Chosen, their Runic Armour proving no defence against his Chi-enhanced attack. This was External Chi at its finest, a step Jorani never expected to reach, not so quickly at least, but dire circumstances and fortuitous Insight hastened him along to success, alongside more than a little luck from the Mother Above. Fighting retreat. Heeding the bossmans orders without thinking twice, he backpedalled away from the converging Chosen and was delighted to find himself propelling through the air, not quite Cloud-Stepping as he was still low to the ground, yet bounding along so quickly it couldnt be simple running. Like running on a taut canvas sheet is what it felt like, moving with a spring in his step as he covered the tribes retreat. Out and about his Spiritual Rope went, killing without even touching so long as a foe drew too close, and before he knew it, the monastery gates slipped into view and the bossman ordered him to stand down.Arms heavy, legs aching, lungs burning, and spirits drained, Jorani huffed and heaved for sweet air that did not seem like it could come fast enough. The walls were no barrier to the Cloud-Stepping Chosen, but the dozens of monks arranged atop the battlements were enough to give the Enemy pause, their surprise offensive stalled before it could ever really begin.OM MANI PADME HUMMuch like the bestial roar from before, the monks coordinated chanting took on life of its own as their deep, baritone recital filled the air with power and threat. The Brotherhood were a peaceful lot, but that didnt mean they were willing to just roll over and die when pressed. Barring entry through the gates, Monk Happy stood with spade at the ready, his robes billowing in the gentle wind as he made the Mudra of warding and chanted the Sutras alongside his brothers. Almost every monk was armed in some way, shape or form, but few held what anyone would call a conventional weapon. Many carried wooden fish drums similar to the Abbots, while Monk Bones had his broom in hand, the same one he used to sweep the courtyard every morning. Monk Sour-Face, the resident gardener, wielded a rake with Martial authority, while Monk Cook, the portly fellow in charge of the monastery kitchens, didnt have his knives in hand, but an oversized wok instead, while his kitchen attendants sported all manner of rollers, ladles, spatulas, and other such utensils. At least some monks had the good sense to take up their flails, and Jorani could only hope that their instincts would not betray them in the middle of battle and cause them to inadvertently turn their weapons against themselves.That would just be the honey on top of the cake, now wouldnt it, for the Penitent Brotherhood to beat themselves silly in the middle of battle out of sheer habit...Though still short of breath, Jorani joined in with the monks recital of the Sutra and felt his words resonate with power. He didnt understand what was happening, nor did he know why he felt compelled to join in, but he knew these words had power, even if that power wasnt evident at first glance. The chanting was safe and soothing to his ear, but evidently it was not the same for the Enemy as the army of Chosen stopped well outside the monastery walls. More than one armoured foe flinched as Monk Happys voice boomed across them, the weight of their sins bearing down upon them as the Sutras forced them to confront their greatest regrets.Before the monks chanting could gain the necessary momentum, another bone-rattling roar shook the air and cut through the mystical emanations of the Sutras, and the change was startling to behold. This time, it was the monks turn to falter, and not just a handful at a time. Staggering back as if physically struck, Monk Happy retreated three steps before stopping in place, his body even sliding back across the dirt before his momentum came to a rest. Rakshasa, he uttered, his customary smile replaced by an ugly scowl as his words echoed through the near silent courtyard. So the apostate has returned, here to kill those who you once called brother. At least now, there can be no doubt in our minds, for your View is flawed while ours still holds true.Hmph. Appearing out of thin air, Vyakhya stood at the forefront of the Chosen with a hulking tiger at his side, one whose shoulders stood well above the hunchbacked monks head. Where he once seemed gentle and eccentric, there was an air of malice and madness about the old Healer, and Jorani mourned the loss of the man he thought the monk had once been. What happened to make him so bitter and angry? What drew him to the Fathers lies and turned him against humanity itself? To seek the end of all creation just because he believed life not worth living, how could anyone condone such complete and utter lunacy?Unaware of Joranis thoughts, Vyakhya laid one hand upon the massive tigers shoulder and its rumbling growl came to a stop. The monks had long since stopped chanting the Sutras, unable to continue in the face of Rakshasas attack, but they made no effort to resume it either, since itd been shown to be ineffective. Utterly unfazed by the anger and hostility directed towards him, Vyakhya flicked his sleeves and snorted a second time. Had this monk come to kill you, he began, speaking with a haughty air he lacked before his departure, Then he would not have given warning before the Chosen were in place. Catching Joranis eye, Vyakhya sighed and shook his head, his abject disappointment still painful despite his obvious delusion. Oh Jorani, he said, his voice heavy with regret, Again you stand in this monks Path? You should understand more than anyone what this monk seeks to achieve.Nihility, Jorani replied, swallowing his rage and anguish. Betrayal only hurt because it came from those you trusted most, a realization that did little to ease his pain. Thanks, but no thanks. Me, Im real fond of existing and all, so Ill hafta ask ye to kindly fuck off.Such anger, such sin. The customary Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo didnt follow after, and for some reason, Jorani found that more disturbing than anything else Vyakhya had done, a sign that the old Healer was truly dead and gone, or perhaps had never existed in the first place. So quick to spill blood, when no violence is truly needed, Vyakhya continued, gesturing at the Chosen around him. All this is merely a show of force, to ensure you blind fools understand this monks conviction when I tell you I am here for Falling Rain, and Falling Rain alone. Surrender him to me, and the rest of you will remain unharmed and free to carry on as you please. Refuse, and these Chosen will raze this monastery to the ground, alongside every other monastery in existence.The worst part was the lack of heat in Vyakhyas voice, the threat given in almost bored tones as if he resented having to come all this way, accompanied by a stifling Aura of intimidation and conviction. The old Healer was ready to cut all ties with his former Brothers, to inflict violence upon them should his demands not be met, proving that he was no dissenting member of the Brotherhood who splintered off to form his own faction, but a traitor ready to do whatever was necessary to further his personal goals. Though it still came as something of a surprise to Jorani, Monk Bones visibly stumbled beneath the weight of Vyakhyas statement. How could you? he asked, his aged voice trembling with bitter disbelief as he clutched his broom to his chest. You said you wanted to reconcile with the Brotherhood, to find common ground again and reassess our Right View, but you lied and used what I shared with you in confidence for your own nefarious purposes.Nefarious? Sneering in disdain, Vyakhya turned his gaze to the monks and asked, Who among you agree with the Abbots recent actions? Not only what he did after he lost himself in his grief, but long before, when he declared an unknown brat still stinking of mothers milk as a Wisdom of the Brotherhood, first among equals no less? Falling Rain, the Chosen Son of the Mother, or so the Imperial Clan would have you all believe, but he is nothing more than a puppet here to shepherd more souls towards their eternal suffering. The boy is soaked in blood and sin, yet you would accept him and allow his word to shape the Right View? Madness is what it is, and this monk will not stand for it.And thats why youre here for Falling Rain? Rife with sarcasm, Monk Happy seized control of the dialogue once more. How magnanimous of you, to kill the child who so threatens the Eight-Fold Path. The Right View is the Right View, regardless of who presents it, for it is only the Right View if we all agree with it. Oh ye of little faith, apostate, but this one will not so easily be shaken. Begone from these lands, or suffer ignoble defeat.Vyakhyas Aura redoubled with effort as he pressed them all with unspoken menace. Not even a Half-Step Divinity, and you dare threaten me?No threat apostate. Bringing his spade to the ready, Monk Happy looked every bit the Warrior as he stood alone in the monastery gates. Only facts.Rolling his eyes, Vyakhya stepped back and waved his hand, revealing the half-Demon Gen standing in his shadow. The young tyrants unblemished face stood in stark contrast to his twisted metallic frame, his body fused with his armour in some unholy ritual that turned flesh and blood into cold, hard steel. Barely able to contain his excitement, Gen stepped forward and puffed up his chest, like the self-important ponce he was, but before he could signal the charge, the Heavens whispered in Joranis ears using the bossmans voice.Even the Chosen of Heaven respect strength. Show them their leaders weakness. Break their spirits before the battle begins, and victory will soon be yours.Well. Nothing else to it.Traitor Gen of nothing and nowhere, Jorani shouted, his voice infused with Chi thanks to a burst of Insight and stopping everyone in their tracks. I, Hangman Jorani, Warrior of Sanshu, challenge you to single combat. Face me if you dare, coward, and reap the sins you have sown.Rage burned in Gens eyes, and flames burst into existence around him, a stark reminder that this Defiled nobody was an Elementally Blessed Warrior that once defeated the bossman himself in single combat. The savage runts pet rat challenges this Sovereign to single combat? Laughing without a smile ever touching his eyes, Gens lip curled into a sneer as he said, I accept.Catching Monk Happys incredulous stare as well as Asmanis doubtful gaze, Jorani cursed himself for ever opening his mouth and brought his weapon to bear. The Heavens asked too much of him, but he supposed it was only fair, as hed come farther and gained more than he ever thought possible, all those years ago when hed been nothing more than a street-rat in Sanshu. Besides, if ever there was a face he wanted to punch, that face would be Gens, and not just because of what he did to the city Jorani grew up in.Some people just had punchable faces, and if Gen claimed to have the second most punchable face, no one would dare claim themselves as first.Chapter Meme
