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Chapter 680
🕑 Added 2021-03-01 00:20:28 +0000 UTChttps://docs.google.com/document/d/1z2ghGYFZPs6ng3k7Gk2zMokPHieHCIXdk28defySk8I/edit?usp=sharing
As Chieftain of Chieftains, Vithar’s first obligation was to learn.
Not the reading of books these southlanders put so much stock in, but rather to study and scrutinize his enemies and rivals alike, for there were no allies across tribes. The lesser Chieftains were merely Vithar’s collaborators, heeding his orders until they sensed weakness and sought to take what was his, but he did not intend to give them any chance. This came as second nature to him, having lived this way his entire life until he came to trust Asmani. Now, in her absence, he fell back into old habits while commanding the garos; he slept lightly and never in the same building twice, kept clean food on his person at all times and had others test it for him first, and most importantly, he kept a tight rein on the Ancestors and heeded their advice sparingly, for they saw treachery and bloodshed lurking about every corner.
Even Vithar’s tribesmen could no longer be counted on to guard him, not that he ever put much stock in their loyalty to begin with. Nor did he trust the Uniter’s black-armoured Transcendents or hidden guardian Wraiths to keep him safe, despite how effective they’d been thus far. There was no one Vithar could truly depend on, not anymore, and while he would have once considered this the norm, his reliance on Asmani and time spent in the oasis had lessened him. Weakness could not be tolerated in the Chieftain of Chieftains, so he hardened his resolve and honed his instincts to become the Prime Champion his people deserved.
His people. Not just his tribesmen, but his people, all the tribes of the north who’d survived this long. Numbers beyond the thousands made little sense to him, mere concepts he had nothing to compare against, but having heard how millions of his people had already died just to make it this far left his chest burning with fury and his heart aching for vengeance. To fall in battle against a strong foe was one thing, but these southlanders embraced their weakness rather than reject it. These pitiful men and women were no match for even unblooded children, but instead of accepting their place in the world as prey and victim or striving to improve and adapt, they created contraptions of wood, iron, and tendon to deliver death to Vithar’s tribesmen from afar.
Crossbows, the southlanders called them, wielded by Irregulars who had no place being on the battlefield, yet they accounted for the deaths of too many garos and riders. Every tribe had their tales of Chieftains and Champions falling victim to the hail of bolts raining down from above, many of whom died before even closing in to do glorious battle. An undeserving kill, one dealt by contemptible weaklings, and the worst of it was that there was nothing to be gained. The world lost a warrior, but no Irregulars would rise to replace him, because what could be learned when dealing death from such great distances? If all war were fought in this manner, then the Empire’s weakness would only spread until they were too fragile to withstand the pressure of the world itself, a pitiful end Vithar’s people would never see, for they would have long since been eradicated by these clever cowards.
Feeble through they might be, their tactics were unquestionably effective, so Vithar treated the people of the Empire like the canny adversaries they’d proven themselves to be. While it stung his pride to even consider it, pride had no place when it came to survival, so he led his raids with care and caution aplenty and instructed his under-chieftains to do the same. Unfortunately, few cared enough to remember Vithar’s warnings in the heat of battle, and he lost more riders than he cared to in the initial forays, but this was both blessing and curse. Though the tribes dwindled in numbers, the survivors learned from their failures and harvested new Ancestors from those who fell in battle against the weak southlanders, their dead wisdom added to the collective for the living to make better use of. Vithar himself led a dozen such successful raids, driving his tribesmen over the towering wall and pushing past into the verdant green ‘farmlands’, where they did battle against the enemy hidden behind their smooth, stone walls.
Such was the mindset of prey, to huddle and hide in hopes of escaping death, but this only delayed the inevitable. Even if these weakling were able to drive Vithar back, there would come a day when he caught them outside their walls and then vengeance would be his. Despite the difficulties, he profited much from the raids as his tribesmen came away with prizes aplenty, their packs laden with supplies, materials, and prisoners aplenty.
All the while, Vithar learned from his foes and adjusted to match them, while sharing his knowledge with those under-chieftains capable of making their way back to the West alive after a raid. The patrols moved in timed intervals, so if spotted, split in two groups to ride north and south, allowing at least one half of the raiding party to make it over the wall uncontested. When attacking the forts, spread out on the approach, but target only a single wall, and avoid the gates altogether, for death lurks behind them. Though lacking in sport, the fields and houses were not to be neglected, for enough rodents will fill even the emptiest of bellies. Offer no challenges, for the southlanders would not honour them, and attack or retreat as soon as you are seen, for the enemy catapults had more range than one might otherwise believe.
Those he sent on raids were the least worthy of his people, ones barely in control of their murderous desires accompanied by the unblooded, but even this minor loss was enough to set young Gen to complaining. There was no survival without sacrifice however, and once Vithar realized the powerful young warrior was more concerned about the lost garos than tribesmen, he ordered the tribes to trigger a spawning season and showed the fool just how many eggs could be laid by a single breeding female. That quieted the brat down some, though he did grumble about the time wasted even after Vithar explained that breeding slowed down the entire pack, as the males would lose much of their drive and bloodlust once their desire to mate was sated.
Though he gleaned much from his raids and excursions, Vithar spent the rest of his free time shadowing the Western Warrior Gongsun Qi. This was one southlander who was far from weak, his strength above and beyond what Vithar could even fathom, but it was not strength which drew him to the slender, willowy man, but rather his expertise in large scale command. Though Vithar was now Chieftain of Chieftains, the way things were done under the Uniter’s banner was strange and unfamiliar to him. Rather than task the under-chieftains directly, Gongsun Qi passed his orders to Vithar with little to no instruction on how to carry them out. Attack this district here and burn or bring back the timber stored in their warehouse. Assault the Wall here and hold the patrol in place for at least half an hour, before retreating to the north and west. Sink the ships passing by this place during this time, while capturing whatever prisoners you can. These were the nature of Gongsun Qi’s tasks, and while Vithar was more than capable of completing them all himself, he was unable to travel so quickly to carry them out. Thus, Vithar was forced to do something he loathed with every bone in his body, something that set the Ancestors to screeching every time he did it.
Vithar had to learn how to trust his under-chieftains.
That was the way these southlanders waged war, and it was part of what made them so effective, separate tribes working together towards a single goal. Vithar’s tasks were but a single piece to what Gongsun Qi was trying to achieve, and even now, what that might be was not yet clear to the Chieftain of Chieftains. Asmani might have figured it out by now, but she was always more clever than he, and he’d gotten used to leaving the puzzles for her to solve. Yet another reason why trust was weakness, for her presence made him ignore his own critical flaws and kept him from improving, but so long as he still drew breath, there was always room to improve. Day after day, Vithar listened in on Gongsun Qi’s meetings and studied his maps in order to make sense of the overall situation, collecting all the information he saw and heard without making progress in his efforts to decipher it. The greatest problem was his inability to read, as there was much information stored in the scribbles these southlanders put so much stock in, and he was beginning to see why. Rather than wait for his under-chieftains to return and report, Gongsun Qi gathered information from fast riders bearing sealed messages, allowing him to learn much with minimal delay and adapt his plans as necessary.
Asmani would make much headway with these scribbles, unlike Vithar who struggled to differentiate one from the next, even with the assistance of his near perfect memory. Knowing what the character for ‘death’ looked like did not tell him if the message meant ‘dead’, ‘dying’, or ‘will die’, assuming it was actually the character for death and not something that looked so similar save for a single added stroke or missing dot or something equally minor that could easily be overlooked.
“You be distracted.” Gongsun Qi was a soft-spoken man, but Vithar had long since learned not to mistake this for weakness, for there was none in the iron-eyed Warrior as he tapped the scroll unfurled across his desk. “Not unexpected from a Defiled tribesman, but strive to focus for at least a few minutes so that this Prince might pass along this vital information you require to keep your cavalry alive, oh Chieftain of Chieftains.”
There was a hint of mockery in the man’s slurred drawl, one that would have had the Vithar of old ready to bare blades and draw blood, but he held his temper and stared down the stronger warrior. There was no shame in admitting that he was not Gongsun Qi’s match, but what was true today would not be true tomorrow, for Vithar was young and vital while the older warrior was neither. Giving the scroll yet another look, he deciphered enough of it to have confidence in his conclusion. “There are Death Corps guarding the districts,” he said, brimming with satisfaction at Gongsun Qi’s evident surprise. “The black armoured Warriors who fight to the last. This is a problem, why?”
“So, you can read.” Nodding in approval, the bronzed general turned the scroll towards Vithar and said, “Read this for me.”
“I cannot.” Pointing at the words he recognized, Vithar said, “Death Corps. Two-hundred. Districts.” Looking Gongsun Qi in the eyes, he offered the barest hint of a shrug and said, “The most recent raids have yet to report back. They are lost?”
Still nodding, the southlander signalled at the attendants standing off to the side said, “Arrange a tutor for our Chieftain of Chieftains. Our cooperation will improve by leaps and bounds once he is able to read without assistance.” Seeing Vithar’s scowl, Gongsun Qi said, “This Prince suspects it will not be long before you pick up the skill on your own, but time saved is time earned.”
Grudgingly nodding in acceptance of this shared wisdom, Vithar glanced back at the scroll and said, “So Death Corps at the Districts. Why does this matter? These Death Corps fight well, but they bleed and die like any other.”
“Because now the cost of raiding the districts be more than the returns.” Raising his hand to forestall an argument, the southlander explained, “Even this Prince would not pit two-hundred of his soldiers against two-hundred Death Corps and expect to emerge unscathed, and this be without accounting for the supporting militia.” That was another word for Irregular, as far as Vithar could understand, which made him wonder why these southlanders liked to put so many different labels on the same thing. Cups, mugs, teacups, and bowls, all words for what amounted to a vessel for holding food or water, only one example of such southlander foolishness, but Vithar didn’t care enough to investigate.
“There is benefit to be had.” Never one to give up without a fight, he challenged Gongsun Qi’s decisions whenever he could, for Vithar saw these discussions as a different sort of duel, one of words that might reveal the southlander’s mettle. “Blooding and experience for the younglings who have yet to prove themselves in battle. Teaching my under-chieftains how their enemy thinks and fights. Raiding the towns for prizes and materials. My riders do all this and more.”
“All matters for Chieftains to worry about,” Gongsun Qi countered, and before Vithar could respond to this insult, the general clarified, “And you be Chieftain of Chieftains. You must elevate yourself and your way of thinking, for you command not hundreds, not thousands, but a veritable horde of riders who by and large have sat idle and unused.”
“They are blooded,” Vithar explained, and in his mind, there was nothing more that needed to be said, but he made allowances for the southlander. “The unblooded are... meaningless, unknowns, like many of the words on this scroll, but once blooded, the Ancestors will know their measure and so will their Chieftains. These raids are for lesser tribesmen to prove themselves, so with little wealth to be gained and time spared for indulgence, the others have no reason to join.”
“An interesting concept, this blooding be.” Nodding in comprehension, Gongsun Qi leaned back in his seat and studied Vithar closely, for what seemed like the first time. After taking long enough for Vithar to grow bored enough to entertain the notion of heeding the Ancestors and driving his axe into the southlander’s chest, Gongsun Qi sat up and said, “You understand numbers yes? Two hundred Death Corps is no small force.”
“Yes. My raiding parties are one-hundred to five-hundred riders strong. Two hundred is not many, but not few, meaning the districts will be impossible to take and raze before reinforcements arrive.”
“Yet you asked why their presence mattered.”
A question that was not a question, yet another example of southlander senselessness. “Because our goal is not to take the districts,” he replied. “We raid to bleed our enemy and make them respond, so that we might study, learn, and adapt to how they fight.”
“Oh? And what have you learned?”
Now the southlander was testing him, but Vithar was always up for a challenge. Pointing at the map, he found the midpoints between each Citadel and said, “Here, the enemy is weakest. Their patrols are slow to react and reinforcements delayed in their dispatch, depending on which district my riders attack. This one, seven and five, is defended by soldiers moving from the Northern Citadel, while seven and six is defended by soldiers from Central Citadel. The same change occurs at one-five-zero and one-five-one, but the response from the Southern Citadel is much slower.”
“Anything else?”
“The Southern Cavalry cannot keep pace with my riders.” A good thing too, for they rode powerful beasts with thick, grey hides the southlanders called rhinos and elephants, and even gajashias were no match for either in a direct confrontation. “The Northern Cavalry is most deadly, for I have lost the most riders there. Central Cavalry is inconsistent, sometimes shockingly competent and others so inept I do not know how they still draw breath, much less hold command over warriors.”
“So in your opinion, we should focus our attacks on the south?”
A carefully baited trap, one Vithar saw coming. “Only if we intend to ignore the districts to drive further in land. The southern cavalry cannot keep pace, but even they will eventually catch up if my riders stay in one place. This is no good, for then my people will be cut off and without support. No, the place to break through is the North.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because it offers the biggest prize.” Pointing at yet another marker on the map, Vithar grinned and said, “This place, where the boats gather.”
“SuiHua.”
“Yes. Once we hold this SuiHua, the rest of the southlands will be open to us, and we will no longer be constrained to attacking from a single direction. My tribesmen will scatter in all directions and force the enemy to fight without their walls to defend them.” And no more needed to be said, for Vithar’s people were strong, and the southlanders weak, so the outcome was obvious to all.
“An astute observation,” Gongsun Qi said, before snapping his fingers at his attendant. The submissive southlander hopped to obey despite being a Warrior to be wary of, unfurling another scroll overtop the map which Vithar studied in length. The bulk of the paper drawings rather than characters, one he eventually realized depicted the port itself, with a scattering of words and numbers that he was not all too familiar with. “What say you now?”
Unused to deciphering these sorts of detailed maps, Vithar clarified the details before continuing. “More walls,” he growled, his hatred of the smooth stone fortifications growing by the second. The Northern Wall was so tall there were times when the tops were hidden in the clouds above, and while the Western Wall was much shorter in comparison, SuiHua was almost as well defended as the Citadels themselves. “Your ships, they cannot take it?”
“If they could, this Prince would have already led the attack himself.” Spreading his hands in a gesture Vithar couldn't decipher, Gongsun Qi sighed and sank in his chair. “Our chance to strike was lost when Baatar scuttled Huanhuzi’s fleet, a loss not even this Prince could have foreseen.” Smiling in spite of himself, the southlander added, “I look forward to meeting the man myself, especially after the high praise formidable Akanai gave him. Perhaps this Prince will have yet another peer worth facing, but if not, at least Shuai Jiao has thus far lived up to his stalwart reputation.”
The southlander hungered for a challenge, a sentiment Vithar understood well. A challenge was not the same as sure death, however, which was what awaited them should they try to lay siege to SuiHua, as it would allow armies from the Northern and Central Citadels to encircle the Uniter’s forces and pin them against the sea. If the enemy cared to close in and trade blows, then it would be a proper battle indeed, but Vithar could already see his people dying in droves while the enemy weaklings loosed bolts and lobbed stones from afar. A loathsome method of fighting, but only a fool took on a losing proposition when other choices were available. “Then we strike at Central,” he said, pointing at the Citadel itself. “Have you a map of this too?”
“That, this Prince does,” Gongsun Qi slurred, as if speaking around a mouthful of meat. “But out of curiosity, why has the Chieftain of Chieftain’s chosen the Citadel itself, rather than a weak point along the Wall?”
Again, the southlander tested him, and Vithar’s patience grew short, but he reined in the urge to draw his weapon because he knew how quickly their match would end. “The same reason I care not to run my riders past the districts in the south. If we are to take all these lands for our own, then we must do so with a position of strength to return to, somewhere to rest and take on water before riding out for another hunt.”
“And how would you go about taking the Citadel?”
Having no idea how to conduct a siege besides storming the walls, Vithar growled, “With axe in hand and my tribesmen at my back. The details can wait until after I have seen your map.”
“...Not the worst response this Prince has heard.” Signalling the attendants once more, Gongsun Qi said, “The Chieftain of Chieftains will no longer require a tutor. When young Gen handed command over to you, this Prince thought it the lark of a fool, but it seems he was wrong for you show much promise. You are a Defiled tribesman, uncultured and savage, but I sense in you a Chosen of Heaven like myself. A gem such as this is too tempting a prospect to hand over to another. What might you be once polished and cut?”
Vithar didn’t entirely understand what the southlander was saying, but the man’s hungry gaze gave him pause as did his mention of temptation. “I will not lay beneath you,” he said, directly refusing his advances. “And I will bleed you if you try.”
“...You mistake this Prince.” Eyes heating with anger, Gongsun Qi’s barely restrained violence set off alarms in Vithar’s head as the Ancestors urged him to attack before being attacked, but then the southlander breathed deep and all threat disappeared. “No, this Prince means to teach you myself, both in characters and the art of war, for the Chosen be sorely lacking in capable commanders.” Springing to his feet faster than Vithar could track, Gongsun Qi moved to leave and gestured for him to follow. “Come. The map and further discussion can wait, for this Prince would see if his promising new student might also be promising as a Disciple, and then we will inspect the Chosen to see which of them needs blooding.”
“...Disciple? This means to teach me to fight?” Scoffing, Vithar sneered and said, “The Ancestors teach me all I need to know.”
The change in Gongsun Qi happened so suddenly Vithar didn’t even remember drawing his axe, but there it was in his hands, clenched so tightly the bone spurs dug deep into his flesh. “This Prince will make allowances for ignorance,” he began, speaking even slower than usual. “But his patience is not without limit. You know not the heights of Heaven, and your ‘Ancestors’ care not for your strength, only your survival and suffering.” As he raised his hand, Vithar readied to defend himself against an attack, but Gongsun Qi merely beckoned for him to follow. “Come. Let us first spar and determine if you are worth teaching, and only then will this Prince waste his breath convincing you.”
The Ancestors warned him of treachery and deceit, but he knew the southlanders put much stock in their Mentor-Disciple bonds, as evidenced by young Hideo’s discussion with his Mentor on the battlefield. What’s more, he himself sensed he was stronger than before thanks to the ‘pure, unsullied Energy of the Heavens’ Gen shared with him, but he knew not how to apply it in battle. He was physically stronger, true, but he sensed there was more to his power than the Ancestors cared to say, so perhaps Gongsun Qi would have the answers he so desired.
Vithar had already sacrificed so much for strength, leaving Asmani and their unborn child behind, so what harm was there in pretending to be the Disciple of a powerful fool?
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Cloaked in Concealment and awaiting the darkness of night, Hideo’s back itched to feel the sting of his lash, but circumstances dictated his penance would have to wait.
For today, he set out to inflict penance upon those who wronged him.
The Empire was at fault, but how was one supposed to punish an Empire? Overturning it would do, but this was an undertaking that would be measured in months, if not years of blood and effort, for the Imperial Clan would not fall without a fight. Victory was inevitable, for the Heavens themselves were upon Hideo’s side and he would bestow calamity upon the Empire itself. First though, he would have to progress along his Path, the path to the salvation he so desperately craved. Even after so many months of penance and reflection, it still pained him to remember Grand-Uncle Juichi’s broken expression when Hideo revealed himself on the field of battle. That was supposed to be his crowning moment of glory, his first step towards righting the injustices of the Imperial Clan, a rallying cry for all like minded Warriors to break free from their shackles and join him in his crusade against the Dog Emperor.
Instead, it became one of his most painful memories. Not more painful than watching his father die or when he ate Eri-hime alive, but not as far as one might think. All his life, Hideo wanted nothing more than to earn his heroic Great-Uncle’s approval, and he never realized how much that meant to him until after he lost it.
“Hold to the Razor’s edge,” Monk Eyebrows whispered, and Hideo reined in his grief and despair. “Reflect on your emotions and contain them, but do not let them affect you. Only then will they be ready for use when you require them at a moment’s notice.”
Though spoken in the softest of murmurs, Hideo knew others could hear and bear witness to his shame, but Monk Eyebrows would simply call it fuel for the flames of emotion. This was all a part of Hideo’s training, to strengthen his lacking will the same way the beatings strengthened his body, but unlike the wounds of his flesh which healed without scars, the damage to his mind and soul was not so easily mended. Not because the Heavens refused to Heal him, but because he kept picking at his wounds and refusing to leave them be, when instead he should immerse himself in the pain without allowing himself to be influenced by it.
Yet despite knowing this and striving to adhere to it, a small part of Hideo’s mind simply refused to let things lie.
“Emptiness is not Balance,” the voice told him, and Hideo could not help but agree. “This is a Path, but not your Path, not the right Noble Eight-Fold Path, for this is not the Right View. You know this, so why do you persist?”
Because he had nothing else left to him. Only the Brotherhood would accept him now, for he was neither an Imperial Citizen or Defiled Chosen, but something neither side could accept. Taking a detour was better than ambling about without direction or guidance, so Hideo would follow this Path until he could see more of what lay before him. It was only pragmatic.
“Fear controls you,” the voice whispered, and again, Hideo agreed.
“Only a fool rushes in without information.”
A statement spoken by a different voice, one Hideo knew well, for it was Grand-Uncle Juichi who said it. It was in reference to military strategy and the significance of scouting, but it applied to everything in life. Knowledge was power, and Hideo would be foolish to turn down the knowledge offered to him by the Brotherhood and Monk Eyebrows. That was why he was here pursuing his vengeance, because without indulging his wrath and fury, how could he ever understand the significance of letting it go? It was as laughable as a child moaning about hard work after playing in the courtyard all day, for the child knew nothing of hard work. If Hideo had never lost control and eaten Eri-Hime, he would never have known just how satisfying her tender meat and shrill screams could be, so there would be no meaning in abstaining from the consumption of human flesh.
The thought sent a pang of hunger coursing through his body, a cold chill running down his spine as he yearned for the taste of hot blood, but he mentally chanted the Sutras and contained his desires as instructed. The voices all quieted as he teetered upon the Razor’s Edge and familiarized himself with this most unstable of Paths, but the greater the risk, the greater the reward, and Hideo was destined for great things.
That was why he was here in fact, surrounded by the thousand Chosen Elites he’d hand-picked for the core of his retinue. It all started when Gen marched into the Brotherhood’s compound in ShiBei and said, “You will lead a raid across the Wall, and attack District Seventy-Eight.” Hideo’s first instinct was to refuse, and no doubt Monk Eyebrows would have as well, if Gen had not added, “There, you will capture and interrogate Imperial Consort Zheng Luo so that we might uncover Falling Rain’s hidden whearabouts.”
Now, there was no possible way for Hideo to refuse, for beauty Zheng Luo was the catalyst which sent him careening off of his previous Path. His infatuation with her was what brought him here, and unless he overcame it, he would never progress along his new Path, which meant it was vital he connected with her once more. Even he wasn’t sure what he would do once he had her in his hands, whether he would conquer her with force and power, win her over with kindness and sincerity, or sever all ties with her and dine upon her flesh. All three were equally possible, and there were many other scenarios which were only marginally less likely, but regardless of the outcome, he knew he had to find her.
Of course, Hideo was not so foolish as to run off at the mere mention of a woman, especially not at Gen’s bidding. “Just because your Wraiths and blood compasses cannot find him,” Hideo began, eyes still closed as to insult the rude, uninvited peasant with delusions of grandeur, “Does not mean Falling Rain is not in the Northern Citadel. That is his base of power where his strongest allies are situated, so if he is injured and recovering, he would be a fool to do so elsewhere.”
“And our foe is most certainly a fool,” Gen replied, his tone taking on a shade of displeasure, “Else he would have long since realized the folly of his ways and come to join this Sovereign’s cause. Little worm struggles to delay the inevitable, and talented though he might be, even the greatest of talents require time to grow, time we cannot allow.”
Hideo’s eyes snapped open at this declaration, for Gen’s nervous unease was plain to hear. Why worry so much over Falling Rain, even if he was Legate of the Outer Provinces? How much sway could one slave have over the outcome of the war? Reading Hideo’s concerns as easily as a skilled diplomat might, Gen puffed up and sneered in disdain. “The worm is nothing and no one on his own, but a potent threat if properly harnessed, one this Sovereign means to have in hand before our foes realize his true value. It may even be too late, for there are only a handful of powers capable of hiding the worm from this Sovereign’s sight, all of whom must be approached with the utmost of care. Wherever he is, it is not in the Northern Citadel, else the Death Corps would never have allowed themselves to be spread across the Districts. They know their ward is beyond their reach, so they follow the Songstress’s orders without question, and in doing so reveals the worm’s absence.” Taking a moment to study Hideo, Gen cocked his head at Monk Eyebrows and said, “This one has yet to deal with the parasite, as you claimed he would.”
“And he will. In time.” Ignoring Hideo’s questioning gaze, Monk Eyebrows’ hands formed the mudra of restraint as he conversed with Gen through Sending, no doubt irked that Hideo had even heard this much. What parasite, and how was he supposed to deal with it? There were no answers to be had, not from Gen or Monk Eyebrows, and after long, silent minutes of Sent debate, Gen grinned and clapped his metallic hands, which set them to ringing in dissonant chimes. “Let him make the decision then,” he said, and though Monk Eyebrows clearly disapproved, he didn’t stop Gen from approaching with a single outstretched hand. The dissonance grated harshly in Hideo’s ears, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Gen’s upturned palm, his clawed talons stretched up and cupped around something without form, but with plenty of presence. “You feel this, yes?” he asked, his words taking on a hypnotic cant, one delivered by Chi and Aura. “Pure, unsullied Energy of the Heavens, severed and forfeited by our enemy’s own hand, processed by this Sovereign to do as he pleases. This is yours, if you so desire it, a taste of what awaits you should you keep to the razor’s edge.”
“Why do you seek strength?” Monk Eyebrows asked, his voice drawing Hideo’s stare away from the invisible energy pulsating in Gen’s hands. Impassive and unreadable was how he would describe the monk’s expression, but there was a gravity to his words which Hideo could not ignore, and he considered the question carefully as he always did.
One needed a goal in order to forge a Path, and this question lay at the basis of every Martial Warrior’s decision. The answer changed often as the individual discovered more about themselves and their path, but few as drastically as Hideo’s had. As a child, he sought strength for recognition, then later, for approval and renown. Then, he sought strength for vengeance, then absolution, and while he still hungered for both, he now knew the right answer to this question which had plagued him for so long. “I seek strength,” he began, his words resonating with faith and conviction, “So that none might stand above me.”
“Then you have your Path.” Nodding in acknowledgement, Monk Eyebrows offered no hint of approval or reproach as he sat in witness of Hideo’s decision. “A conqueror’s Path, one with no end in sight, but one you intend to walk nonetheless.”
A Path that would be much easier with the power Gen offered. Hideo would be foolish to turn it down, right?
“You would be a fool to accept,” a voice whispered, one Hideo tried his best to ignore, “Without first considering the price.”
The price was simple enough. Gen needed allies strong enough to stand against the Empire, and Hideo was a talent worth nurturing. This power was likely a gift from the Uniter, and the answer to how Gen progressed so quickly along the Martial Path, so of course Hideo would surpass the peasant if given the same resources. Reaching out with his Domain, he snatched up the power in Gen’s hand and felt it swell up inside him, filling him with both strength and Insight which he sat down to process. Even now, days later while seated at the border between West and Central, Hideo was still busy processing the Energy of the Heavens and basking in the strength it provided. Monk Eyebrows had guided him through it and hinted that there was more for the taking, but Hideo was unable to understand just what the monk was talking about or how he was supposed to seize this power. The ‘parasite’, no doubt, but what parasite? There were no marks on Hideo’s body besides those left by his own flail, and though he only had a rudimentary knowledge of human anatomy, he was unable to find any physical anomalies inside his flesh, blood, or bone.
No matter. He would deal with the parasite in time, once he finished processing the Uniter’s gift. A mysterious man, the leader of the Chosen, one Hideo had yet to meet in person, but Wisdom Vyakhya spoke highly of him, in those rare moments the old monk was around.
“Come.” At Monk Eyebrow’s signal, Hideo came out of his meditative trance and surged to his feet, for time was of the essence now. They only had a small window of opportunity to slip past the Wall unnoticed, though the details of how such a window had been arranged was beyond Hideo’s understanding. How a thousand troops and gajashia’s could go unnoticed, Hideo could not say, but he did not take for granted that they would. Even as his troops locked their ramps in place and led their mounts across, he kept a close watch on his surroundings using more than his eyes alone. One with the World, his senses informed him of every loose stone and crooked nail in his immediate area, flooding him with so much information he struggled to process it all. No, not just struggled, but failed to process, his mind overwhelmed by the multitude of facts surging through his thoughts.
A hand-print against the battlement. Someone stopped to lean there, leaving traces of sauce indicating they’d recently eaten barbecued pork.
Dust was gathering in one corner. No one checked it recently, making it the perfect hiding spot for a Concealed assailant.
A trail of cracked shells, left by an insubordinate soldier, snacking while out on patrol and likely paying no attention to his surroundings.
Ashes. More lacking discipline, this time stemming from the top, as only an Officer would be so bold as to openly smoke opiates on duty.
There was enough evidence to surmise that someone intended for this foolish officer to eventually take the blame for Hideo’s attack, but who? Powerful and knowledgeable as he might be, there was no way the Uniter could have arranged this, and no one in power would believe that a single patrol, no matter how incompetently managed, could have possibly allowed for a thousand enemy cavalry to slip by unnoticed. As Disciple to a Colonel General, he knew more than most of how Divinities fit into the Imperial Army’s plans, so he was certain there was at least one Divinity patrolling this stretch of the Wall and watching for Concealed crossings.
Which either meant the Empire had a traitor in their ranks, or a free-holding Divinity was willing to look the other way in return for some benefit.
Having progressed by leaps and bounds due to the Uniter’s gift, Hideo knew full well that something like this would be enough to tempt a Divinity, for who would crave pure Heavenly Energy more than those closest to wielding it? Having been given a small taste, Hideo already craved more, but he had no idea how to get more, while Divinities would at least have some notion of how to proceed. To them, the Uniter’s gift would be like a sip of water to a man dying of thirst beside an unreachable oasis, a tempting prospect few could refuse out of hand. Giving such a gift had its drawbacks, since it risked knowledge of the Uniter’s wealth getting out and spurring the Imperial Clan to direct action, as there were few treasures more tempting than Heavenly Energy itself. Hideo barely even knew how it benefited him, but he knew enough to rank it as a priceless treasure, and the Imperial Clan no doubt knew even more. No matter. This was something for the Uniter to consider, as Hideo intended to clash with the Imperial Clan eventually. Today, tomorrow, or ten years from now, their conflict was inevitable, so he welcomed the trials and tribulations ahead.
“A flower in a walled garden will never experience the hardships of the wild.” Yet another of Grand-Uncle Juichi’s favoured idioms, used to defend his neglect of Hideo’s training.
“Your Grand-Uncle loves you too much to neglect you,” the voice said, and Hideo hated hearing the ring of truth in its words. “Your pride tells you it was talent which allowed you to become one of the Hwarang, but you know this is not true.”
Indeed. Even if Grand-Uncle Juichi’s guidance was admittedly lacking, Hideo would never have made it into the Hwarang without his assistance. Face and reputation alone were factors enough to weed out the majority of would-be challengers, and Hideo always had the benefit of countless skilled sparring partners to test his skills against. Then there was the matter of Grand-Uncle Juichi’s personal journals, which he shared with Hideo after he uncovered the secret of the Mountain Collapsing Stomp on his own, as well countless other benefits Hideo would be hard pressed to list simply because there were too many to remember. If not for the Mitsue family name, Hideo would not be the rising dragon he was today, and to deny this was to deny the steps he’d already taken to get this far along his Path.
And yet deny it he would, because it hurt too much to acknowledge the truth.
Rage warred with regret within and he lost hold of Balance, and in his frustration, he unleashed his ire upon the world around him. It was no different from a child’s tantrum, only instead of clenching his hands and stomping his feet, he sent his Chi barrelling out into the world around him, infused with all his unwanted emotions.
And in doing so, he discovered the Concealed Divinity.
Aura overwhelmed him in an instant and squeezed the breath from his lungs, and for a moment, he saw his death, but then Monk Eyebrows stepped in and the pressure abated, if only enough for Hideo to breathe. Bowing towards the same dusty corner he’d noticed and ignored, Monk Eyebrows whispered, “Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo. This monk has no eyes or ears, and he sees and hears nothing. Same too with this monk’s Disciple, blind as a newborn and equally as ignorant.”
No response was forthcoming, but Monk Eyebrows straightened up and carried Hideo away with a Cloud-Step, leaving his retinue to recover from the ordeal and catch up on foot. For long minutes, they stood upon the fields of Central in utter silence as Hideo tried to come to terms with what he just experienced, reflecting on his memories and trying to understand how it all played out. Monk Eyebrows said nothing, but he offered silent encouragement as Hideo wrestled with his thoughts, right up until his retinue caught up and they set out towards their targeted district.
And then there was little time left for introspection, for Hideo had a job to do.
His scouts set out and returned with detailed information regarding the district’s defences. Much of it was already known or expected, but the more information he had to work with, the less his foes could use to surprise him. There were two-hundred Death Corps Guards stationed in the district, but only forty on active duty at any time, split into eight groups of five as they patrolled the walls. Five shifts, with one on duty, one on reserve, and three resting at all times, an arrangement which stretched the small garrison to its utmost limits. There were commoners on patrol as well, but Hideo paid them no mind. They were effective when already in formation with their crossbows in hand, but in a surprise night raid, they would be as useful as chickens running underfoot and killed just as easily. That being said, there were more Death Corps guards than just the garrison, as well as a sizable contingent of Royal Guardians to boot, all to protect fair Zheng Luo, or more likely, keep her from fleeing from her unworthy husband.
Yes, that was probably it. Even though Falling Rain had no doubt sullied her fair flesh and ravaged her to his hateful heart’s content, she no doubt yearned to escape him. He could only imagine how thrilled she would be when he offered her a chance at true freedom and promised to overlook her past indiscretions by taking her as his wife. No, that wouldn’t do, taking a sullied woman as his first wife, but she deserved to be more than a mere concubine, so Hideo decided she would do for a third... no, a fifth wife, which was admittedly a low position, but still higher than a concubine’s lot. Besides, this was merely for the sake of face, as Hideo had no intention of loving any woman more than he loved Zheng Luo, and he would make it clear to her by periodically killing his first through fourth wives and replacing them whenever he grew bored.
A perfect solution.
“Only if you see her as a prize to display, but she is a real person, with real feelings,” the damnable voice said. “You ever see your father treat your mother like that? Why do you never think about her?”
Because she was still alive and Hideo had yet to see her disappointment, which meant he still had hope. Perhaps she still loved him and was willing to forgive him, or maybe she would reject and denounce him, a prospect which hurt more than any whip or lash ever could.
Focus. There was a wife to be wooed and a war to be won here. He’d bring Luo-Luo to meet his mother as soon as everything was settled and not a moment before, because he could not afford the distraction. The eastern wall would be Hideo’s best bet, as it was closest to Zheng Luo’s borrowed manor, but this meant he would either have to retreat east and give up positioning around the district to his foes, or fight his way out towards the west. Neither prospect was enticing, but the main gates were to the west and filled with traps aplenty. Hideo had no desire to throw himself into his enemy’s net, so east it was, meaning he would have to slaughter all opposition before leaving to prevent word of his attack from getting out ahead of his escape. Circling around the district under the cover of darkness, he kept three kilometres between himself and the walls so as to avoid even the slim chance of being spotted, and he made his approach slowly. A calculated risk, but one worth taking, especially as the enemy would not be expecting an attack from this direction. The distance closed metre by arduous metre until they walls were a mere stone’s throw away, at which point he raised his mace and signalled the charge.
The thunder of hooves raised shouts of alarm as he sought the Razor’s edge once more, his Domain billowing out into the night air. The same ramps his troops used to traverse over the Western Wall served them just as well here, allowing his retinue to swarm into the district and cut down all who stood in their path. Howling in unrestrained glee, he smashed his dark-armoured foe into an unrecognizable mass and kept his Chosen on task, making short work of the defenders before charging into the district proper. Unchallenged, he rode for the manor which was little more than a hovel in his eyes and stopped short as he sensed the Warriors waiting within, more Death Corps guards waiting with halberds at the ready.
No matter, for he was Mitsue Hideo, Chosen of Heaven, and he was here to claim his bride.
Gathering all his pent up rage and frustration, he hefted his right mace and unleashed a Mountain Collapsing strike on the iron-reinforced gates. A few days ago, this would have shattered the door and opened up a hole large enough for him to stride through, but the Uniter’s gift had given him the Insight needed to utilize his Domain in more creative ways. Rather than focus the strength of his strike on the point of impact, he spread his Domain out to cover the entirety of the gate so that the force of his blow was evenly distributed across it. Thus, instead of shattering into splinters, the entire gate flew off its hinges and into the ranks of waiting Royal Guardians. None were injured by the projectile, but dodging it disrupted their formation, and Hideo took full advantage of their disorder to charge in and lay waste to their ranks.
Laying into the courtyard with a righteous fury, he delivered death to his foes with Reverberating blows that pulped their organs on contact. It didn’t matter if they blocked or took the blow on armour, for Hideo’s attacks were more than just physical might or Chi-infused power, but imbued with the Energy of the Heavens themselves. A single touch was all it took to kill his foes, his Amplified Reverberations travelling through their armour and impacting directly against to their soft innards to explode their organs from within. Weapons humming with this newly discovered skill, he smashed through the Death Corps line to engage the Royal Guardians behind them. Imperial Warriors of renown who protected the Emperor Himself, they moved with speed and grace Hideo could not hope to match, but he responded with sheer power and emerged on top. None could stand against him as they threw themselves in his path, not here, not tonight, for this was his Path, his fate, his destiny at work, one that would see him with his true love, Zheng Luo.
A shrill whistling chime was all the warning he had, and he barely got his maces in place to block the blow aimed at his head. Though weak in force, the glancing impact left him rattled and shaking as a subtle Resonance travelled down his weapons and penetrated down to his bones, similar to what he utilized against his foes here, but less overbearing and more subtle in its attack. One strike was nothing, but he sensed that repeated blows would leave his nerves frayed and muscles too tense to even hold his weapons, meaning this was a Warrior he could not afford to leave unchecked.
Except how could he bear to raise his hand against his beautiful, beloved wife?
Clad only in a light shift that clung to her curvaceous frame, Zheng Luo stood behind her Royal Guardians with her flail in hand, the chain already whipping about for a second strike aimed at Hideo’s head. Blocking the second strike, he felt the Reverberations travel down to his gut and threaten to unleash all that was contained within, a most humiliating display if it should come to pass, and his patience for his future wife wore thin. How dare she disrespect her husband this way, especially after all the concessions he made to have her in his life? Just because he loved her did not mean he would tolerate her impertinence, so he would be sure to teach her a proper lesson and put her in her place.
“The Razor’s Edge,” Monk Eyebrows Sent.
“Balance,” the hateful voice insisted.
Hideo ignored them both and gave into his lust and desire, howling as he launched himself at his woman. He saw the fear and alarm in her eyes, and it only stoked the flames of his passion. He would taste her tonight, in every way possible, but he would keep her alive, for it would be a waste to be done with her so quickly. That was truly his greatest regret, killing Eri-Hime after a single night of passion. She would have so loved Zheng Luo and they could have kept one another company, but the rice was cooked so Hideo would have to be more careful this time around. He intended to keep Zheng Luo by his side until their hair turned white with old age, which meant he could not be too rough with her on their first night, not if he wanted to enjoy her more than once. Such was life, trials and tribulations, but he was more than confident he had the discipline to keep her alive.
And if not? Well, she was merely a prize to be had, so nothing of value would really be lost.
Released in 2 parts, so to read comments on second half, see here, https://www.patreon.com/posts/chapter-680-pt-2-48213805
Comments
Thenais
Poor ntr’d vithar
Stockmar
I also like his pov, and the fact that he has a 'clear' mind
Diplodicus
Great Vithar bit! The more I read his PoV the more dangerous I feel he is becoming...
