Warlord Nagisa stood on top of the wall facing east and tried to feel confident in its ability to protect her land and people. Below her, she could see the mass of refugees, setting up camp at her doorstep like unwanted pests. She should have felt some sympathy for them, but she didn’t.
They were parasites, come to drain her province of its precious resources with their greedy mouths. Who knew what diseases they carried that would spread through the population, weakening her army? She had allowed some to enter, but the stream of pathetic, useless meat bags was never ending. Today, she had put an end to it.
At her side, ever present, Nagisa could almost hear Kiatsu’s heart breaking. She was too soft, even after everything she had witnessed in the Warlord’s presence. Hard, unpopular decisions had to be made. Their own people had to come first. “You think me cruel,” Nagisa whispered, half turning to fix her black eyes on the frail young woman. It was not a question, but a statement of fact.
Kiatsu shook her head immediately, sending a ripple through her warm, brown hair. “I think your position forces you to make tough decisions,” she answered in a quiet tone. “I have the luxury of compassion, but you do not.”
“Well said,” Nagisa turned her gaze back to the valley below them. Out of nowhere, her arm twinged painfully. She gritted her teeth together, refusing to show any sign of weakness to the troops stationed on the wall. Aojiko’s healing had allowed her to keep the limb, but every now and again she could still feel the bite of Taoru’s wrath.
Her lip curled upward at the thought of him. She had come so close to adding his strength to her arsenal and yet somehow he had overcome the same power that had bound Aojiko for decades. Absently, she reached up with her good hand and touched the spot where a ruby amulet lay hidden beneath her cuirass. She had taken it from her father’s lifeless corpse when she was barely seventeen and only learned years later the power it possessed.
“We’re done here, Kiatsu. Come.” She spun on her heel and marched along the wall.
Her focus was still in the past, remembering the day she had sat in her father’s study trying to find a solution to a war that was spiraling out of her control. Instead, she found his journals, which he had kept meticulously, and uncovered a wealth of knowledge not just in the inner workings of his complex mind, but in what he had accumulated in ancient tomes as well.
She discovered her father, Onikubo, was fascinated by the Conclave and had spent his life curating an impressive collection of books and artifacts related to them. What had been his hobby soon became her obsession, her lifeline to securing her seat of power and eventually growing her holdings. Had it not been for Tzulan’s prominent rise shifting her priorities, she would have conquered all the western provinces by now.
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When they were in the privacy of the turret stairwell, Nagisa paused and turned to speak with her daughter. She kept her voice down, mindful that they might still be overheard. “You would do well to shed yourself of compassion entirely. In a world of strength and violence, you must not allow feelings to cloud your ability to act. Blind trust and complacency led to my father’s demise and I swore, standing over his corpse, that I would not suffer the same fate.”
Kiatsu frowned up at her, struggling between a desire to apply the lesson and to reconcile such callous thinking with her own gentleness. Had she been born in a different age, the young girl would have been an artist or scholar, but like Nagisa she had the misfortune of living in a darker, harsher world.
“If you are lost at sea and another person is drowning, you do not stop to help them,” Nagisa leaned close, her voice a low, firm growl. “Their panic will doom you both, all because you let your heart dictate your actions. You must approach every situation as though your survival depends on the outcome. Do you understand now?”
“Yes, but—”
Nagisa slammed her good fist into the wall beside Kiatsu’s head, causing the girl to jump. “There are no caveats, Kiatsu!” she snapped, holding up her gnarled hand between them as unspoken proof that her wisdom was not flawed. “There are no exceptions! At this very moment, war is marching toward us! Do you think because you are a woman they will hesitate to defile and kill you? I will not always be here to protect you, girl! Harden yourself or die!”
Kiatsu flinched, her eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. It didn’t matter how many times Nagisa confronted her with the bald truth, her reaction was always the same. The girl simply wasn’t cut from the same cloth and the warlord feared that when the time came, she would crumble beneath the unrelenting onslaught of reality. Perhaps, had Nagisa been able to bear her own children, she would have produced tougher stock. It was a regret, however, that did not deserve her attention.
I should have known Aojiko’s offspring would be weak and spineless. It’s too late now, I’ve invested everything in this pathetic whelp. I’ll have to make do, as I always have.
“You’ll resume your training with Sergeant Bankiro immediately.” Nagisa straightened and continued down the stairs. “You won’t rest until you’ve mastered everything he has to teach you, am I clear?”
She could imagine Kiatsu’s startled expression without having to see it just by the tone of her voice. “Mother, please. Is that really necessary? I don’t think he likes me…”
“That’s irrelevant. You can still learn from him.” Nagisa paused once more, turning to fix her daughter with a stern stare. Immediately, the girl hurried to join her, prompting the warlord to resume her pace. “He is a tough instructor, but that’s what you need; someone to drill the weakness from you.”
Nagisa knew very well she was being overly harsh and she didn’t care. It was only a matter of time before the next unwanted visitors arrived and they would do a lot more than throw moldy food and rocks.