Once the plans were in place, everything moved very quickly. Jiaguo’s military doctrine was adapted from Goryeo, with a focus on small elite groups and a tight command structure. Hayakawa Kaede was the Grand General of the entire army—if it could even be called one.
Jiaguo’s entire population was still fewer than a thousand people, while Yamato and Qin were both capable of fielding tens or even hundreds of thousands of soldiers. Qin’s armies were mostly mortals, with only high ranking commanders as cultivators. Xiantian cultivators were reserved for strategic assaults against key targets, or appointed to lead multiple armies in large-scale campaigns. It had been centuries since the last war of such a scale—unless one counted the attack on the demonic enclave, but that had been an exception rather than the rule. Elite forces like the demon hunters weren’t typically deployed in such numbers.
By comparison, Yamato’s armies were closer to seventy percent martial artists, though the vast majority of those would only be first stage. Still, ten thousand cultivators—even weak ones—could hold their own against ten times the number of mortals or more. That was how Yamato had held its own against Qin for so long.
By comparison, Jiaguo’s paltry hundreds were an almost laughably pathetic showing. Goryeo’s armies were small, but not that small, and they were trained to fight from behind extremely powerful defensive formations, which served as incredible force multipliers.
Jiaguo also had very little time to train. Shogun Hayakawa was likely going to realize something was amiss sooner or later, and Ienaga’s plan required them to act first. The lack of training was exacerbated by the fact that over half the army were demons.
Yoshika could only hope that the small size of the army and strict command structure would be enough to mitigate the lack of training.
If there was one thing that Jiaguo could boast about, it was the individual power level of their soldiers. Not a single combatant was below the second stage, and even the support and logistics corps were cultivators across the board. Yoshika took Pan Zixin’s arguments to heart—it was the cultivator’s duty to protect the mortal population, not the other way around.
That was the key change from Goryeo’s defensive tactics. Jiaguo did not plan to fight any extended defensive battles. They would favor a swift, brutal, and efficient attack on enemy command structures. Diving into the heart of the army and cutting off the head.
The greatest downside to this strategy was that their enemies would be expecting it. It was the only way such a small force could handle larger armies, and Yamato officers were accustomed to both defending against such tactics, and executing them against Qin invaders.
If Jiaguo was fighting the war alone, it would be completely hopeless.
But they weren’t alone.
Lord Ienaga was a critical ally as well as a shrewd strategist.
“You’ll be flying Hayakawa’s banner on your approach from the north. You’re not attacking, you’re collecting your levy. A few vassals will resist, but you’ll be surprised how many just go along with it.”
Kaede frowned. She’d been working with Ienaga on the strategy all night, but that part was still hazy to her.
“Surely my father will have prepared for something like that.”
“As much as he could, certainly. But we’ll be working to grant you as much legitimacy as possible. On our end, I’ll manufacture a border incident to stir up some trouble. Not enough for a full blown war, but it will give you a reason to be collecting soldiers to move south.”
“But they’ll realize it’s a false flag eventually.”
He shook his head.
“They won’t, because it isn’t. Granted, this would never work if you were someone else entirely, but you are Hayakawa Kaede. The flag is yours. Your authority over them is real.”
“But what happens when the soldiers realize that they are acting against the Shogun?”
“Heh. Spoken like someone who’s never had to repel a rebellion before. Soldiers are simple. They take orders, they follow orders. Today the commander says we fight for the Shogun, tomorrow the commander says we fight the Shogun. It makes no difference to the footsoldier.”
Kaede blinked.
“Is it really that simple?”
“No, of course not. There will be mutinies, naturally. But for the most part, once they’re under your banner, they’ll stay there—as long as you can convince their commanders.”
“It still sounds risky, especially when we won’t even have much of an army to speak of when we start.”
Ienaga laughed, giving her a fierce grin.
“It is risky. Everything about this is risky, but you took on that risk the moment you declared your nation. Still, we can fix that last problem. Start your campaign with Noguchi. He’s furthest from Hayakawa, he’s met you before, and he’s an incompetent coward. He’ll join you, if only to save face over the fact that you poached an entire village along with its kami-touched guardian.”
“I’ve never heard that term before, ‘kami-touched.’”
“Most haven’t. Lady Tennin’s kind are rare and often short-lived. She’s the only living one I know of. They were once our greatest weapon against Qin, but that was long before my time. Our channelers are the result of onmyouji attempting to recreate such tennin by force. It doesn’t work, but the result is similar—a potent, but short-lived weapon against powerful foes.”
Kaede sighed. Her father’s teachings had focused almost entirely on martial and political matters. He had a quiet disdain for Yamato’s priests, and largely eschewed the use of channelers and onmyouji. That left a frustrating gap in her knowledge of Yamato—her own country.
“Should I be concerned about enemy priests?”
“Not in the beginning. Priests are too valuable to waste on petty skirmishes and power struggles. Once our forces meet and our armies merge, however—expect things to escalate.”
And so it went. The plan was for Jiaguo to push south, collecting confused soldiers and fighting off the vassals that remained loyal to her father. Meanwhile Ienaga would cause a distraction in his lands until they had control of a contiguous stretch of land between Jiaguo and Ienaga.
By then, Shogun Hayakawa would have had time to react, and they’d need to adjust their strategy based on his actions. Tentatively, the plan was to challenge the shogun for control of the clan, with Ienaga being the first to support Kaede’s claim.
Any lords she’d tricked into following her would likely follow suit, while those who didn’t would need to be dealt with.
There were so many what-ifs and unknowns, but it was the best they had. Jiaguo’s first major hurdle as a nation was proving to be an extremely difficult one—and they hadn’t even started yet.
----------------------------------------
Amidst all the hustle and bustle, Yoshika rarely found time to cultivate. She privately wondered whether the major bottlenecks people experienced in the xiantian stages were simply the result of the mountain of responsibility they were inevitably buried under, or if it was just her.
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Of course, the truth was that she was always cultivating to some degree or another. She had five bodies, four minds, and a core that was permanently connected to the most powerful source of essence in the world—possibly the universe. Yoshika couldn’t not be cultivating.
But the times when she could rest all of her aspects and just focus on herself were truly precious.
Naturally, then, it was during one such rare moment of peace that Void decided to pay her a visit. One moment she was alone, meditating quietly in an empty room, the next the room grew somehow emptier, and she felt a presence that was simultaneously distant yet all-encompassing.
Yoshika’s spirit form cracked one eye open, though there was nothing to look at, and frowned.
“Are you the only Void elemental, or are there others? It feels strange to just call you by your element.”
Void’s response came as a form of telepathy. Thoughts shared directly, but carefully refined into words that could be left to her interpretation.
My kind do not usually speak with words. I am myself, and that identity is sufficient for communication.
“So what should I call you, then?”
You may continue to call me Void, if you wish. However, if you are open to communicating as my kind does, then I am—
Yoshika was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of vast and endless emptiness. An infinite void of stillness from which all things came and to which all things would return.
She blinked a few times, her face slowly twisting into a grimace.
“I think I’ll just stick to Void.”
As you like.
“Your telepathy feels different from Iseul’s, by the way. More like a spirit’s communication than an elemental’s.”
As you are already aware, no living thing is without a soul. My people and those you call spirits communicate in the same way. It is the content, not the method, which differs. Spirits speak interpretation without fact, elementals speak fact without interpretation.
She thought it was something like that, but seeing Iseul and Heian try to talk to each other early on had made it seem almost impossible. Void being something akin to an elemental spirit also lined up with what she understood about godly domains. It wasn’t just an elemental composed of Void essence, it was the spirit of all Void essence throughout existence.
“You never did answer my original question, but I think I figured it out on my own. It’s both, right? There are other void elementals, but they are still you. All Void essence anywhere is part of you.”
That is partly correct. Though much of it is distant and unreachable. I can no more control the Void essence which forms elementals, or that which you channel through your techniques than you can control the flow of blood through your body.
“I see. Are all your lessons going to be so...roundabout?”
No. I merely sought to answer your question in a way which would allow you to reach your own understanding while also leading into the true subject I wish to impart. My existence, as you understand it, is the highest form of what those in the divine realm call ‘High Gods.’
Yoshika nodded.
“Sovereign Chou’s vestige explained some of that to me before. There are regular minor deities—the ones who have just freshly ascended from mortal worlds—then two kinds of major deities. Sovereigns are deities that preside over mortal worlds, integrating those worlds into themselves as part of their cultivation. I’m not sure, but I’m guessing that they both draw power from and provide power to those worlds in a sort of symbiotic cycle, right?”
Yes. Though the relationship is not always so even. Many sovereigns take more than they give.
“I can only imagine. I’m a little less clear on High Gods, though. It sounds to me like they focus on a more individual approach, refining their own domains to the absolute limits.”
Essentially correct. At its peak, a High God fully encompasses their domain in all its forms and throughout existence, enshrining themselves eternally as immutable forces of nature.
“So you’re an immutable force of nature, then?”
Yes. My existence is irrevocably entwined with all of reality. I cannot be destroyed.
That was a hell of a statement to make. Yoshika believed it, though. The more she learned about Void, the more overwhelmingly powerful it seemed to be.
“Are there others like you? Unkillable forces of nature that just exist throughout the universe?”
Not that I am aware of. I believe that their existence is inevitable, but there was emptiness long before there was anything else. I had a head start.
“It sounds like High Gods are way more powerful than Sovereigns, then. But my understanding is the opposite. It’s the Sovereigns that control the divine realm, and High Gods are looked down on.”
That is true. The path of the High God is slow and challenging, while Sovereigns accelerate their growth with each new world they encompass.
Yoshika furrowed her brows.
“Wait, hold on. Sovereigns have multiple worlds?”
Most do, eventually, yes. The Bloody Sovereign was an exception—hosting only a single barren world within him. His growth was fueled instead by the artifact which you inherited.
Something that had been bugging Yoshika for a long time finally fell into place. Sovereigns were immensely powerful beings, hosting entire worlds within them to fuel their cultivation. Apparently, multiple worlds.
The Sovereign’s Tear was powerful, but its ability to provide essence to an entire world didn’t seem so special on such a scale. A unique tool, and clearly a key source of power for Sovereign Chou, but Yoshika hadn’t been able to understand why the divine realm had fought devastating wars over it.
Yet the most powerful cultivator ever to grace the divine realm was a Sovereign without any worlds to fuel him. Only the Tear.
“Void, what does the peak of Sovereignty look like? The equivalent to you, but as a Sovereign.”
None have ever reached such heights. The Bloody Sovereign was understood to have reached his peak, and his ability to exert his power on the world was far greater than my own. Yet he was not so different from his rivals—those who now pursue you.
Yoshika paused to think about everything Void had told her. It was trying to teach her, but like Qin Zhao it seemed to prefer offering explanations and then waiting for her to form her own conclusions.
Sovereigns accumulated power quickly. Mortal worlds were enormous sources of energy, and could even provide a deity with more essence than they invested into it. The Sovereign’s Tear was capable of providing far more than what she’d been getting out of it. Even though she’d had to desperately scramble to expand her meridians enough to handle the flood of power constantly gushing from the artifact, she’d barely scratched the surface of what it could do.
The Sovereigns of the divine realm wanted the artifact so desperately because it was a shortcut to power. The equivalent of an entire world—maybe even hundreds of worlds.
And yet, the greatest among them, even with the tear, had hit a plateau. Chou, the Bloody Sovereign, had accumulated power to the absolute limit of what was possible and found it wanting.
“Are you suggesting that I should give up on the path of the Sovereign? It’s a shortcut, but it leads to a dead end.”
No. Power is important, and the ability to accumulate power as a sovereign cannot be underestimated. You will need that power soon enough.
Of course. Cultivation was more than just the accumulation of power, and defining one’s success based on their ability to overpower others was inherently flawed. But Yoshika still needed power—to protect herself and her loved ones. It was just that power could never be the point.
“They aren’t mutually exclusive, are they? High Gods focus on refining their domains, Sovereigns focus on accumulating power. Both paths have a limit to what they can accomplish on their own.”
I do not believe they are. A weak domain can only accumulate so much power, but without power, one’s domain cannot grow stronger.
Yoshika nodded.
“That makes a lot of sense, but it also doesn’t feel like a huge revelation. Shouldn’t other deities have figured that much out by now?”
Yes. Many have, but they are cautious. The more power they wield, the more they fear using it. The divine realm’s balance is delicate, and in their caution the sovereigns value stability more than they value progress.
“I guess when you’re on top, you prefer to keep things the way they are, huh?”
And you have effected a great deal of change on this world already.
Yoshika paused.
“...oh.”
Indeed. Take care not to place your domain in service to power, nor power in service to your domain. Both must be in balance if you are to survive the attention of your rivals.
“Wait, that’s it? You came all the way here just to say that?”
For now. We will speak again.
Void’s presence faded, the emptiness in the room filling up with...less empty emptiness. Void was strange.
Yoshika sighed as she closed her eyes and returned to her meditation. Somehow, after Qin Zhao and Jianmo, she’d managed to land herself an even more annoying teacher. Still, the conversation had given her a lot to think about, and she soon found herself getting lost in thought as she worked to internalize the elemental’s lesson.
Nobody ever said having a divine tutor would make things easier.