Giving his mount free rein, Dastan howled with laughter as the wind whipped through his hair, savouring the almost forgotten sensation of pure, unrestrained speed. Though roosequins offered more versatility and battle lions or bears might look majestic and awe-inspiring, in Dastan’s mind, nothing could stand against the might of charging cavalry. The thunder of hooves heralded the coming of doom as glinting steel-tipped lances hurtled towards the foe, promising sweet death to anyone who stood in their path. In a world of elites and experts, a horse and lance was the great equalizer for the common man. Not even the greatest of warriors would dare face a charge head on lest they be swept away by two tonnes of horseflesh and rider.
Since the boss couldn’t acquire enough roosequins to mount his entire retinue, citing the long process needed to train them, this meant his retinue would require a different means of travel. Leaving the available roosequins to the scouts and archers, he decided on the obvious choice of horses as their means of transportation. Knowing nothing about them, the boss asked Dastan to handle the specifics who then turned to his youngest sister Dahlia for advice, a woman whose love for horses bordered on the obsessive, almost as much as the boss loved his roosequins. After detailing their needs, Dahlia replied with a detailed report outlining several suitable combinations along with detailed estimations on expenses and upkeep. Barely blinking at the substantial costs, the boss decided to go with Dahlia’s top recommendation and months later, the horses were finally trained and ready.
Intoxicated with visions of riding down his enemies, Dastan slowed his mount to a canter, then a trot, until finally walking a full circuit of the track before dismounting from the panting beast, finished with his solitary pleasure ride. Averaging two meters tall at the shoulders, these Guonei Chargers were bred for power and trained for war, though lacking in speed and stamina compared to Acasian Trotters. They made up for their shortcomings in sheer, stubborn resilience, willing to ride through an army of thousands and into the Father’s Maw so long as they were guided by a capable rider. Taking a brush to its muscled flesh, Dastan stroked the beast’s neck with pride, pleased with his youngest sister’s suggestions and training. Acasian Trotters for travel and Guonei Chargers for battle, a perfect, if expensive combination, having to import both breeds from the Central Province. Anyone with an eye for horseflesh would be suitably impressed and even those without would be intimidated once the boss filled his retinue with recruited soldiers, an inspiring show of might and wealth befitting the Mother’s Chosen Son.
Dastan couldn’t wait to ride this creature into battle across an open field, but aside from sallying out to clash with the Defiled north of the Bridge, there was slim chance of seeing mounted combat. The scarcity of open, flat terrain meant horses were relegated to a method of travel rather than overwhelming battle advantage. Finding enough space for this sturdy warhorse to run was a challenge in and of itself, forcing Dastan to rely on the boss’s connections to secure this long stretch of abandoned city road to exercise his horse with nary a soul in sight. Here in the North, the Defiled were fought with sword and shield atop battlements or in dense forests. If only the Coalition hadn’t sided with Yo Ling or if Dastan had been smart enough to refuse orders and come clean to Marshal Yuzhen, the streets of Sanshu would have been perfect for an all-out cavalry charge. He imagined it would have been glorious, firing bolts into the Enemy ranks to soften them up before levelling their lances for a charge, crushing Defiled Butchers beneath the unstoppable press of steel and hooves.
No matter. Falling Rain was a Hero of the Empire, or close enough, and a man like him made enemies merely by existing. Already, one mystery faction made an attempt on his life and there would undoubtedly be more to follow. Such was life, but once they discovered the party responsible, Dastan hoped to lead the charge against their enemies, intending to plant the boss’s banner throughout the ruined remains of their domain to show what awaited those who crossed the Mother’s Chosen Son.
Now if only the boss would switch to a more appropriate coat-of-arms like a stylized depiction of his Spiritual Weapons or an imposing four-character idiom such as ‘Unparalleled beneath the Heavens’.
Even Falling Rain would find it difficult to inspire fear or reverence using the side profile of a bow-wearing rabbit.
“Dastan boyo, just the man I been looking for.” Almost gliding across the ground with each step, Vichear moved with an ease at odds with his massive, muscular bulk. One of the boss’s hand-picked instructors, the bear-eared former major was an affable sort but he’d never referred to Dastan so familiarly before, reserving the ‘boyo’ for the boss and a handful of other close compatriots. What did he want? Sensing Dastan’s apprehension, the large man gave a sheepish grin before Sending, “I hear you’re the man to talk to regarding forming a Natal Palace.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Dastan automatically replied, his mind racing as he did his best to appear natural. While Vichear wasn’t one of Akanai’s top Khishigs, he was the perfect person to send if she were searching for the leak in Rain’s retinue. Though he’d intended to only disseminate the method to those he deemed most trustworthy, the Oath-sworn former members of his retinue, Dastan soon learned his method was not, in fact, a fail-proof method of forming a Natal Palace. After the first day, only Sahb succeeded in forming a Natal Soul while all others failed for reasons yet unknown. Disheartened by his failure and hungry for more success, Dastan spent a long, sleepless night debating the advantages and disadvantages before finally passing the method on to the other squad leaders. If none of them succeeded, then he intended to disseminate the information to the rest of the retinue, but lo and behold, this time the results were far too eye-catching. Out of seven people, two formed their Natal Palaces, Ulfsaar and Wang Bao. To make matters worse, Ulfsaar ignored Dastan’s warnings and told his wife Neera about the method and now she was on the cusp of forming a Natal Palace.
With four members of Rain’s retinue forming their Natal Palaces in a single week, it’s no surprise other experts were finally taking notice. The biggest problem was the boss himself, happily reporting their successes to Akanai without a care in the world. Why wouldn't he? After all, he likely didn’t remember his drunken slip of the tongue, truly believing his drivel of bandits reaching their true potential.
“The boss asked you to help him.” Somehow hidden by Vichear’s hulking torso, the smaller-yet-still-massive half-bear Ulfsaar took Dastan by surprise. Peeking out from behind his likely half-brother, the one-time bandit shrugged in commiseration before Sending, “You should have told the Chosen Son before spreading Bekhai secrets. Our esteemed leader genuinely hopes you will aid Vichear.”
A worrying turn of events. A pious and devout man, Ulfsaar wouldn’t lie to harm the boss which left Dastan at a loss on how to proceed. He couldn’t fake his way through helping Vichear since he only knew the one method of forming a Natal Palace. Such secrets were well-guarded and if the truth came out, then Dastan feared Falling Rain was in for a harsh punishment. Golden child of the Bekhai or not, Akanai wasn’t the sort to spare the rod and spoil the child. At worst, the boss’s entire retinue might be forced to take slave’s Oaths, something Dastan wholeheartedly wished to avoid.
Seeing Dastan's hesitation, Vichear’s eyes filled with sorrow and regret. “Ah, I knew things couldn’t be so simple.”
Exploding into action, Vichear backhanded Ulfsaar in the face, sending the notorious bandit chieftain sailing through the air limp and unconscious. Dastan’s stomach exploded with pain and as he watched the clouds rush by, his brain caught up to reality and informed him he’d been kicked in the gut.
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How could a man as large as Vichear move with such speed and grace? It defied logic.
The world mercifully went dark for an instant, but Dastan woke too soon, gasping for breath as he lay on the cold, cobbled stones with a sword at his throat and a boot on his chest. Vichear’s calm, stony voice echoed in his mind as the half-bear Sent, “I’ll have the truth now. This something your Defiled masters taught you? That why you can’t share it? Come clean and I promise you a swift and painless death, more than Defiled filth like yourself deserves.”
“No,” Dastan wheezed, trying to focus his thoughts. “Not Defiled.”
“Your lips move but all I hear are lies,” Vichear Sent, his normally kind, laughing eyes filled with barely contained rage. “Rain boyo’s a kind lad, but naive. He’s yet to learn there are some souls so dark they ain’t worth saving. I won’t have you taking advantage of his good nature to spread your Defiled secrets.”
“No... Defiled secrets.” Each word set Dastan’s lungs aflame as Vichear’s boot sank deeper into his chest. “Bekhai secret... bring him trouble. Sending... need skin contact. Please.”
Behind Vichear’s murderous eyes, hope warred against pragmatism and Dastan understood his reluctance to open his mind to a Defiled threat, especially since Ulfsaar was still alive. Or at least, he hoped Ulfsaar was still alive, the man was quiet and well-mannered but a force to be reckoned with alongside his squadron of adopted half-beast 'children'. After an eternity, Vichear grumbled something unintelligible beneath his breath before kneeling heavily on Dastan’s chest, causing his bones to creak in protest. “Try anything stupid,” Vichear warned while extending a free hand, “and you’ll live long enough to regret it.”
Never in Dastan’s dreams would he have imagined this jubilant, portly warrior could be so intimidating.
After explaining the boss’s drunken slip and what happened afterwards, Vichear was still not wholly convinced. “You say this Natal Soul business is a Bekhai secret, but Rain boyo looked me in the eye and told me different. He said there is no Bekhai secret and he ain’t ever told a proper lie in his life, so I believe him.” Lips pursed in thought, he finally eased off of Dastan’s chest and stood, though he still held his sword at the ready. “Go on and check on Ulfsaar,” he Sent, gesturing at the fallen giant’s body. “Hit him harder than I had to, thought he was made of tougher stuff. Hmph, bandits reaching their full potential, garbage is what it is. If they had potential, they’d be good and proper soldiers.”
A cursory check showed Ulfsaar was still breathing but would wish otherwise once he woke with a splitting headache. With a cracked or broken cranium, the large man would need a Healer to look him over. With nothing better to do, Dastan gingerly touched his bruised ribs and winced at the pain. A good thing Vichear wanted to speak with him, otherwise he would’ve died in a single hit, his stomach caved in with barely half an effort. Despite taking them off guard, for Vichear to subdue both Ulfsaar and Dastan in one fluid motion was frightening indeed. Even after sparring with the man for months and hearing stories of his efforts in Sanshu, Dastan had severely underestimated the friendly former major, looking down at this ‘mere’ elite.
“This Natal Soul,” Vichear Sent, breaking the extended silence, “You say the idea came from a drunken slip of Rain’s tongue. What did he say exactly?”
Standing to clasp Vichear’s hand, Dastan answered, “His exact words were ‘it’s easy to split focus with two minds’. Then he said it was a secret.”
“...Did he say it was a Bekhai secret?”
“What do you mean?”
Towering over Dastan’s hunched frame, Vichear took a moment to reply. “There used to be this beggar in Feng Huang who was a few logs short of a cord. Every day, he’d be a different person ranting in a different voice, mostly harmless stuff about how the water tasted off or the clouds were looking at him funny, but it was more than that. His posture, accent, mannerisms, even the look in his eyes changed, made you believe it was someone else talking, a different soul in the same body. Only his dirty rags stayed the same, else you’d have thought there were dozens of insane brothers ranting on the streets.” Shrugging helplessly, Vichear continued, “Seeing Rain go from sweet, smiling dolt to murderous cutthroat always brought that crazy old beggar to mind. What if this two minds business isn’t a secret of the Bekhai, but a secret of Rain’s? It’d explain a lot.”
“... But the Natal Soul works,” Dastan Sent, unable to refute. “It keeps the Natal Palace in existence, freeing me to focus on other things.”
“You ever let it take over or go through a transformation like Rain’s?”
No, but Dastan didn’t want to admit it. “My Natal Soul is pure and innocent, all it does is amuse itself. It conjures up food to eat or games to play, happy to sleep and play to its heart’s content. Ulfsaar calls it a ‘primal soul’, more in tune with the body's base needs and desires.”
“Seems to me,” Vichear Sent, his words slow and careful, “that survival fits in that category. Maybe the boy switches over to fight and survive. Wouldn’t be the first to go hiding in his head and won’t be the last, he's just got another ready to take over for him.” Shrugging, he added, “Besides, your Natal Soul is newly formed and by your own description, minuscule and weak. Rain’s had his for years now if his drunken rambling is believed. Maybe it needs time to grow?”
No... Dastan’s Natal Soul seemed so innocent and guileless, how could it be plotting to take over his life? “What happened to the old beggar?” Dastan asked, dreading the answer.
Releasing Dastan’s hand, Vichear strode away. For what felt like an eternity, he thought the former major wouldn’t answer until he finally Sent, “One night, the crazy old bastard decided a young woman was stealing his emotions and concluded he had to bash her brains in to get em back. Went to the hangman’s noose screaming of his innocence, alternating between ranting how his other self committed the crime and how the woman deserved death for stealing his emotions.”
Well... that didn’t exactly inspire confidence. Quietly scrapping his plan to create dozens of Natal Souls in his mind, Dastan yelled, “So what are you going to do?”
Stopping in his tracks, Vichear turned and shrugged before Sending, “I’m gonna go form my Natal Soul and Palace. Don’t worry, I’ll keep Rain boyo’s secret. My guess is his family already knows, hard to hide something like this from the ones you love. If anyone asks, you came up with the idea all on your own, got it?”
“Wait, just like that? Aren’t you worried?”
Another shrug followed by a Sending. “Why does it matter? Worrying does no good, either something happens or it doesn’t. The beggar lived for decades before he finally snapped and was even functional for most of em by all accounts. Ain’t guaranteed Rain boyo or the rest of us go the same way, just something to watch out for. Besides, it’s well worth the risk if I can become an expert, ain’t no two ways about it.” Looking upbeat and carefree, Vichear strolled away humming a merry tune, hoping to soon join the Empire’s Roster of Experts.
Dumbfounded and confused, Dastan sank to the ground and reached for Balance. Entering his Natal Palace, he found his Natal Soul reclining on a luxurious divan and feasting on all manner of exotic luxuries with childish delight. Noticing his arrival, it opened its mouth in silent delight before soaring over to tug on Dastan’s moustache. ‘Welcome back,’ it seemed to say, its emotions mentally transmitted to Dastan. Conjuring a tiny axe, it waved it about in adorable pantomime of Dastan’s practice, eager to have someone to play with.
Was this Natal Soul an extension of Dastan’s will or was it its own person? It was so tiny, barely larger than Dastan’s palm and unable to speak, but it learned so quickly. When it was first formed, all it did was wander aimlessly through the Palace, but soon it began fashioning all manner of things from the real world, from beds and luxuries to the obstacle course from the training grounds, all perfectly sized for its deformed body. Hard to imagine this joyful, indulgent creature taking over Dastan’s life, or even becoming bloodthirsty and savage like the boss’s combat persona.
Wait...
What if the ‘real’ Rain had already been displaced and the Rain they knew and adored was the Natal Soul, with his original self coming out in times of battle? What if, in the process of being Tainted or becoming Defiled, the real Rain retreated into himself and the Natal Soul took over?
...
Dastan’s head spun wondering ‘what if’ repeatedly until he threw his arms up in surrender. Agonizing over unimportant details was beyond silly. Opening his eyes, Dastan lifted Ulfsaar onto the patiently waiting Charger, ignoring the twinge of pain from his freshly healed ribs. A marvellous thing this Panacea, it was a little known secret it also had been discovered by the boss. If Rain could come up with one miracle technique, then why not a second? That’s all this was, a new discovery, and all these unfounded fears were just Dastan making mountains out of molehills.
What mattered was this: Falling Rain was a good man and Dastan would follow him into the Father’s Maw if need be. No, not merely follow, Dastan would lead the charge, slaughtering all who stood in his path.
For Dastan had faith the Mother’s Chosen Son wouldn’t steer him wrong.
Chapter Meme