“Such bliss to ride beneath the cloudless starry skies with you at my side, with your radiant beauty offset by the soft twilight gloom. Would that the sun sleep forever from this day forth, so I might gaze upon this tender sight for all my days to come...”
Inwardly gagging at the sappy rhetoric, Mila suppressed the urge to throttle Fung and stuff his mouth with dirty linens. Riding through the flat and boring Central Plains was bad enough, but listening to her junior martial brother wax lyrical for hours without end was turning it into a living nightmare. She could only imagine what it was like for poor Seoyoon, the subject of Fung’s stomach-churning poetry. Trials and tribulations indeed, for after suffering defeat at Rain’s hands on stage, the youngest member of the Hwarang now had to contend with Fung’s philandering ways, a fate Mila would not wish on her worst enemy.
Even on the best of days, she never liked the young magistrate of Shen Huo much, blaming him for turning Rain to his wicked ways. A man without shame, Fung was an incorrigible skirt chaser and debauched drunkard, a silk pants through and through. Unfortunately, he was also one of Rains few friends, so she tolerated Fung’s presence for his sake, but desperately wished her betrothed would make new and better friends.
Alas, he got along with the cavalier young magistrate like two peas in a pod, as Papa would say, despite sharing almost nothing in common aside from their love of training. Together, they’d laugh and joke while sharing nothing of importance, a friendship utterly devoid of intimacy, affection, and familiarity. They knew almost nothing about one another on a personal level, their camaraderie anchored in shared interests rather than shared thoughts or emotions. When Mama took Fung as a disciple, Mila asked Rain for help picking out a thoughtful personal gift, but he was no help at all. Aside from drinking, whoring, and fighting, he couldn’t name any of Fung’s interests or offer insight about who the young magistrate really was. Before today, Mila didn’t even know Fung enjoyed reading poetry, much less was adept at composing it, though his choice of verse was far too cloying and sentimental for her tastes.
In short, Rain and Fung were friends because they shared the same unnatural fear of intimacy, believing if they gave voice to their weaknesses and insecurities, it would diminish them in some way. Fools and idiots the both of them for putting on a false front of bravado no matter the circumstances, thinking they could stave off the dark whispers of the Father’s minions without the love and support of the people around them. They were too alike in the worst of ways, and nothing good had ever come from their sordid friendship.
Then again, it wouldn’t hurt Rain to learn a thing or two about romance from Fung. Mila would love to hear her betrothed call her a ‘radiant beauty’ or some other flowery nonsense...
Her patience worn thin, she turned to him and snapped, “Enough of your prattling. Shut your mouth and concentrate on the task at hand.”
Indifferent to her anger, Fung simpered and gestured at the darkened plains around then, empty save for their sizable patrol. “Senior martial sister, this one admits his wrongs, but concentrate on what? Our orders were to patrol the plains and investigate any suspicious activity, but we’ve been at it for hours with nothing to show. There are hundreds of us moving together and hundreds more in other groups both ahead and behind us, all presumably following the same northerly route. Whatever it is we’re meant to find, I’m sure the other contestants will spot it long before we will.”
Why Mama took this idiot as a disciple, Mila would never understand. “You recall we’re here for a competition, correct?” she asked, speaking through gritted teeth, “And not out for a moonlit stroll with the latest object of your affection. It would behoove you to pay attention to your surroundings lest you be caught off guard by whatever excitement the organizers have planned.”
Rolling his eyes, Fung looked down at her from atop his pretty horse, both literally and figuratively. Hateful man. “Excitement seems like the last thing the organizers planned for. Contest and challenges my ass, dawdling and delaying would be more apt.” Holding a hand up to forestall her rebuttal, Fung continued, “While senior martial sister’s first mission was a true epic for the operas, I would say your experience was outside the norm. Had your teammates not been a group of stubborn, brainless fools who insisted on meeting your ‘pursuers’ in single combat, I suspect you would have been subjected to the same boredom as the rest of us.”
He wasn’t wrong. As much as she had enjoyed the action-packed ride escape in which she defeated her pursuers with spear and bow, but upon reaching the outpost, she learned her ‘pursuers’ weren’t supposed to apprehend her team, but shadow them to the outpost and report their findings to a Royal Guardian nearby. The ‘ambush’ she defeated were merely a second team who’d somehow lost their target and were laying in wait for a new one. Their plan might have worked too since they only needed to report the destination and everyone was travelling to the same place, but Mila spotted them for almost a kilometre away and shot them full of blunted arrows the moment she stepped into range.
As for the others... Fung had been tasked with tracking down a missing scout, following reports and ‘eyewitness’ testimony to reach the outpost, while BoShui merely had to deliver an empty box to the right individual, more a matter of remembering orders correctly than any test of skill. Yan’s mission had been the most involved, a non-violent test of sustained vigilance and perception, but still, this contest felt lacking considering the Royal Guardian’s gripping speech just this morning. The only thing they’d done all day was winnow the contestants down to a more manageable number, with success or failure largely dependant on the Royal Guardian’s mood. While this made sense considering the staggering amount of registered participants, there were still at least a thousand contestants remaining and the organizers seemed utterly unprepared for their numbers. After hours of sitting around at the outpost with nothing to do, they were finally arranged into groups of a hundred and brought out on ‘patrol’, stumbling around in the dark without lanterns or torches because of massive delays, shoddy planning, and a general level of piss-poor organization.
Unfortunately, despite her disappointment with the contest, Mila refused to give up this chance for fame and promotion. “So what if it’s boring? A soldier’s life isn’t all action and glory and Senior Captains are often assigned missions like patrolling the countryside or apprehending criminals. If this sort of life doesn’t interest you, then there’s nothing stopping you from riding back to Nan Ping, where you can drink and whore to your heart’s content.” Peering over Fung’s horse to address Seoyoon, Mila gave fair warning to the icy young maiden. “Don’t let his charming good looks and flowery praise fool you fair maiden, my junior martial brother is a beast at heart, a debauched degenerate like no other.”
Anger burning her eyes, Seoyoon treated Mila with a frosty glare. “I am Ryo Seoyoon of the Hwarang, not some ‘fair maiden’ to be sheltered and protected, especially not by a nameless northern savage like yourself.”
Taken aback by the frosty girl’s prickly demeanour, Mila met Seoyoon’s gaze without flinching. Throughout the entire afternoon, Seoyoon showed no signs of accepting Fung’s courtship, but then again, she never rejected or rebuffed him either. “So be it,” Mila said, shrugging off the hostility. “My apologies, I failed to take your lofty status into consideration. With your lacklustre martial skills, your future will be much brighter as my junior martial brother’s concubine.” Clasping her fist, she saluted the pair and added, “I’m sure your children will be lovely.”
Hmph. Nameless northern savage am I? Bitch.
Snarling in fury, Seoyoon seemed ready to leap over Fung’s horse and tackle Mila to the ground, but she welcomed the scrawny little shrew’s assault with open arms. Unfortunately, Fung was far too quick to act, driving his horse into Seoyoon’s and forcing both horse and rider away. “Come, why don’t we ride over there, because... well, because I like my limbs where they are, attached to my torso.”
Finally freed of his incessant yapping, Mila snorted and held her head high. Their brief exchange didn’t go unnoticed, but after a few hushed whispers and pointed fingers, the commotion died down and everyone went back to following the Royal Guardian through the gloomy Central Plains. Nameless though Mila might be, she was wholly confident in her Martial skills and would not be intimidated by the Hwarang. While the best of Central were a formidable bunch, in Mila’s eyes, Seoyoon did not deserve the title, likely earned through back-room dealings to promote the Ryo family name. If not for Rain’s mercy, Seoyoon wouldn’t have lasted three exchanges on stage, much less the dozen he so graciously gifted her. In contrast, Mila could defeat her in a single blow, and would happily put the uppity young noble in her place.
The rest of the Hwarang were far more impressive in comparison, even Mitsue Hideo and Yong Jin. Dastan’s outstanding victory over Hideo needn’t be mentioned, but Yong Jin put up a valiant defence against Wu Gam’s Earth-Blessed strength. Speaking of the half-fox, Mila hoped to invite him for a spar, having never faced a peer who could match her in raw power. It would be nice to go all out without worrying she might accidentally kill someone, but despite his prodigious strength, Wu Gam wasn’t the most intimidating member of the Hwarang, at least not in Mila’s eyes.
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No, that distinction went to Du Min Yan, formerly Adujan of the Bekhai.
Loathe as she was to admit it, despite agonizing over Yan’s performance for hours on end, Mila had yet to come up with an acceptable counter to the half-deer’s hit-and-run tactics, much less her long-ranged Wind Blades. Whereas Wu Gam’s Blessing allowed him to harden his skin, Mila lacked the ability to do the same. She couldn’t even Heal in the middle of combat like Rain and his soldiers, needing to sit down and meditate before tending to her wounds. A single errant cut would be all Yan needed to end Mila’s life, which placed the half-deer a step above Mila in Martial strength, a stunning reversal of roles since they last met.
It seemed like everyone had gotten stronger in the past year. Rain had his unique Aura manipulation, Yan learned to materialize Chi, while BoShui, Dastan, and Fung each formed a Natal Palace. Even Huu, who all but disappeared from their lives following his marriage to Yesui and Yosai, had returned stronger than ever. She didn’t notice anything amiss at first, ignoring him as he swung a training sword about all afternoon, but when he finally put his weapon aside for a break, she’d been given a scare when it slid off the bench and fell to the floor, cracking the smooth, stone tiles beneath it. The training weapon had to weigh at least fifty kilograms, yet Huu swung it around one-handed for hours with ease, a most impressive feat of strength.
For the first time ever, Mila felt the pressure of her peers nipping at her heels, her strength stagnating while others improved by leaps and bounds. Mila blamed Rain for this, since without his stupid idea for spring-loaded Spiritual Weapons, she wouldn’t have spent the last few months in a frenzy of crafting and revising. Then again, Mama warned her this would happen eventually if she insisted on pursuing two separate Paths, but truth be told, Mila never believed she would suffer, confident her natural talent and early Awakening meant she would forever stand above her peers.
To make matters worse, this contest wasn’t limited to Mila’s peers alone, but one for Captains and Warrant Officers regardless of age. Many of her fellow competitors were well into their thirties or forties, career Captains with little hopes of promotion outside of this contest. Though they counted few true Experts among their number, these untalented warriors were still veterans of their craft, with experience and wisdom giving them an edge over their younger competitors. One only had to look at Zian’s sparring record in Central to know how cagey and astute the older generation could be, a top five talent of the North presented with a string of humbling defeats at the hands of his seniors.
Boring as it was, this competition was Mila’s chance to go from ‘nameless northern savage’ to ‘Senior Captain Sumila, young warrior of the Bekhai’. No matter the odds, she intended to see this through to the bitter end.
In the midst of fretting about all manner of concerns, Mila spotted movement nearby in the night’s gloom. Urging Atir to break free from the patrol, Mila came to her feet for a better view, a blunted arrow nocked in her bow and ready to loose. “This is Captain Sumila of the Bekhai,” she yelled. “You have three seconds to make your presence known and identify yourself, else you will be fired upon.”
Her challenge prompted a flurry of motion, but not from the unknown intruder. Half the contestants around her charged out into the fields, shouting their names and echoing her challenge in hopes the Royal Guardian took note. Idiots one and all, with most not even heading in the right direction, but one silent, quin-mounted figure stood out among them. Riding into the tall grasses, Huu returned shortly after carrying a breathless, panting figure, a nondescript man who looked strangely familiar. “Thank the Mother,” he gasped, his voice tinged with panic. “Captain Sumila, call your protectors and send word to your mother. The Defiled are here!”
Elated this contest was finally going some where, Mila faltered as she finally recognized the breathless messenger as a member of Rain’s retinue. Sither maybe, or Siyar. Her enthusiasm drained away to be replaced by horror, and she dragged the man away to report to the Royal Guardian.
She’d been praying all day for excitement, but not like this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Body trembling in sheer terror, Jorani clutched his sleeves and watched as the crone manhandled Eccentric Gam like a child’s toy.
Eccentric Gam who killed Defiled like chickens.
Eccentric Gam who hunted Demons with glee.
Eccentric Gam who had strength enough to shake the earth and crumble buildings, beaten bloody by a single slap to the face from a wizened granny.
Well... there were three more Experts around, right? Three against one, those were odds he’d take any day.
Blood draining from his face, Old Du seemed to age fifty years right before Jorani’s eyes as he gulped and whispered, “So... A Defiled Ancestral Beast. I did not think they existed.”
Oh.
Well...
Fuck.
And Jorani thought meeting the old bastard who sired him was bad enough. This was so much worse.
“Bah. Defiled. Another ugly word.” The Crone’s face wrinkled in displeasure as she turned her attentions to Old Du, still holding the unconscious Eccentric Gam up by his ruined chin, their surroundings so silent Jorani could hear the old half-fox’s blood dripping onto the cobblestones between pauses. “Power is power, regardless of how it is derived. Balanced, Defiled, mere words which barely scratch the surface of the Truth.” Reaching a bloody finger to tap Old Du’s chest, the old crone smiled and said, “Well, that’s nothing you need to worry about anymore.”
Appearing out of thin air, Broken Blade Pichai’s scimitar flashed in the starlight. Faster than Jorani could blink, the Crone effortlessly blocked the weapon with her bare hand. “How rude,” she said, fingers clamped around the scimitar in a steely grip. "So silly to resist with this piddling amount of strength, better to just wait your turn and die peacefully.” With a hiss of wind, a Chakram crashed into the old crone’s torso and sent her staggering back, freeing her hold on Pichai’s scimitar. Unfortunately, Eccentric Gam was still caught in her grasp and his legs dragged over stone and dirt as the Ancestral Beast skidded to a halt. Eyes widening in minor surprise, she licked her lips and sucked her teeth while staring at Old Du with a smile. “Better, but not by much. One ant and one fly, neither able to harm me.”
Taking to the skies, Du Min Gyu waved his battle-fan back and forth, firing Blades of Wind as Pichai moved to cover him. An army of Defiled backed by multiple Demons wasn’t enough to force Old Du to draw his Spiritual Weapon, but against an Ancestral Beast, he held nothing back. “Perhaps,” the old man said, a grim smile stretching across his face, “but we won’t know for sure until we give it our all.”
There was no more time to think as the two Peak Experts engaged the Crone in combat. Wind howled and metal screeched, but try as they might, the two were no match for the Crone, unable to even free Eccentric Gam from her grasp. Even from what little he could make out, Jorani could see the crone was toying with them, using Eccentric Gam’s body as a shield not because she needed the protection, but because it amused her to see them injure the person they sought to protect. “Careful,” she taunted, her dry, raspy chuckle grating on Jorani’s nerves. “Almost took your friend’s head off there. Oops, there goes his hand, but don’t worry, if you escape, he can always grow a new one.”
Despair gripped Jorani in its icy grasp as he watched two living legends stumble and falter, with his most esteemed hero Solitary Sword Zhang nowhere in sight. The old Seneschal had abandoned them to their fate, and for the rest of his short life, Jorani would never forgive his childhood hero. Forget the Solitary Sword, the Broken Blade and Sanguine Tempest were the true heroes, fighting against all odds to take on a Defiled Ancestral Beast. If word of this got out, their names would go down in history as the greatest warriors in the history of the Empire, true patriots and champions of the Empire.
A damn shame no one Imperial would make it out of here alive.
Unless...
In his panic to draw it from his sleeve, Jorani fumbled the runic rod and cringed as it fell from his feeble grasp. Chasing it down as it rolled away, he caught it after what felt like forever but couldn’t have been more than three steps. Clutching it tight, he went over the instructions the old bastard gave him. “You run into something too tough to kill,” the deadbeat had said, “then point this at it and channel your Chi. Take care of it anything right and proper, I guarantee it. Only one use though, and expensive as sin to make, so best used as a last resort. Cheaper to raise a new son than give you another, true as true.”
A Defiled Ancestral Beast certainly fit the bill, but back then, Jorani had been too scared and angry to think properly, but for months afterwards, he regretted not asking a single, vitally important question.
Which end was he supposed to point with?
The cylindrical rod had nothing to indicate which end was which, but with Eccentric Gam slowly being chopped to pieces by his would-be saviours, Jorani had to make a decision quickly. Throwing caution to the wind, he tried to appear innocuous as he moved to the Crone’s flank, only belatedly realizing he stuck out like a wart on a nose, since no one else was moving aside from him. The Death Corps seemed frozen in fear, but sometime along the way, Jorani had shaken off the Crone’s Aura and was moving freely once more.
Was this his Talent? Did he Condense his Aura?
Throwing aside the speculation, Jorani pointed the rod at the Crone and poured his Chi into it. The rod grew hot in his grasp as it drained his Core, and Jorani prayed it was aimed correctly and had enough power to kill an Ancestral Beast. A single second was all it was supposed to take, but to Jorani, it was the longest second of his life, ready to turn the damned thing around at the slightest hint of a problem. It’d be much easier if his arm wasn’t shaking so much, but even as he thought about it, he realized it wasn't his nerves, but the rod itself shaking in his grasp. Ripping itself out of his fingers, the rod shot through the air and slammed into the Crone’s side. With a hair-raising shriek, the hunched Ancestral Beast straightened up and arched her back, losing her grip on Eccentric Gam for the first time as she convulsed in pain. There were no flashes of light of flickers of flame, just the Crone shaking in place as she wailed at the high heavens, a sound Jorani would never forget until his dying days.
It felt like an eternity before the Crone stopped screaming, but the moment she did, she collapsed to the floor and the rod fell with her, clattering against the stone cobbles while she lay there with eyes closed and gap-toothed mouth open. Unable to believe his good fortune, Jorani fell to his knees and laughed out loud in a brief, concise moment of sheer joy, one which came to an abrupt end as the Crone stirred and came to her feet. With a throaty growl, she turned her sightless eyes upon Jorani and croaked, “That. Hurt.”
Closing his eyes with a sigh, Jorani regretted ever placing any trust in the rotten deadbeat bastard who sired him.
Chapter Meme