Lang Yi was not a man of many words.

Years ago, in what seemed like another life, he married the neighbour's daughter and love of his life, Ruo-Ruo. Unlike him, she couldn't stand even a minute of silence, always tittering on about this woman’s dress or that man’s antics. At night, he’d sit at his workbench and work while she’d snuggle up behind him to share the day’s gossip. Though Lang Yi had little interest in such things and even less to say, he loved hearing her lyrical voice, so whenever she fell silent for more than a second, he’d encouraged her to keep speaking with a non-verbal grunt. Ruo-Ruo used to tease and say he had a thousand different grunts with a thousand different meanings and that she’d be old and grey before she deciphered them all.

Those happy days were long behind him now, and he wished he told her he loved her more often.

So much had changed in the year since the Defiled descended upon their quiet little hamlet on the lake. Once a humble fisherman who cobbled shoes for spare change, Lang Yi had transformed into an honest to goodness Martial Warrior, a commander of a hundred men, no less. Back then, he considered a village hunter above and beyond his ken, yet now he’d become a Captain-level talent on par with the likes of young talents raised by wealthy noble houses. With his strength, any city would be glad to have him as a city guard or perhaps even a Sergeant, lofty positions which came with wealth, power, and influence. If others knew of his meteoric rise, their envy would be immeasurable and say he’d found fortune in disaster, but Lang Yi saw things differently.

If it were possible, he’d trade his newfound strength, the benefits which came with it, and the remaining years of his life just to hear Ruo-Ruo’s voice one more time.

Since he’d have to wait until his next life to meet her again, the only thing left to him was vengeance. The Defiled who killed his wife and took everything from him were likely dead and gone, having perished in the War for Sanshu he only heard about, but there would always be Defiled to kill. Though yet to claim his first kill, Lang Yi trained day and night with zealous determination, throwing himself headlong down the Martial Path in pursuit of strength. His single-minded focus left little time for anything else, but his strength meant the others looked to him for guidance and leadership, a role he found himself utterly unsuited for.

What did he know of leading men? About as much water as a net could hold, so he left his fellow former slaves to their own devices, but inevitably, little brother Lang Er would bring one issue or another to his attention. Each time, he dealt with the troublemakers in summary fashion, punishing all parties involved harshly, not because they disturbed him, but because if they had time to cause trouble, then they weren’t training hard enough. The Mother cared nothing for niceties like comfort, joy, or justice, so why should he bother? It wasn’t a perfect system, but it worked.

Until it didn’t.

When Benefactor Falling Rain gathered his commanders together to tell them ‘Discipline is shit’, Lang Yi lamented his failures and immediately set out to correct them. Not only did the Mother’s Chosen Son rescue them from a life of misery and despair, he also sheltered, clothed and fed them without asking for anything in return. He even left Teacher Argat and Teacher Jochi behind to lift them to their current lofty heights, yet they still had the audacity to cause Benefactor concern. This shame and indignity could not stand, so after the meeting, Lang Yi gathered his troops and spoke five words, uttered in his gravelly, seldom-used voice.

“When I train, you train.”

War was here and time was short, yet his troops still had the audacity to make trouble? No more. Since Lang Yi spent almost every waking moment training, his troops would no longer have the time or energy to make trouble. As a bonus, their strength would grow and they’d become more capable of repaying Benefactor’s mercy.

Though this was their first day in a new city, Lang Yi cared nothing for the sights, so the moment they settled into their temporary barracks, he brought everyone out to the courtyard for more practice. There they stayed until the sun had long set and the moon high overhead, stopping only to fill their bellies and slake their thirst. There were eighty of them in total, all former slaves captured by the Defiled and freed by Benefactor. Peasants, the lot of them, and in less than a year, all eighty of them had shared in Lang Yi’s startling transformation, becoming Captain-level talents before leaving the Island. Teacher Argat and Teacher Jochi both called it a miracle and claimed such a development was almost unheard of, but it came as no surprise to Lang Yi. Every last soul plucked from Yo Ling’s depraved and deplorable mines shared the same ravenous thirst for vengeance, having endured unspeakable anguish and suffering in order to survive.

Through their trials and tribulations, they emerged stronger than before, forged in the fires of torment and tempered by Benefactor’s mercy.

Practice spear in hand, Lang Yi carried out his routine exercises. Stab, sweep, and strike, these three movements encompassed the essence of the Spear. Simple, yet infinitely complex, for these three movements hid innumerable variations which were slowly revealed to him through the Forms. Stab, for example, could be carried out in a multitude of different ways. Mantis Form – Spear Hand became a short, one-handed jab, while Wolf Form – Rending Fang became a two handed thrust. More complex was Snake Form – Darting Fang, a one or two-handed thrust combined with a forward step, a minor variation which changed everything from his grip on his weapon to how he exhaled. This was merely scratching the surface of a single, straightforward thrust, and Lang Yi worked hard to master every single variation, focus on it above all other movements. With a common spear in hand, if he were to sweep or strike the Defiled, his weapon would bend or break, so he could only stab and kill before being killed.

Despite what everyone said about how far he’d come in such a short time, Lang Yi knew he was still a frog in the well, having taken only a few short steps along the Martial Path.

“Lang Yi, Lang Er.” Appearing out of nowhere with their spears wrapped and slung over their shoulders, Teacher Argat and Teacher Jochi gestured for the two brothers to approach. With a grunt of compliance, Lang Yi snarled at his sweat-soaked troops to continue their training. They still weren’t working hard enough, as evidenced by the dry stone tiles beneath their feet, a far cry from pool of sweat which had formed beneath his boots. Good, sturdy boots, yet another gift from Benefactor, and few of his troops appreciated or even knew of the expense.

Following both Teachers back to the barracks, Lang Yi walked shoulder to shoulder with his little brother, bumping into one another every so often, his bone-thin frame having filled out into an unfamiliar lean and muscular body. Inside, Teacher Argat brought Lang Yi into an empty room while Teacher Jochi did the same with Lang Er, and though he had nothing but respect for his half-monkey Teachers, Lang Yi knew how mischievous the two could be. Before entering the room, he checked for tripwires, buckets of water, itching powder, and anything else which might amuse the playful pair if doused upon their students.

“Relax,” Teacher Argat said, rolling his eyes. “This here’s a serious talk.”

“Uhn.” Nodding in apology, Lang Yi stepped into the room and was pleasantly surprised to emerged unscathed. Closing the door behind him, he stood at attention and waited.

Clapping him on the shoulder, Teacher Argat said, “Well brat, you’ve come a long ways since we found you in that pit there. A long ways indeed. Can’t say I expected this, since I started teaching y’all outta sheer boredom, but even though you haven’t fought yet, you’ve done me proud.”

Lacking the words to express his gratitude, Lang Yi dropped to his knees and kowtowed. Stopping him before his forehead struck the floor, Teacher Argat lifted him back to his feet as easily as turning a hand. “None of that nonsense. You’re a Khishig now, not officially, but close enough.” Clearing his throat in embarrassment, Teacher Argat straightened Lang Yi’s shirt and said, “See, I brought you here because I need to know something. I made you swear an Oath to the Heavens before letting you off the island, and it never sat well with me. You work hard day in and day out, taking no time for yourself except to eat, sleep, and shit. I’ve seen you every day for the past eight months now, and I’ve never even seen you smile. At first I’d worried you’d turn Defiled, but now I’m just scared for your basic sanity. Are you sure this is the life you want?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Confused by the question, Lang Yi tilted his head and Teacher Argat clarified, “To be a soldier. To fight the Defiled. You don’t have to do this, you know? You’re still a young man, only a few years older than the brat -” Lang Yi frowned at the lack of respect for Benefactor, and Teacher Argat corrected himself, “Rain.” Better, but still somewhat disrespectful. “Don’t look so sour, that’s the best you’ll get. What I’m saying is, you don’t have to fight. In Rain’s eyes, you don’t owe him anything. Hell, he’d probably be happier if you all went home and lived happy, meaningful lives as farmers and fisherfolk.”

Perhaps, but Lang Yi could never go back, not without Ruo-Ruo. Vengeance was all he had left.

After a long silence, Teacher Argat sighed. “Well, I supposed you’ve made your decision.” Lang Yi nodded. Taking the wrapped spear slung over his shoulder, Teacher Argat unceremoniously shoved it into Lang Yi’s hands and said, “Seeing how I’m half a Mentor to you, I can’t let my first quasi-disciple go running into battle armed with scrap metal, so here you go.”

A sharp gasp escaped Lang Yi’s lips as he uncovered Teacher Argat’s gift. The jet-black spear shimmered in the starlight and moulded into his palms no matter where he held it. At Teacher – no, Mentor Argat’s urging, he gave the weapon a handful of practice thrusts, and his breath quickened at how perfectly balanced the weapon seemed, as if it were crafted for him and him alone as an extension of his body. “It’s standard work,” Mentor Argat said, ending Lang Yi’s wild fancies in an instant, “But Husolt’s standard work is the match of any other Divine Blacksmith’s masterwork, or near enough.” Interrupting Lang Yi’s second attempt to kowtow, Mentor Argat continued without missing a beat. “It weren’t no trouble, you mined out the Spiritual Hearts anyways, so we figured you and your brother should share in the profits. Even though you’re tired, bind it quick as you can. I’ll watch over you to make sure-”

With a thought, Lang Yi’s Chi surged into his spear and it revealed more mysteries of the Forms for him to study. No longer was he limited to stab, for with this in his hands, he could also sweep and strike his foes down.

Good.

“Well...” Running a hand through his wild and unruly hair, Mentor Argat said, “Don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone binding their Spiritual Weapon in an instant like that. I thought it might be too soon, but it seems like this was long overdue.” Grinning from ear to ear, Mentor Argat added, “Your name’s synonymous for wolf, and now you’ve got a fang to match it. Come on, let’s head out and see what you’ve learned then.”

Nodding once, Lang Yi led the way out to the courtyard, eager to give Long Fang a try.

Some day, he would breathe his last and meet Ruo-Ruo in the Mother’s arms, and on that glorious day, he would say, “Ruo-Ruo my love, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, but I’ve avenged you.”

Some day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I got a question fer ye.”

Running his whetstone down the edge of his knife one last time, Siyar looked up and found Bulat standing over him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Burly-armed and barrel-chested, he looked like every other two-bit thug Siyar had ever dealt with, big, mean, and full of openings. He had no respect for these wannabes, street-rats who grew up behind their safe walls thinking they were cut-throat gangsters. Hell, Bulat couldn’t even handle the ‘mean streets’ and ran off to join the army for protection, so Siyar had less than no respect for him. Tough as soldiering might be, it ain’t nearly as tough as surviving out in the wilds of the untamed North.

Horking to one side, Siyar leaned back on his stool and waited for Bulat to voice his question, wondering why the idiot felt it necessary to declare he had a question before asking the damned question. A waste of time is what it was, but not only did the burly thug outrank him, he could also beat Siyar and three of his cronies into a pulp with one hand tied behind his back.

Idiot he may be, but strength still had to be respected.

Sucking his teeth at the lack of response, Bulat’s hand made its way dangerously close to the axe tucked into his belt, but Siyar held his tongue and waited. Sensing he wouldn’t get anywhere with brute force, Bulat shook his head and sighed. “What I want t’ know is,” the brute said, eyeing Siyar in a way which would’ve seen him knifed if this were a bandit crew, “What in the hell are ye doing here?”

Taking a long, pointed look at the whetstone and dagger in his hands, Siyar considered gutting the stupid bastard to prove a point. He wasn’t the fastest, strongest, or most menacing person around, but Siyar learned a trick or two in his twenty-four years of life. On the outside, he looked calm and relaxed, but that could change in an instant. One swipe, three centimetres deep is all, and Bulat would be on the ground writhing in a pool of his own blood. Nothing fatal, but it’d still mean an end for Siyar, and he hadn’t made it this far by taking stupid risks. “I’m sharpening my weapon.”

“Sir.” Tapping the little metal badge pinned to his shirt, Bulat said, “Lemme hear it now, proper protocol and whatnot.”

Again, Siyar let none of his frustration show, though he put the whetstone down and readied to draw his back up blade should the dumb thug push him too far. “I’m sharpening my weapon, Sir. That fine by you?”

“You’ll know if Old Bulat ain’t fine with anything yer doing. You’ll know.” Chuckling at what he thought was a clever quip, the fat oaf continued, “But I wasn’t asking about what yer doin’ doin’, unnerstand? I’m asking, what are ye doing here, in this retinue?”

For fuck’s sake, what did he want, a history lesson? Shrugging, Siyar said, “Used to work under Big-Eyed Kang and the Sharktooth Syndicate, running contraband for the Council all over the province til the bossman got up under their skin.” Good days those, and better yet, profitable days, but that was over and done with. “When Jorani started robbing them, the Council panicked, press-ganged us into guard duty, and you know the rest, Sir.” Bulat and his crew filled Big-Eyed Kang full of arrows, then threw the rest of the Sharktooth Syndicate into the meatgrinder in Sanshu.

Truth is, Siyar didn’t mind it too much. Some folk need killing, like Yo Ling and his Defiled bastards, and he kinda liked being hailed as returning hero just for killing some worthless shits. Still, smuggling was such an easy gig, he kinda missed the life. Travel for weeks without a care in the world, one or two nights of hard work slipping over the walls with the goods, and a few more weeks of rest and relaxation on the way home.

“Nah.” Bulat shook his head, sighing as if Siyar was the dumb one. “I mean, what’re ye doing still here? Ye ain’t the soldierin’ type and ye ain’t under Oath. Ye just gave yer word to serve, and months later, ‘ere ye still are. Why is that?”

Another shrug. “Like ye said, I gave me word, Sir.”

“Tch.” Spitting at Siyar’s feet, Bulat leaned close and scoffed. “Yer word don’t mean shit.” One thrust to the neck is all it’d take, but Siyar stilled his itching hand and held his ground. “I’d’ve expected a sneaky fuck like yerself to have hightailed it out o’ ‘ere the first chance ye got, so why didn’t ye? Ah, ah, ah.” Bulat’s axe edge rested against Siyar’s jugular before he even had time to grip his knife. “How about ye take yer hand off that tiny pig-sticker of yers.” The axe pressed down, forcing Siyar to lift his head. “And don’t ye be thinking about reaching fer the other one.”

Well fuck. Even after months of studying Bulat, Siyar had underestimated the fat thug. “Wasn’t gonna stab you.” Probably. “Sir.” Never antagonize a man with a blade to your neck.

“No, but ye thought about it, and more n’ once by my count.” With a wicked grin, Bulat backed off and tucked his axe back into his belt. “Then again, I can hardly punish a man fer thinkin’ wicked thoughts, eh?” Confident in his superiority, Bulat even tucked both thumbs into his belt loops and left himself utterly defenceless against Siyar. “So? Answer the fucking question. I ain’t got all night. Why’re you still here?”

So not to be tricked again, Siyar crossed his arms and shrugged for a third time. “Bandit. Soldier. Smuggler. Scout. What’s the fucking difference? I ain’t got anywhere better to be, the ladies love the uniform, and the bossman pays fair wages, so better servin’ under him than standin’ across from him, you know what I mean?”

“Ha.” With a bark of laughter, Bulat said, “That I do.” His mirth faded away as he studied Siyar once more, as if looking at a dead man walking. “Still don’t mean I trust ye.”

“You don’t got to trust him.” The voice surprised Siyar so much he leapt out of his seat, falling into a guarded stance as Ravil stepped out of the shadows. If Bulat was a wannabe gangster, then Ravil was the real deal, a right murderous bastard who made Big-Eyed Kang look positively cuddly. “Ye just gots to be sharper than him, is all.”

“This here’s a mistake.”

“Decision’s been made, so jawin’ about it ain’t gonna change anything.”

“Tch.” Glaring on the onlookers, Bulat growled, “What in the Father’s shit-crusted asshole are y’all lookin’ at, huh? Get on with ye.”

As the irritable thug marched away, Ravil gestured for Siyar to come along. Pausing only to grab his knife, he sheathed his weapon and followed the dark-skinned killer into a private room. Tossing him a cloth bundle, Ravil said, “That’s yours. Open it.”

When he discovered the package held a Spiritual Weapon, Siyar almost dropped it in surprise. It wasn’t the first one he’d handled, but it was damn well the nicest Spiritual Weapon he’d ever laid eyes on. A double-edged short-sword, the weapon drank into the lantern-light, barely visible when held against a dark backdrop. Good for stealth kills but still long enough to use in a proper fight, maybe sixty centimetres from base to tip. The only thing off about it was the tube poking out of the hilt, though it ended halfway up the blade. What purpose it served, Siyar couldn’t say, but the blade’s edges were sharp and its tip pointy, which was all that really mattered.

“The bossman has high expectations of you,” Ravil said, interrupting Siyar’s perusal. “And so do I. I’ve seen what you can do and it’s high time we put you to use.”

“High expectations?” Far as he could tell, the bossman didn’t even know Siyar’s name. They only spoke the once, the first time he came back from the Winery, and the bossman also gave him a pat on the back after the shit-storm with the geezers and the mole bitch, but that was it.

“Yea, yea, real touching.” With a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Ravil said, “Thing is, Bulat’s got a point. The bossman, he’s a soft sort, a trusting type. Me? I wouldn’t trust my mother not to sell me for two coppers, and I trust you even less.” For the second time today, Siyar found himself surprised by how quickly another man could draw their weapon as Ravil used his sword to tap every one of Siyar’s hidden weapons, a display which terrified him more than Bulat’s axe resting against his throat. At least then, he still had options, but despite Ravil’s relaxed posture, Siyar saw no openings to exploit and no route to escape to. “Youse a real sneaky bastard, but I cut my teeth knifing sneaks like you in their sleep. If you run off with that weapon there, then you best sleep with one eye open for the rest of yer life.”

Siyar nodded, not taking the threats personally. This was part and parcel of the life. Bandits were an untrustworthy sort, but you had to trust someone sometimes. “Yes Sir. You want an Oath or something?” He’d lied about not being able to give one, but somehow, he felt like Ravil could see right through him.

“Hell no,” Ravil said, his eyes lighting up in sadistic delight. “That’d take all the fun outta it.”

Unable to repress his shudder, Siyar averted his gaze and hugged his new sword, determined to bind the thing and become stronger as quickly as possible. It’s not like he planned on running away, but it was always good to leave your options open.

Chapter Meme