As the Defiled pour out of the tall grass and make ready to bring their weight of numbers down upon us, I already know things won’t go as planned. Wishing I knew how to Send at a distance, I choke back a sigh and ask, “Argat, Jochi, either of you around?”

“Yea boss.”

Nearly jumping out of my skin because Jochi is closer than I expected, I swallow the rude remark I was about to make and instead say, “Tell Dastan and Erkin not to engage. Lure their Defiled here and we’ll engage them together. I didn’t expect there to be this many.”

“Got it.” Unlike his brother, Jochi keeps the conversation to a minimum when the stakes are high.

Unfortunately, neither Dastan nor Erkin have a Sender in their unit which means I won’t get a response. I hope the message gets there in time, but it’s probably too late. Well-trained veterans that they are, Dastan’s people mustered up and set out much faster than Lang Yi’s, which can only be expected. Still, Dastan’s probably smart enough to know not to charge one or two thousand Defiled with only fifty riders, right? Once Jochi confirms my message has been Sent, I ask, “Where’s your brother?” Sure would be nice to Send two messages at once.

“Probably still getting dressed. He’s not at his best in the mornings.”

That and the lack of sleep is probably getting to him. While my retinue has four squads split into three shifts a night, Jochi and Argat have no one to split shifts with, which means they’re only getting four hours of sleep a day. Tenjin and Tursinai are the same, so I shouldn’t push any of them too hard. Granted, I could fix this by sharing a room with Li Song, just to make things easier on our guards and nothing else... No. Stop it. Bad Rain. They’re elite Sentinels, they can handle a little sleep deprivation. Besides, sharing a room wouldn’t even solve anything, we’re still working separate shifts. “Well, I’ll be counting on you then. Have the scouts hang back and hold their fire until after the Defiled charge in. More clumped up targets to pick from. Also, tell Daxian to get his ass into gear and head out and support Dastan, because they might need it.” I can already see it happening. Dastan has encountered Defiled. Dastan used Charge. It’s not very effective. “Mister Rustram is to take Squad two and muster south of this position, then either provide support to Dastan or circle around and hit the Defiled in the flank.” Who should I put on the other side? Li Song’s squad is ready now, but I think I need them here. “Have Li Song and Squad three form up beside us, and send the Protectorate north to mirror Mister Rustram. At best, we pincer the Defiled in and at worst, the Protectorate have access to an open flank. A proper greeting, wouldn’t you say? They travelled all this way to see us, so it’d be a real shame if we let them leave early.”

“You said it boss.”

Despite my confident tone and relaxed posture, I’m feeling anything but. This is more for the benefit of my soldiers around us, because you can’t underestimate the value of morale. Then again, these are probably scrub-tier like the other Defiled we’ve encountered, behaving more like beasts than humans as they charge in with reckless abandon. I don’t understand why the Spectres are driving their hosts to the slaughter. I mean, I get that the Spectres are like the embodiment of negative emotions, but what do they get from all this death and bloodshed?

Shits and giggles, no doubt.

Putting my questions aside, I turn my attention back to the present. I’ve no doubts we will see off this attack, because the only advantage the Defiled have is their numbers. My retinue exceeds them in every other relevant metric, but even if they’re Death Corps elites or former slaves hungry for vengeance, I worry they might be disheartened by the sheer size of the force arrayed against us.

A quick glance proves my worries unfounded.

Eager to begin the battle, Red One and Lang Yi both bear a similar bloodthirsty glint in their eyes, like hungry dogs staring at a juicy steak. Truth be told, I kind of regret putting Dastan, Lang Yi, and Red One in my squad. I thought they’d be the easiest to manage on account of their Oaths and free me from the most annoying obligations of leadership, but sadly, this hasn’t been the case. There’s been a lot of tension in Dragon Squad due to a growing rivalry between the three groups which has quickly turned into reckless disregard for their safety once battle is underway. I like their enthusiasm, but it’s gotten them (and myself) in trouble more than once, but try as I might, I can’t rein them in. I don’t understand why they’re all so gung ho about proving themselves or something, as if desperate to show they’re worthy of the Dragon moniker. Hell, if I wasn’t here to hold them in place, these two knuckle-headed leaders would’ve probably already ordered the charge.

Honestly, if Li Song and Sai Chou weren’t so dependable, my retinue would’ve probably fallen apart at the seams before reaching SuiHua. Maybe I should promote more women, they seem more level-headed as a whole...

Taking great pains to hide my inner turmoil, I flash a grin at the soldiers around me and do my best to emulate their crazed, mildly-deranged look. “Seems like a shame to wake the others for this,” I quip, and a few nervous laughs sound in response. “But what’s done is done. All we can do is kill the Defiled as quickly as we can so the others can go back and get their beauty sleep. Mother knows, they need it.” More polite laughs follow, but neither Red One nor Lang Yi crack a smile.

As if prompted by an unspoken signal, a resounding roar erupts from the Defiled horde and they charge as one. Li Song’s squad has yet to arrive, which means I’m stuck here with about half a squad to defend the entire camp.

Well, I did ask for a challenge...

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

Anyone who’d ever seen Siyar cloak himself in shadow would always invariably ask the same stupid question.

‘How do you do it?’ or some variation thereof.

Usually, Siyar ignored those idiots, or if he had to, gave them shrug and a smirk while imagining sewing their mouths shut. If pressed, he’d claim it was a ‘trade secret’ or make up some nonsense. His favourite was that he’d accepted a reclusive Expert as his Mentor, but was Oath-sworn to secrecy and had already revealed too much. Truth was, even if he wanted to explain, he wouldn’t know where to start. How was he supposed to explain something which took years to learn and even longer to master in a handful of sentences?

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

For as long as Siyar could remember, the darkness had always been his ally, always there to hide him from someone or something. In his early years, he’d hidden from his drunk, abusive father, or his harridan of a mother, or the pervert uncle next door. He hid from them daily, right up until his parents started looking at Siyar with dubious intent, likely considering the pervert Uncle’s repeated propositions. That’s when he learned the golden rule, to always look out for himself. At the tender age of eleven, he ran away from home with nothing except the clothes on his back. He didn’t run far, only to the next village over, but his parents didn’t spend much effort looking, so it was far enough. To survive, he joined a gang of runaway children working for a man everyone called Big Egg, on account his bald, irregularly shaped head.

The fifth son of a well-to-do family, Big Egg fancied himself a ‘free trader’, which was a prettier way to say smuggler and fence. In truth, he was a bit player who’d found his niche in Sanshu, a city where only the rich thrived. Back before Falling Rain and the damned Marshal got involved, the Council had a stranglehold on all trade in Sanshu and they loathed competition. Since they owned everything from the guards and accountants to the gates and ports, Big Egg couldn’t sneak or bribe his way in like in any other city. He had to be more creative with his methods, so he started using children to move his cargo. Here, the darkness aided Siyar once more as he smuggled stolen goods through pitch black tunnels and crawl spaces only children could fit inside with no one being the wiser.

This lasted for a few months until one of Big Egg’s runners got stuck squeezing out of an exit. Instead of keeping quiet and waiting for Big Egg to send someone to find him, the little idiot’s struggles caught the attention of a passing patrol and the jig was up. The exits were nailed shut, Big Egg got slapped with a fine, and the idiot kid went to the gallows. Undeterred by the setback, Big Egg set another plan into motion, sneaking kids through the gates in plain sight. All they had to do was join a caravan on its way into the city and pray their rucksack or dolly wasn’t searched. It worked most of the time, but a single child couldn’t carry much without garnering suspicion, so things were slow going. In times of desperation, Big Egg would have the kids swallow the cargo and retrieve it the next morning, which not only allowed the kids to carry more, but also reduced the risk of search and seizure by the guards. Many a wealthy noble in Sanshu wore gemstones which had once been sifted out of ganger shit, an experience which had soured Siyar on jewellery of any sort.

Not the most glorious of beginnings, but everyone had to start somewhere. As jobs went, the life of a ‘courier’ to Sanshu was pretty cushy since Big Egg had learned his kids were overlooked more often when they looked clean and healthy. Not to say the job was entirely without risk since capture by the guards meant the gallows. Worse was if you were robbed by rival gangsters and returned alive. Furious over the loss of cargo, Big Egg’s go to punishment was to have the other children beat the unlucky offender to death. The bald bastard never laid a finger on his kids, because Siyar and his companions were so desperate for a place to belong, they were happy to beat one of their own to death, and with their bare hands, no less.

Children are stupid, which was why Siyar stayed with Big Egg’s gang for three years before parting ways. That’s how long it took him to remember the golden rule, to always look out for himself. He had it all planned out in advance and followed through when Big Egg entrusted him with a valuable shipment into the city, a parcel of diamonds which had ‘fallen’ off a wagon somewhere. Siyar swallowed those diamonds down, joined a caravan into the city, then knifed the overconfident bastard the second they were alone. Big Egg had treated him well, but only because Siyar got things done, so they owed each other nothing. It had to be done, since Siyar was getting too old to be overlooked by the guards and the rival gangsters were getting wise to his tricks. It was only a matter of time before he was caught so it was kill or be killed, a lesson Big Egg taught Siyar well.

With Big Egg dead, Siyar snuck out of the city and after a quick squat and a long rinse, he offered the diamonds as tribute to join the Sharktooth Syndicate. It was the smartest thing he’d ever done, because birds die for food and men die for wealth. If he’d kept the diamonds or sold them for coin, then he would’ve been robbed or worse, but now he had a crew to watch his back while he honed his skills. He still had to hide, only now instead of guards and gangsters, he hid from soldiers and rival bandits, but he took to the life like a fish to water. Two blood-stained years later, he helped Big-Eyed Kang and Light-fingered Yu seize control of the Sharktooth Syndicate, and that’s when things took off. Together, the three of them turned the Syndicate into a successful smuggling operation, with Kang providing security, Yu handling purchases and falsifying documents, and Siyar making sure the cargo got where it was supposed to go. Though seemingly a glorified wagon driver, his hierarchy in the Syndicate was second only to Kang’s and equal to Yu’s, except Siyar cared nothing for standing, reputation, or making decisions which didn’t concern him.

All he cared about was looking out for himself, and that was enough.

While their work would never make them rich, it was enough to live a decent life and that’s what they had until Big-Eyed Kang got it into his fat head to be more than just a bandit and smuggler. The muscle-bound idiot didn’t realize it was better to be the head of a dog than the tail of a lion and convinced Yu to play along. Siyar should’ve cut and run when the two of them hitched the Syndicate to the Council’s wagon, but he foolishly stuck around out of a misguided sense of camaraderie and companionship.

Turns out, grown-ass men can be stupid too, but this time, Siyar had learned from his mistakes.

When he spotted the Defiled attack coming in the morning gloom, a plan came together in his head. More out of habit than anything else, he already picked out several hiding spots nearby, and one suited his purposes perfectly. All he had to do was keep his head down and stay put until the battle was over and the bossman left, then Siyar would be free and clear with no one the wiser. Everyone’d assume he was killed or taken away by the Defiled, so they wouldn’t even bother looking for a corpse. It was the perfect opportunity to get away, because sooner or later, soldiering would be the death of him. It wasn’t personal, he just thought it would be best to leave while leaving was still an option, and what better opportunity than this?

After firing off the signal arrow, Siyar sent his quin away and brought his water-skin, crossbow, and Spiritual Weapon with him as he bolted for the crevice. Dug into the westward side of a half-buried boulder, there was just enough room for Siyar to lie prone inside so long as he hugged his sword and crossbow to his chest. Carefully sweeping away the evidence of his passing, Siyar slid into the dark, earthy pocket, placed a layer of grassy sod over the opening like a blanket, and plunged his hiding space into complete darkness. While optimistically confident his presence would go unnoticed, the ground rumbled with the footsteps of thousands of running Defiled, a sound which filled him with concern as he prayed his efforts were enough.

If not, his sword would prove small protection against the horde of Defiled rampaging nearby.

Closing his eyes, Siyar forced himself to breathe and calm down. Staying hidden was 90% preparation, 9% mental fortitude, and 1% luck. He’d made the preparations, and so long as his luck held, then all he had to do was sit tight until the coast was clear. Not an easy task as his instincts demanded he flee or fight, but reason prevailed and he remained still as a corpse. The thunder of hooves, the crash of steel, the screams of the dead and dying, Siyar parsed through the pandemonium to find out what was going on around him. Dastan’s cavalry was nearby, that much was clear, but after the initial charge, Siyar didn’t hear hoof beats fading into the distance like he’d expected. Not a good sign seeing as there were only fifty odd horsemen against maybe twenty times that number of Defiled. In a situation like this, the heavy cavalry should hit hard and fade away, so why was Dastan intent on fighting fair? Fucking nobles were a curious bunch, but Siyar had thought a low-born scrapper like Dastan would’ve known better. Was the bossman and his Death Corps infantry on their way? If so, then they’d better hurry or else...

Seconds passed by but still there was no change. The din of battle continued to sound out and Siyar imagined a landscape littered with his dead comrades, and it occurred to him that he’d assumed the bossman would emerge victorious from this battle. What would happen if the bossman lost? The Defiled would probably stick around for a week or two, celebrating their victory with a bit of cannibalism and torture while Siyar slowly starved to death.

Maybe it was time to rethink things through...

Clutching his crossbow and sword, Siyar experienced a pang of guilt over abandoning the bossman in his time of need. Hell, he even felt bad about leaving his comrades in the lurch. Bulat and Ravil could drop dead for all he cared, but most of the others weren’t too bad, like Jinoe and Ronga who were always good for a laugh, or tasty Kimi who liked to get drunk and jump him for angry sex, or Awdar who owed him fifty two coppers and counting. Hell, even Jorani wasn’t a bad sort. Sure, the lanky rat killed Big-Eyed Kang, but the dumb bastard deserved it. Strutting around with a banner behind him like he was hot shit just because he had a big sword and an Aura, it’s like Kang was asking to get shot. More importantly, both times when Siyar went to the winery, Jorani had his back. The pinched-faced swindler was utter shit at sneaking and not much better in a fight, but he put on a brave face and looked out for his own, which was more than Siyar could say about most.

By the Father’s Syphilitic Cock... When did he become so... sentimental?

Repressing a sigh, Siyar opened his eyes to the darkness of his hideaway. He’d never forgive himself if he stayed here, so he might as well head out and die with the rest. Shifting the sod away ever so slightly, he let his eyes slowly adjust to the moonlight. Quietly sliding out of the crevice, he allowed himself a small smile as he checked his surroundings and manually loaded his crossbow. Sunrise was still an hour away, and while the Defiled had better night-vision than most, Siyar was confident they wouldn’t see him coming.

For the darkness had always been his ally.

Chapter Meme