I hate to admit I grade and rank them, but out of all my pets, Mama Bun is the best cuddler.

Aurie is an affectionate sweetheart, but he likes to sprawl out while he sleeps, usually over my legs with a big swathe of blanket stuffed in his mouth. The other wildcats don’t enjoy hugs so much as tolerate them, though they will nuzzle and boop when they’re in a friendly mood. In contrast, the bears love hugs and their fur is so soft and warm, but they’re so heavy it’s hard to breathe with their fat heads resting on my chest. Roc and the other birds don’t sleep lying down, the bun buns tear up the bedding, and Blackjack is too small and fragile to hug too tight. The cattle are nuzzlers, but aside from their massive size, weight, and terrible smell, their horns make it dangerous to move around in the dark. Even the cows have horns, which confused me at first, but apparently, that’s how cattle do in the Azure murder-world.

Can’t really blame them either. If offered the choice, I’d want a set of ingrown weapons too.

With Ping Ping being too large to compete, Sir Inky disqualified on account of his perverted nature, and Pong Pong refusing to participate, this means Mama Bun is the best cuddler by default, but she’s not content to rest on her laurels. When I lay on my back, she stretches herself across my chest in a full bun hug, and when I’m feeling vulnerable and lay on my side, she flops right up against me and squeezes her head under my chin, playing the little spoon to my big. Not only is she affectionate enough to cuddle and give bunny kisses, she’s also the perfect size to snuggle, her twenty kilogram frame light enough to shift around, but sturdy enough to give her a good squeeze without hurting her.

Which makes her a great companion to have when I’m depressed and down in the dumps.

So like everyday, but especially today in particular. Having stayed in bed longer than usual, Mama Bun finally reaches her limit and slips out of my embrace, headbutting the door and thumping her feet to indicate she really has to go. Striding over in my nightshirt, I let Mama Bun and Blackjack out to pee, leaning in the doorway to watch them scurry off to the meadow. Pong Pong has long since slipped away on his own, though not before leaving a comparatively enormous amount of turtle poop in his toilet pan. Why he still uses it instead of pooping outside, I’ll never know, but if I don’t leave a pan of water out for him, he’ll poop in my washbasin, teapot, or whatever else he can swim in, as I learned in the worst way possible. Emptying the pan next to my yurt, I chuckle at the memory of Mama Bun smacking Blackjack aside to chow down on the lone flower sprouting in this very same spot, a flower which had probably been nourished by the turtle poop we left here the last time we visited. It’s the circle of poop. Eat, poop, grow veggies in said poop, then eat again, or at least that’s how it is when Mama Bun doesn’t skip over the veggies part.

Gross. I should wash my face.

Sadly, as a man with responsibilities, I can’t spend all day in my yurt giggling about poop, nor can I wander the camp in my pajamas. After washing my face and brushing my teeth (in clean water), I throw on a black high-collared shirt with golden embroidery, eschewing the outer robes and matching vest Luo-Luo insists I wear, along with the stupid cap and jewelled accessories she made me bring. Honestly, if I didn’t put my foot down, she wouldn’t have even given me any pants, expecting me to go into battle wearing what’s essentially a male gown. While many of Central’s warriors go into battle wearing something similar, they also powder their faces bleach white and wear more rouge than most prostitutes in the North, so I’m not exactly rushing to follow in their fashion footsteps.

Having delayed long enough, I take a deep breath and centre myself before going out to meet the day. Falling in line alongside my Death Corps escort, Song hands me my breakfast of jerky, hardtack and preserved vegetables washed down with a cup of fresh milk, which I devour without tasting as I take a walk around camp to gauge the overall mood. Subdued, in a word, as soldiers go about their business of looking busy while having nothing to do, oiling leathers, polishing metals, sharpening blades, and other such chores. XinYue and his cavalrymen groom their horses while Ulfsaar and his cattlery do the same, checking hooves, filling feedbags, and in Neera’s case, braiding hair. Wendy the big red cow is looking lovely with her new hairstyle and prances in delight as I head over to say hi, her nasty shoulder wound already Healed over thanks to the half-bear matron’s careful attentions. Moomie and some other cattle wander over for their fair share of attention, and I make an effort to speak with their handlers while massaging cattle cheeks.

“How’s that gut wound Daru? Get it seen to sooner rather than later, else you’ll be making more work for the Healers.”

“No Desmal, I don’t have any heavier polearms, but I’ll see what I can do when we get back.”

“Redan, Big Mac deserves more grain than that. He’s gotta carry your fat ass around and I’ve seen sacks of turnips ride with more grace than you do.”

Being the forward thinking leader I am, I remember to include the newest members of my retinue too. “Zari, right? I knew you and your Sanshu boys could ride, but last night, you showed me you can fight too. Well done.” The reinforcements from Sanshu seem embarrassed by my familiarity, but I’m trying to ease them into it the best I can. It’s not just XinYue’s bunch who are uncomfortable in my presence, even the former Corsairs seem to think I’m some hoity toity noble who should act like my shit don’t stink, but I’m slowly chipping away at their apprehension one day at a time.

Or maybe they’re just upset because I got their friends killed last night.

In stark contrast, the Protectorate are always on sharp lookout for any sort of snobbery so they can call me out on it, which is equally as bad. “Good shooting out there,” I say, but I might as well have said ‘grass is green’. “If any of you can handle a bow like Sai Chou’s let me know and I’ll see what I can do.” My second statement is received with more warmth and good cheer, albeit a bit too warm. I want to be liked, but respected too, and with how free the Protectorate are with their shoulder punches and back slaps, I’m pretty sure I’m neither.

As for the Death Corps, they remain a conundrum. Though stoic as always, I’m learning how to read their general lack of expression, and from what I can tell, they’re not quite nervous, but not as calm and composed as they’d like me to think. It’s small things, a twitch of the cheek here, an averted glance there, minor signs of surprise or disbelief when I try talking to them like normal people. I find remembering their numbers is next to impossible, but I’ve familiarized myself with a few dozen faces, except none of them seem willing to build a rapport, probably because they resent having to die in service to my stupid ass.

Even the Ones do everything they can to avoid conversation, or Father forbid, offering an opinion, which gets tiring after awhile. I understand it’s how they’ve been trained and they’re leery of making friends with someone who literally holds absolute power over them, but if they’re going to fight and die for me, then I’d like to at least know something about them so I can commemorate their memory. Today, like every other day, I get nothing for my efforts. “Yes, Great One”. “No, Great One”. “By Your will, Great One”. I tried changing the way they address me, but the only alternative they’re willing to accept is ‘Imperial Consort’, and they immediately discovered how much I loathe that particular title.

Then there’s the Khishig contingent of my retinue, with whom I never know where I stand. Beautiful Maral greets me with a glare from her lovely amber eyes, while her husband Gansun moves protectively between us as if I can see through clothes. In contrast, Altan, Tomor, and Mugi all scurry over to greet me, doing that thing kids do where they pretend they don’t care but actually care too much. “Hey boss,” Altan says, his hands moving to salute before he decides a casual nod is better. Messy hair and sloppy clothes aside, the kid is a model Khishig and I can see him going far, assuming he survives long enough. “Er, I know we just joined up, but uh, like, do you think you could like, talk to Sumila about, you know, crafting Spiritual Weapons for us? After we’ve earned them, of course,” he adds, making sure I know this isn’t a demand.

Chipper Tomor chimes in, a pretty girl who tries way too hard to emulate Yan’s casual strut and devilish attitude, though it looks like she’s got Altan and Mugi wrapped around her finger. Then again, judging by the way both boys keep glancing at Song, Tomor’s hold over them isn’t as firm as she’d like. “Like, we saw what your guns did to that Demon, and holy shit, that was fucking. Crazy!”

“Didn’t do nearly enough.” Two bullets to the head and seven to the stomach, but the thing barely flinched. It even kept going with two Spiritual Weapons jammed through its skull. Fucking unbelievable. “I can’t make any promises. Mila’s been really busy working on Imperial requisition orders and it takes her a week or two to make one of those guns.” And it hardly seems worth the effort. I’m not even sure a Spiritual Minigun could’ve brought the water Demon down, so what’s the point in crafting more rifles? I thought clever ingenuity might make up for raw strength, but apparently, everyone was right and I’ve been wasting my time and money. “If you don’t mind a more standard weapon, I could probably get you guys spears or swords.”

Their surprised gasps remind me just how lucky I really had it, having been adopted by Baatar instead of tossed into an orphanage like they grew up in. Still, despite my poorly thought out offer, all three insist they’re happy to wait until ‘Sumila’ has the time. After a bit more awkward conversation, I leave Song to distract them and thank the Mother Lin, Mila, and Yan don’t say ‘like’, ‘you know’, and ‘um’ so much. Worried their youthful stupidity is going to get them in trouble, I drop in on Orgaal, looking savagely regal as he smokes his pipe and strokes his thick, shaggy beard. Subtly nodding towards the youth contingent, I mutter, “Do me a favour and keep a close eye on the children. Last thing I need is for them to lose their heads, figuratively or literally.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

A placid, easygoing man, Orgaal oozes serenity as he lounges in the grass and exhales a lungful of smoke, nodding slowly in agreement. “By your order, Officer,” he says, though his eyes tell me he would’ve done so without my instruction. Lips turned in a mild grimace, he adds, “You do them a disservice calling them children. Two be older than you are and Tomor only a year younger.”

“We may be the same age, but it’s been a long time since I was a child.”

“True.” Orgaal’s tranquil expression breaks into a grin. “I do still remember how you complained the whole trip down to the Society, the only young man I’ve ever met who cares nothing for adventure.” Patting the grass beside him, he says, “Come, young but not childish Rain. I would have a word with you, not as soldier to officer, but senior to junior.” At his insistence, I lounge beside him and wait as he studies my face and puffs on his pipe, gathering his thoughts before speaking his mind. After a short pause and a long sigh, Orgaal scratches his beard and says, “You carry too much, Rain.” Shaking his head as I glance at my pouches, he continues, “Not on your body, but in here.” Using his pipe stem to point, he gestures at my head. “And here.” The pipe taps me gently on the chest. “Your face, it says it all, as do all your generous offers. Sorrow, regret, guilt, and remorse, you carry the weight of every death and injury, but to do so is to disrespect our part in this.”

Seeing my confusion, he gestures around the camp and explains, “We are here because we chose to fight at your side. I cannot speak for the others, but we of the Bekhai bade our loved ones farewell before riding to war, and though none wish for death, we all know the risks and have made our peace. Even those ‘children’ you mock are here of their own free will, here to do their part in the Eternal War against the Enemy.” Holding a hand up to forestall my argument, he waits until he’s sure I’m listening before moving on. “Upon our return from the Society Contests, I had lost four friends and comrades under the Chief Provost’s command, but such is life. Even when everything goes as planned, losses are inevitable in battle. As our commander, your task is to lead us into battle. Conserve our lives and mourn our deaths, but to accept blame when there is none to be had is to belittle our choice in the matter. We are here to fight the Defiled. Some of us will take injuries and others will die, but that is why we have come. This demands respect, young Rain.”

“We could’ve all died last night,” I say, keeping my voice low so no one will overhear. “That Demon could’ve killed us all if it wasn’t for GangShu and Daxian.”

“And how is this your fault?”

“...I’m in command. Tenjin and Jochi were grievously injured on my watch.”

“Did you command them to fight the Demon?”

“Well... no –”

“Did you ignore their warnings to retreat? Recklessly endanger yourself and get in their way? Disobey their instructions and make things worse? Did you summon the Demon yourself?”

“No.”

“Then again, how is this your fault?”

“I don’t know. I should’ve done... something.”

Taking a long draw on his pipe, Orgaal raises an eyebrow and asks, “Like what?”

Designed better bullets maybe, or tried my Honed Aura, though I don’t know how I could’ve coordinated it with the others. Maybe I could’ve touched the Demon and jumped into its Natal Palace to kill it, even if I don’t have Blobby anymore and an actual Defiled host probably won’t be as accommodating as Bei was. Or I could’ve vomited water at it and... “I don’t fucking know.”

Having said his part, Orgaal smiles and pats my shoulder. “There was nothing you could’ve done to make a difference, and it is time you accept it. I did not join in against the Demon, not because I am a coward, but because I know my limits. Learn yours and work within them.” Gesturing at the medical tent, he says, “Now enough moping and meandering about. Go visit the wounded and show gratitude to your Healers, but also remember your own contributions. Many still live because of this camp you chose, the armour you provided, the training you taught, and more.” Chuckling as I stand, he adds, “And remember to smile, lest your grim disposition make everyone forget: Last night’s battle ended in victory, young Rain, a slaughter of thousands in exchange for hundreds of wounded and dozens of deaths. A fair trade, I’d say, and it’d be a mad man who disagrees.”

Sheepish at having been caught out but still not entirely convinced, I thank Orgaal for the advice, put aside my inferiority complex, and head over to the rarely assembled medical tent. Offering a few quiet words of encouragement to the conscious patients and hearty thanks to the staff, I eventually make my way to the back where both my Healers are still hard at work. Lying on neighbouring cots, it’s hard to say whether Jochi or Tenjin looks worse, but neither of the powerful Experts are in the best of health. Though it’s been hours after the fact, Jochi’s complexion is still disturbingly pale after his double amputation, losing most of his right leg and the bottom half of the left to Abjiya’s not so tender ministrations. As for Tenjin, his smile is still bright but horizontal, as the vigorous and spirited Khishig is unable to sit up because his spine is in a bunch of itty bitty pieces, with Jibari hard at work keeping shards of bone from entering Tenjin’s brain.

Two months of non-stop victories, but one Demon shows up and fucks everything and everyone up. Unfair.

Keeping Orgaal’s advice in mind, I smile and stick around for moral support, laughing at Jochi’s joke about using his tail as a third leg or Tenjin’s complaints about his father nagging him to practice more Healing. Soon enough, both injured Experts fall asleep and Abjiya chases me out, making passive-aggressive remarks about how ‘proper Healers’ need ‘quiet and concentration’ to work, though why she chose to emphasize those specific terms is a mystery.

Rescuing a beleaguered Song from the chatty trio and collecting Mama Bun and Blackjack on the way, we head over to an unoccupied area by the pond to stand in comfortable silence and watch the turtles and quins splish splash in the water, a much needed floof break after a hard morning’s work. Wishing I could steal Mama Bun from Song, I sigh and turn away before I make her uncomfortable. Having recovered from yesterday’s Demon birthing, the pond is back to its regular water level and the river flowing as usual, though its fish and lizard inhabitants are being hunted to near extinction by a hundred and fifty odd quins.

Watching the animals frolic only buys me a short reprieve before my mind turns back to more important matters. Terrifying as last night’s ordeal was, it raised a few interesting questions aside from ‘How the fuck am I supposed to survive?’. For starters, if I drain an area of Spectres, does that mean no Demons can be birthed? Does more Spectres = stronger Demon? Is there some sort of critical mass of Spectres required before Demon birth takes place? Did it become a Water wielding Demon because it was formed around water, or because the host had strong feelings regarding water? If the Defiled host had slipped on ice before his transformation, would he have become an ice Demon?

It also revealed a little more about water manipulation. The Demon only used a finite amount of water in its attacks, which is in accordance with Elder Ming’s notes about binding physical water with Chi, i.e Chi-infused water. Bullets were drawn from the shield and the whole thing melted away to form tentacles, and I can’t imagine it would’ve done that if it could use the ambient water to attack instead. It’s also different from what Tenjin and Lei Gong do, using Chi to mimic fire or lightning which is supposedly easier. Why couldn’t the Demon do the same with water? Why was it limited to the water it had bound? Maybe it’s time to put more effort into figuring out how to use Chi-infused Water instead of feeding it all to Pong Pong and Ping Ping for no gain whatsoever aside from their cute turtle smiles.

Bah. I’m doing it again, making baseless speculations. Didn’t I just agree to stop reaching beyond my grasp and let nature take its course? That doesn’t mean I won’t experiment, but I can’t devote too much time to it. The Forms is where the bulk of my efforts should be focused towards, that and... Ugh. Learning strategy from Daxian. The man literally jumped in front of a bullet to save me, but I still can’t bring myself to like him. When I thanked him last night and joked about how I didn’t think he even liked me, he straight up said, “I do not like you, but you are my superior officer. Thus, it is my duty to keep you alive.”

It’d be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t so... right all the time.

“Pei. Pei. Pei!” Suddenly sitting beside us, Guan Suo bristles with indignation and says, “I’ve had enough of your groaning and moaning, like a damned bellows with a leak. Shut it or get gone and leave an old man to smoke in peace.”

“Sorry, didn’t know you were here.” Though to be fair, if you hide yourself so well people can’t even see the clouds of pipe smoke, you shouldn’t get so upset when people accidentally intrude on your privacy. Besides, if he wants privacy, then he can go home to Ping Yao or whatever. Not like he’s even remotely useful, didn’t see him once during last night’s battle. Probably slept through the whole thing. “Song and I will get out of your hair.”

“Hmph. The girl can stay if she wants.” Lying back down in the grass, he adds, “I like her. She’s quiet and respectful, unlike a certain mouth-breathing brat who fakes good manners while thinking rude thoughts. What’s the matter? See your first Demon and shit your pants? Regret your decision to play soldier?”

“I’ve seen Demons before,” I reply, more annoyed than I probably should be. “Killed one too, though I’ll be the first to admit it was more luck than anything else.”

Guan Suo’s snort of laughter is infuriating to the extreme. “You? Kill a Demon? What’d you do, smack it once before it died and now you’re claiming credit?”

“Ran it through, actually.” And sent a droplet of Heavenly Water directly into its Natal Palace, but he doesn’t have to know that. “I figured I hit a vital organ or something, because it died.”

“Pei. Now I know you’re lying.” Deigning to sit up and look me in the eye, Guan Suo empties his pipe while we speak. “Demons don’t have vital organs. You saw it yourself, that thing had a Spiritual Weapon clean through its skull and kept on moving. A damn fool is what you are for thinking your piddly little dagger could’ve changed things. Even if you cut its head right off it would’ve made no difference, and you almost got yourself killed trying.”

...Okay, so he watched the battle. Still doesn’t absolve him from staying out of it. My protectors, my friends, they almost died and he did nothing. “...So how do you kill a Demon?”

Finished packing his pipe, Guan Suo fixes me with a knowing stare. “You don’t. Neither do I. I ain’t here to fight your battles, boy. The Protectorate is help enough. Me, I’m just looking after the big girl there and keeping her safe from the fool she’s hellbent on following around. Next time you see a Demon about to kill your protectors, you turn and run away, you hear? Ain’t no point throwing yourself on the Enemy’s swords, especially not if you bring the big girl with you. Leave the Demons well alone and live to fight again another day.” Laying back down in the grass, his pipe glows with heat even though I didn’t see him light it. “Now quiet down or get gone.”

Quietly turning to go, I pause at the sound of Song’s voice. “Rain is no coward and he did not lie, Venerable One. He killed a Demon in Sanshu, though I do not know how. A single stab and it died, as I and others in camp have witnessed. By your leave.” Stalking away, she motions for me to follow and whispers, “The only way to kill a Demon is to inflict massive trauma to its body or starve it of corpses until it weakens and falls.”

“Ah. Thanks. Good to know.” Surprised she would come to my defence, I hesitate to correct her, but in the interest of honesty, I add, “Truth is, I was terrified last night. Still am. How am I supposed to fight such a creature?”

More slipped out than I’d intended, but Song takes it in stride. “There can be no courage without fear. You struck at the Demon while all others, myself included, stood idle. That is enough. If you mean to face the Demon, then you must train until such a time when you can defeat it. Such is life.” Almost as an afterthought, she adds, “We can discuss training methods together, if you’d like.”

...Is she trying to console me? “I would. Thank you.” Throwing caution to the wind, I ask, “Song, you don’t have to answer, but do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

And that’s all she says as we move to another unoccupied area around the pond, but it’s good enough. I don’t make her uncomfortable, and even though we took a bloody nose last night, we still came out on top. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to get anxiety attacks thinking about fighting Pudge again, not to mention the sheer despair of knowing my guns didn’t do shit and how insurmountable a difference in true Martial strength really is, but er...

Fuck.

I forgot the point I was trying to make...

Chapter Meme