Faith.

Honour.

Reputation.

All names given to human concepts meant to obscure the Truth. Were someone to ask Hideo the colour of the sky, he would always default to the answer ‘blue’, despite knowing the sky was not always blue. At sunrise, the sky was tinted in blazing yellow-gold, and at sunset, a fiery orange-red. Rain clouds darkened skies to overcast grey, and night-time plunged it into inky darkness, while he’d heard tales of purplish pink skies to the distant south, and of verdant streaks lighting up the Northern night skies, yet despite knowing all of this, he still always answered ‘blue’ without questioning the matter.

Why? Because many years ago, when Hideo was learning how to speak, his mother and nursemaids would point at the sky and tell him it was blue, and he accepted this ‘truth’ as immutable fact.

So much of his reality was grounded in similar baseless truths, yet even after being made aware of these fallacies and falsehoods, Hideo found it difficult to do away with his preconceived notions as he moved away from Imperial dominion and into Enemy territory. Catching his mistake even as he made it, Hideo shook his head in amused regret, for he still thought of these foreigners as the ‘Enemy’. Why? Because a lifetime of Imperial propaganda had conditioned him to do so, the same way he still unconsciously envisioned the sky as perpetually blue, despite knowing better. Such was the way of truth and veracity, for so much of what Hideo ‘knew’ came from untrustworthy sources. All his life, he was told the Enemy was here to destroy humanity and that the Defiled were unclean savages driven by violence and blood lust, but he now knew all this to be untrue.

It all started days after the battle of Sinuji, which found Hideo travelling alongside Gen and his Chosen, as well as a complement of malcontent monks formerly from the Penitent Brotherhood. Traitors, rebels, and outcasts the lot of them, but still of Imperial origin and familiar enough to fit into Hideo’s flawed understanding of the world around him. There were also Defiled survivors of course, but he kept well away from them and spent most of his time in a state of wilful ignorance, rejecting any and all efforts from anyone who tried to approach him. Mitsue Hiroshi, his Peak Expert of a father, had been lying to him all his life, but the death of his father still weighed heavily on his heart. A death caused by him, no less, for Father would be alive and well if Hideo had not succumbed to weakness and turned to the hated Enemy for support. Better if Hideo had died alongside his father, or if he had the strength to kill himself and end this waking nightmare...

Then, he arrived in the border city of Shi Bei, where everything he knew about the Defiled was proven wrong within the span of a single day.

All his life, Hideo had been fed nothing but lies and deceits. Everyone told him that the Empire was the last bastion of humanity, and the Defiled were nothing but mindless killers who’d fallen into the thrall of the Father. They were the Enemy, a vengeful, murderous lot who couldn’t even be considered human anymore, and Hideo accepted this without question, so when he encountered the Defiled upon the battlefield, he took them for the tribal savages they appeared to be. Thus, when he heard they were headed for a captured Imperial city, Hideo expected to find bands of Defiled heathens squatting over the ruins of civilization after razing the city and salting the earth in their wake.

Instead, he found Shi Bei more or less intact, with Defiled tribesmen and captive Imperial citizens living in relative harmony. Granted, there were many noticeable differences, such as crude markers proclaiming tribal territory, grisly cairns and macabre altars decorating every corner and alleyway, and a general contempt for sanitation, but it was a far cry from the chaos and anarchy he’d been expecting. The more he looked, the more discrepancies he uncovered, and he soon came to realize that the Defiled were not so different from Imperials after all. They were a strange, barbaric group, but hardly inhuman, so while he wouldn’t go so far as to call them civilized, Hideo recognized their ability to learn and adapt.

Take their fashions for example, which upon the battlefield, were limited to armour and ghoulish trophies, like human skin head-wraps and strings of ears, tongues, hands, and whatnot. Some even kept entire human heads, shrunken and shrivelled to the point where Hideo had almost mistaken them for intricate crafts at first. Yet here in Shi Bei, he saw Defiled tribesmen adopting Western fashions, which were no less foreign to his eyes than Southern or Northern garb, and only a little less foreign than the Defiled variety. There were pale Northern Defiled wrapped in light cottons and silk robes, Southern Defiled garbed in colourful tunics and turbans, and of course, the Western Defiled who were all too happy to go about shirtless and slathered in some foul-smelling gunk.

It seemed like such a minor detail at first, until Hideo considered the implications. The Western Defiled were well used to the constant glare of the harsh desert sun, and had even concocted an unguent to protect themselves, albeit at the cost of giving their skin a greyish, withered texture. The other Defiled were less used to the oppressive sun and heat, yet they quickly learned to cover themselves in Imperial fabrics to combat the unpleasant clime, and even incorporated their own tribal markings into the local fashions. Crude, hand-painted symbols for the most part, displayed on clothes, skin, walls, banners, and anything else which might hold them, with no rhyme or reason to the symbols themselves. Foreign animals, primitive weapons, or just a distinct pattern of markings, aside from a clear lack of refinement, Hideo found them no different from the various sigils and family names used by nobles of the Empire.

This discovery was merely scratching the surface, and soon, his keen eye picked up on a wealth of details and distinctions. Whether it be North, West, or South, those tribal markings were indicative of a strict hierarchy amongst them, one Hideo was unable to unravel since they changed from group to group, but one strictly adhered to. The city had been neatly divided into separate territories, based on tribes, clans, warbands, or whatnot, and most kept to their clearly marked areas without fail while wearing garish displays to proclaim their loyalties for all to see. Stepping out of one’s territory was seen as a challenge, one taken up by any and all members of the defending tribe. Fights broke out every hour of every day, but to Hideo’s great surprise, not many of these altercations resulted in outright death. Bloodied bodies and broken bones aplenty, but death was rare and only when the challenger remained unconvinced of his defeat, sort of an option of last resort.

The Defiled were not what he’d expected. True, they were barbaric savages lacking in refinement and education, but their culture was as rich and nuanced as any, with unspoken rules of honour and decorum. They fought and they killed, because theirs was a harsh world without law or order to depend upon outside the Azure Empire. It was kill or be killed out there, eat or be eaten, yet they were still human as any peasant or noble born within the borders. They were not incapable of learning or higher thought, they simply lacked the tools and resources to overcome their native biases, and now, all that was changing.

One startling revelation was of how the Defiled treated their captured Imperial slaves. According to his guide, Vithar, a northern savage who spoke the Imperial tongue with a harsh, guttural accent, Imperial slaves were unexpectedly weak and feeble, which led to them dying in droves during the first few weeks of the Defiled invasion. One had to be tough to survive in the wastes beyond the borders, where weakness was equivalent to death, but here in the safety of the Empire, the citizens had grown soft and spineless. The Defiled treated them no better or worse than they treated conquered tribesman, a practice born not out of ingrained cruelty, but necessity, and as soon as they realized the fragile Imperial workforce could not survive in such harsh conditions, they erected shelters, provided clean food and water, reduced work hours, and set Imperial taskmasters to work with startling efficiency. Though enslaved, the Imperial workforce soon came to enjoy better conditions than most Imperial nobles would provide, including reduced working hours during the hot summer months, and unrestricted access to food and water.

To the Defiled, a strong slave was a good slave, and a weak slave was fodder, but if a slave should grow strong enough to become a warrior, then they would be welcomed into the tribe with open arms, a practice which was all but unheard of in the Empire. Warrior or commoner, if you were made a slave, you would die a slave, and that was that. Even freed slaves were viewed as something less than peasants, and though Falling Rain and Du Min Gyu played at raising slaves above their station, this was a practice others humoured and overlooked, rather than anything anyone supported or celebrated. However, as much as Hideo hated to admit it, they had a point. Dastan Zhandos was a talented Warrior, so why did it matter if he was a slave who defeated Hideo, as opposed to a free man?

The Defiled were true believers in ‘might makes right’, unlike those Imperial pretenders with all their laws, politics, and half measures. Were strength truly of the utmost importance, Hideo would never have been shamed by his defeat, and his father would never have had to sacrifice fame, fortune, and family just to spare the ego of an incompetent old man like Mitsue Juichi.

In time, Hideo even came to respect the Defiled, or at least certain tribes and individuals amongst them. Vithar, for example, was a fine specimen of Defiled strength, a towering chieftain of perhaps thirty-odd years and a powerhouse to be reckoned with. Every day, Hideo toured the city with Vithar at his side, who played the part of guide, guard, and chaperone with superlative ease. Though unable to read or write and barely able to speak complete sentences in the Imperial tongue, Vithar navigated through the winding neutral territory without a care in the world while explaining the differences between the tribes and factions. Territory changed hands daily as Defiled tribes set out for the front lines and new groups moved in to take their place, but somehow Vithar always knew who held the various areas clearly marked throughout the city. Not all tribes had proper names, and sometimes Hideo felt like Vithar was making some of those names up on the spot, but to be fair, calling a tribe whose markings were black, bloodied feathers the ‘Carrion Crows’, or another tribe who drew tusks on their faces and wore tusked headdresses the ‘Tusk Tribe’ hardly seemed out of place.

Primitives? Certainly. Savages? Undoubtedly. Yet this was hardly enough to describe the Defiled in full. They were a collective of various ethnic groups with little in common save for their ability to survive outside the Empire and their desire to move beyond mere survival. Here in the Western Province, these Defiled tribesmen were finally learning to thrive, and it was fascinating to watch them develop, fascinating enough to distract Hideo from his woes. When they first met, Vithar wore almost nothing under a light blanket he kept draped over his head to shield himself from the harsh Western sun, not because he disdained clothing, but because he had little to no experience in dealing with extreme heat after growing up in the frozen northern wastes. With Hideo there to guide him, by the end of summer, Vithar was the very picture of a Western merchant, wearing a colourful, low-cut long-shirt which left his hairy chest exposed and a headscarf held in place with a simple cord to cover his head and neck. If not for his collection of rugged scars, the asymmetrical cant of his face, and crooked, half-rotting teeth, he might have even passed for an exceedingly ugly commoner, though his burly build all but screamed ‘Warrior’.

The Defiled were certainly different from Imperial citizens, but having finally seen them up close and away from a battlefield, it was clear they were far from the irreconcilable Enemies the Empire would have its citizens believe. The Defiled fought amongst themselves often, but it was no different from the political struggles between factions back home, and quite often far less deadly. Not because they were more restrained, but because everyone was more durable, women and children included. As a group, they had no concept of thievery, because possessing something valuable without adequate strength to defend yourself was the same as painting a target on your own back, and objects of value could sometimes change hands multiple times a day. What’s more, regardless of their background, Defiled children were sacrosanct, meaning so long as they did not take up arms against opposing warriors, they would be left unharmed and untouched. Spars between children were carefully monitored to keep things from going to far, and several times, Hideo saw entire tribes slaughtered save for the children, who were summarily brought back to the victorious tribes’ territory. There, those children were welcomed into the new tribe and found new families, families which cherished their children in a way which went against the grain of everything Hideo once knew about the Defiled.

With one lie exposed, Hideo’s mind was opened to the possibility of others, and as he immersed himself in study of the Defiled tribes, he came to realize that Gen was right. Hideo had been lied to all his life, by his father, his family, his teachers, and his peers, but now his eyes were open and he saw those lies for what they were: shackles to bind and restrain him. The Defiled were not the polar opposite of Imperial citizens, but rather another side of the same coin, uninhibited expression of emotion, as opposed to the Imperial practice of iron-clad control over one’s self and actions.

Despite his smug superiority and sanctimonious preaching, it was not Gen who convinced Hideo of this Truth, but the wayward monks of the Penitent Brotherhood. They offered no names and would not respond to any he gave them, but Hideo found their company more tolerable than most, especially his self-appointed ‘sponsor’, a tall, gangly fellow with eyebrows so thick and bushy Hideo could only think of him as ‘Eyebrows’. The tribal Defiled were not accustomed to exercises of thought, and the so-called Chosen were a bunch of arrogant, deluded, fanatics who believed their leader Gen could do no wrong, but the former monks were a more grounded group, willing to challenge and question any and all ‘truths’ laid out before them. By day, they explored every corner of the conquered city and observed the various tribes moving through the city, and by night, they discussed their findings and debated on what those findings meant. In time, Hideo grew so comfortable around them, he even confided all his deepest, darkest secrets. He told them things he never cared to dwell upon, of dark thoughts and horrific nightmares he sometimes experienced, and even confessed his horrific crimes wherein he murdered and ate sweet Eri-Hime, mentally broke down, and caused his father’s death, all after experiencing the shame of losing to a stronger warrior.

Unburdening himself was rather cathartic, and in solidarity, the Brotherhood revealed two truths. First, many amongst their number were much like Hideo, men who’d succumbed to their darker impulses but pulled back before it was too late. Secondly, the Empire, or at least the highest powers of the Empire, knew this and suffered the Brotherhood’s continued existence.

So much for the much-touted Imperial absolutes of good and evil, Imperial and Defiled, or Mother and Father. The world was not black and white as the Imperial Clan would have everyone believe, but varied shades of grey, and while Hideo’s soul had been stained by his sins, he was not so far gone as to never recover. Father hadn’t known that, had believed those Imperial lies about Defilement and absolutes, which was why he tried to kill Hideo. Had he known otherwise, he would’ve done everything he could to bring Hideo back from the edge, but now, it was too late. Mitsue Hiroshi was dead, having moved on to his next life believing his son was a monster, and now, all Hideo could do was prove his deceased father wrong.

To this end, he shaved his head and took vows as an initiate of the new Brotherhood, whereupon he set out to learn how to control the darkness inside. This evil was present in all men, Defiled or otherwise, but the Empire would rather have everyone believe it was the foul mark of the Father, and that only ‘Balance’ could keep it away. Lies and deceit embedded with a single grain of truth, for the Balance of the Empire was an impossible standard to live up to, a fool’s gambit designed to obscure the Truth laying before their eyes. Balance was not about rejecting emotions and maintaining an equilibrium, for humans were creatures of emotion, and it was all but impossible to divest oneself of emotion, yet the Empire claimed this was the sole Path to Martial Might.

No, the true Path to strength was to feel the full breadth of human emotion while simultaneously retaining control of one’s self. The razor’s edge, Gen called it, emotion and logic in perfect harmony, this was the True Balance Hideo had come to recognize, to experience, yet not indulge, to restrain, but not repress. Gen had this much right at least, and his near daily sermons on the matter were somewhat enlightening. Combined with his constant spars against various monks and Defiled tribesman, Hideo was now stronger than ever.

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Thus, when Gen suggested they exchange pointers in place of their Mentor’s personal instruction, Hideo was more than happy to oblige. In accordance with his newfangled beliefs, he readied to deliver his strongest attack to the arrogant little shit, who so loved to talk down to everyone despite being nothing more than a trumped up village boy from the sticks.

The Mountain Collapsing Stomp was Mitsue Juichi’s signature move, one Hideo had suffered to master on his own, and doing so had earned him no smiles or praises. He had long since held a grudge over this, one his alter-ego ‘Eri-Hime’ had wrenched up from the depths of his subconscious, but after coming to Shi Bei, he discovered that Juichi had been right to scold him. Each must forge their own path, and by doggedly following in his idiot Mentor’s footsteps, Hideo was sorely limiting his potential.

Mountain Collapsing Stomp. What foolishness, to confine such a powerful attack to a singular movement, and not even one easily used. How was Hideo supposed to stomp his opponents to death in combat? Leap over them to stomp on their heads? Aim for their feet which would do nothing but inconvenience them? Knock them down and aim for their chests? A stomp was hardly the most versatile of attacks, so once he set to unravelling Truth from falsehood, Hideo’s first order of business had been to turn this stomp into a proper ultimate attack.

Having seen the Defiled and how they lived, as well as the Brotherhood’s ascetic habits, Hideo came to appreciate the beauty in simplicity, and he funnelled this newfound appreciation into his new and improved attack. At first glance, it was but a simple swing of his mace, not a ham-fisted overhead strike like chopping lumber, but more of a hammering motion one would use to knock on a door. Hardly the most demanding or comprehensive of movements. Were he to attribute it to one of the Forms, he would grudgingly settle upon Bear Form – Pluck the Honeycomb, but that just didn’t feel right. This Movement went beyond the Forms, for he was no bear, but a man, and the closest analogy was not ‘Bear Plucks the Honeycomb’, but perhaps ‘Man Knocks On Door’.

Yet another Imperial lie he uncovered, the fallacy of the Forms, but Hideo had yet to make much headway with this discovery. The monks he discussed the matter with assured him he wasn’t wrong, but not entirely right either, and that understanding would come in time, so Hideo put it aside and focused on his Mountain Collapsing Stomp instead. Except now, it was no longer a stomp, but a strike. The channelled combination of Chi skills surged down Hideo’s arm and out of his mace as it connected with Gen’s metallic forearm, whereupon it exploded on contact and –

Dissipated into nothingness. His mace simply stopped, as if sinking into dense mass of solid air, with neither Hideo nor Gen feeling the impact.

“Good, good,” Gen said, nodding in appreciation as if he were the teacher and Hideo his student. “What a clever usage of Reverberation and Amplification. Like making waves in the bathtub with gentle back and forth motion, you slowly build up a shock-wave inside the confines of your Spiritual Weapon using carefully timed applications of Chi. Maximum destructive force with minimal effort and expenditure, though I wager if someone were to strike your weapon before you are ready, your shock-wave would be prematurely released. Perhaps that’s why your Mentor restricted its use to his feet, a target which is difficult to strike at without leaving an opening in return.”

Unable to conceal his anger or surprise, Hideo ran a hand over his bald head and asked, “How did you block it?”

Smiling his smug, hateful smile, Gen brushed Hideo’s mace aside and said, “Just as a wave can be built up using proper timing and application of force, so too can it be deconstructed. Think of it as ripples in a pond. Throw two rocks with equal force into the water, and where their ripples meet, only still water is left behind. I simply matched your shock-wave with one of my own, and like two hands pressed against one another with equal strength, the forces simply cancel each other out, with no ground gained or lost.”

“Impossible.” Not the part about forces cancelling out, which Hideo learned first-hand using wooden water troughs and Reverberating strikes, but rather the part where Gen claimed to have cancelled out Hideo’s attack using a Mountain Collapsing Strike of his own. A perfectly cancelled wave had been rarely seen when Hideo was merely playing with water and matched himself against others, yet Gen had matched Hideo’s force so perfectly his sleeves didn’t even stir from the impact. “How is it possible we have the same Talent?” And how could Gen have such perfect control over it?

“Hmph.” Flashing his pompous, self-righteous sneer, Gen sarcastically asked, “Talent? What is a Talent? A name given to any process those blind fools do not understand. Does the chameleon have the Talent of camouflage? Does a dog have the Talent to track a scent over land? Does the pigeon have the Talent to find its way back home from hundreds of kilometres away? No, these are normal, everyday skills they possess due to an innate understanding even they cannot wholly explain, and the same goes for Talents.” His derisive smile returning in full force, Gen set his unsettling gaze upon Hideo and said, “You of all people should understand the absurdity of Talents. There are no Insights, no Talents, no Blessings or what have you, for they are all different names for simple comprehension of the Dao, names given by foolish people looking to separate themselves from the chaff through the use of meaningless labels. Such is the Truth the Imperial Clan keeps for themselves, so that they might stall humanity’s progress and rule over the ignorant masses in relative security.”

“Ridiculous.” Scoffing despite his curiosity, Hideo said, “Talents being universally achievable I might understand and accept, but Blessings? You mean to say anyone can call forth the power of the Elements? Then why is the ability so rare?”

“Because our comprehension is lacking,” Gen replied, putting on what Hideo supposed the idiot thought was a humble expression. “Those who succeed stumble upon the key to power by pure accident, like lightning striking someone in the middle of an empty field.”

“If there are no Blessings and comprehension is the key,” Hideo argued, simply because he couldn’t stand Gen in the least and needed the farmer boy to be wrong, “Then why can’t Awakened Martial Warriors teach others to do the same? Surely someone could pass along their knowledge and prove your claims correct.”

“Comprehension is not the same as understanding. Even this Sovereign’s understanding of Earth’s Fire is woefully inadequate to explain it to someone else, to say nothing of the other Elements.” Waving a metallic hand at Hideo, Gen explained, “Everyone is born knowing how to breathe, but how many individuals understand the process behind it? Or the reasoning behind the necessity? Talents and Blessings are merely labels humans place upon unexplained comprehension, because we are blind men attempting to identify colours with the tools at our disposal, but taste, texture, sound, and scent have little to do with appearance, so we are doing a poor job of it. We muddle our way forward through trial and error, but there has yet to be a single Martial Warrior who truly understands the Martial Dao.

An impossible feat for one person, of course, so humanity must work together to gather the knowledge of their predecessors and pass this along to their descendants, so that they might build upon what we already know. This is how we unravel the mysteries of Chi and Heavenly Energy, through the collective efforts of generations upon generations of humanity, but the Imperial Clan would have each individual work everything out for themselves.” Many words to say nothing of note, and it left Hideo in a foul mood, but Gen simply smiled and shrugged. “For now, all this Sovereign can do is muddle along on his own, but such is life. Perhaps one day, this Sovereign will have all the answers you seek, but for now, think on this: what is heat?”

Taken aback by the question, Hideo stopped to think it over, and then realized he didn’t actually have an answer. “Heat could be the quality of being hot, but that is not the entire truth. You can feel heat without it being hot, and you can be cold yet still emanate heat.”

“Indeed.” Nodding sagely, Gen explained, “One explanation is that heat is how human’s perceive changing temperatures. Another is that heat itself is energy, and what we are perceiving is the transfer of said energy. When you rub your hands together, are you generating heat, or are you using friction to raise the temperature of your palms? Both statements might be true, but other truths change depending on which one you pursue.” Spreading his hands in a shrug, Gen concluded, “And heat is but one, minuscule portion of Fire which we have yet to wholly understand, so how am I to explain how one turns Chi into Fire? Comprehension is rare, but understanding? No human mind wholly understands the mysteries of the world we can perceive, much less the mysteries of Chi, so do not concern yourself with understanding just yet. Comprehension is less than ideal, but better than nothing.”

Suitably cowed by Gen’s knowledge, Hideo nodded and left to ruminate on these findings. He spent weeks engrossed in meditation and debate with his brothers, and uncovered many new Truths to study, but even consumed by the Martial Path as he was, he still took the time to investigate his new allies. The monks of the Brotherhood were more or less an open scroll, utterly incapable of deception or deceit, but the others were much harder to read. The Chosen were a bunch of worthless toadies, unable to come up with a single original thought that hadn’t been told to them by Gen, who himself was a slippery bastard who could talk circles around Hideo even when drunk to the point of idiocy. As for Vithar, he toed the line laid down by Gen and never spoke a word more than required. If the Defiled chieftain didn’t want to answer one of Hideo’s questions, he would simply shrug and say nothing, or snarl and leave if Hideo was being overly persistent.

Then there was the seldom seen Confessor, who spent all his time locked away in his room save for those rare occasions when desire overcame reason. Hideo was shocked to see a man of his reputation give in to excesses of lust, gluttony, and worse, but considering the results, he had to assume old Goujian was onto something. The Confessor was once described as an aged, angular man of unremarkable physique, but this Confessor seemed a God given flesh. So powerful he accidentally destroyed a brick wall while trying to open the door, Goujian was a force to be reckoned with and a Peak Expert who survived ten deadly exchanges with Nian Zu, which was nine more than most Peak Experts could claim.

Last, but not least, was the mysterious traitor Guard Captain Mao Jianghong, who single-handedly managed the Western Province’s resources. Though never formally educated on the subject, Hideo had some understanding of economics and supply lines, and he also knew the Western Province was the poorest province of all, utterly lacking in most natural resources besides sand and lamp oil. Yet somehow, Mao Jianghong was able to conjure up food, lumber, stone, and cloth, all seemingly out of thin air. Shipment after shipment arrived in Shi Bei like mechanical clockwork, delivered to these staging grounds by Defiled Warriors and Chosen Soldiers. Their numbers continued to swell with each passing week, and Hideo envied those fresh faced Martial Warriors being kitted with brand new Runic Armour and Spiritual Weapons. How was Mao Jianghong able to arrange all this? He had to be smuggling most of this in from the North and South, but if he was in possession of secure routes into the other provinces, then why wasn’t he dispatching soldiers to harass Imperial cities and draw forces away from the Western Border?

The answer arrived during an impromptu meeting at the tail end of summer, when Mao Jianghong stormed in on a particularly enlightening bout between Gen and Hideo. “You assured me he would be dealt with,” Jianghong began, offering Gen a folded piece of parchment with one hand. A minor slip in decorum at best, but Gen was a stickler for formality and Jianghong’s deliberate ‘contempt’ had him chomping at the bit. “The latest shipment was intercepted, and many of our people captured alive. We can only assume our methods have been compromised, so I’ve suspended all upcoming projects until we can guarantee delivery.”

Baited by Jianghong’s casual tone and mild disrespect, Gen’s facade slipped to reveal the crazed madman behind it. “Rang Min will live to regret this,” he growled, the statement punctuated by a grinding metallic screech emitting from his clenched fist. Silence ensued as Gen’s mind went elsewhere, ostensibly to converse with the mysterious Uniter, but in Hideo’s eyes, the ‘Emissary’ was merely a puppet echoing the words of his Master and wholly undeserving of his lofty status, as proven by his next statement. “But not today.” Trembling with barely restrained violence, Gen paced about the stage while Hideo moved off to the side. Not out of respect or deference, but simple prudence, as Gen had an unpleasant habit of flying into a rage with little or no warning.

One shattered arm and three broken ribs taught Hideo to keep well clear of the temperamental fool in times like this, but Jianghong held his ground. “You said you had information which would destroy him if leaked out,” the de facto Marshal of the West proclaimed, with more than a mild hint of reproach. “You said he would stand down and turn a blind eye to our actions, or you would unleash a storm of retribution upon his head.”

“Mentor said all that,” Gen corrected, smug and smarmy once again. “I merely passed the message along. Unfortunately, Rang Min is a most impressive foe who responded poorly to our threats. Since then, he’s taken actions which rendered my information useless.”

“Manufactured facts to the contrary?”

“No, he removed anyone who might corroborate our story and any evidence which might remain behind, including one of his closest allies within the Clan. He’s also taken measures to not only defend against any aggrieved parties, but also pre-emptively strike at anyone he deemed a threat should Mentor’s information were to come to light. An effective and resolute man, he has plucked the fangs from our threat and now we have no choice but to try something different.”

“Assassination, perhaps?”

“Impossible to accomplish without revealing our hand.”

“Have him deposed?”

“Only for Nian Zu to take his place as Clan Patriarch? Ha. We would be doing Falling Rain’s work for him, and this Sovereign is not so kind. A shame Rang Min is so resolute, else he would make for a most formidable ally...”

“Then we are at an impasse.” Spreading his hands in helpless surrender while maintaining a carefully neutral and almost bored expression, Jianghong explained, “With Falling Rain and his bitch Yuzhen watching the Azure Sea like hawks, and Quyen Huong’s iron grip on the merchants of the South, we have precious little cargo coming in from Central and South. Add in Rang Min’s dedication and effectiveness in hunting down our contacts, and we can no longer rely on smuggled supplies coming from the North by way Shen Jin. By my calculations, starvation and scarcity will have the Western province tearing itself apart in four months, just in time for year’s end.”

“Then we must advance the timeline,” Gen replied, before rattling off a set of instructions which Jianghong easily followed, but left Hideo reeling in shock. Combat was one thing, but Gen made it sound like he’d been managing a province for a lifetime, and even responded well to Jianghong’s suggestions, either accepting or refuting them with good reason. How did this backwater peasant rise to such grand heights in less than two years? Had he not seen the reports himself, Hideo might have mistaken Gen for the talented heir to a powerful Imperial faction, one classically trained and educated from birth. From this one conversation alone, Hideo could tell Gen knew far more about everything than anyone had any right to, but in the following days, he tested Gen’s knowledge and was unpleasantly surprised. The peasant turned Emissary had something to contribute no matter the topic of conversation, whether it be horsemanship, military procedure, calligraphy, construction, or economics, and his knowledge often surpassed Hideo’s by no small margin.

There was more. Not only was Gen strong and smart, he was also focused and hardworking as well, sometimes meditating for days without interruption before opening his eyes and looking none the worse for wear. During those rare moments of vulnerability, his cadre of Demons guarded him closely, an eclectic group of Elementally Blessed killing machines which he studied at great length. There was a pale, bulky Water Blessed Demon, a slender, caped Shadow Blessed Demon, an armoured behemoth of an Earth Blessed Demon, a tiny, fairy-like Air Blessed Demon, and many, many more, all of which obeyed him without question.

Which made it difficult for Hideo if he wanted to kill Gen and seize his role as the leader of the Chosen and the Uniter’s favoured Disciple. As the weeks and months wore by, Hideo’s strength increased by leaps and bounds, but still he had yet to personally speak with his new Mentor or find the upper limit of Gen’s strength. It wasn’t fair, how could Falling Rain have ever been Gen’s match? There was no way that runt was so much stronger than Hideo, but the facts said otherwise, and he was quickly losing hope of ever surpassing Gen in this lifetime, not without earning the Uniter’s favour. However, while Mao Jianghong only emerged from his office once this entire time, Hideo wasn’t even sure if the Uniter was in the Western Province, so without a direct line to the Enemy overlord like Gen had, Hideo was in no position to usurp his rival.

And then, one autumn evening, Gen summoned Hideo in the middle of the night to receive orders from the Uniter, and he was taken completely by surprise. For months, the Defiled savages, Imperial slaves, and Chosen soldiers had toiled day and night making preparations to march, but now they were setting out without warning. When he voiced his confusion, Hideo was rewarded with a personal conversation with the Uniter, one which soon had him screaming on his knees.

Foolish Worm. Ours Is the Place To Command, Yours To Obey.

That was it, a single sentence delivered through agonizing Sending, with each word rending apart a small piece of his sanity. Smug as always, Gen patted Hideo on the shoulder and said, “Mentor does not like to be questioned, but this Sovereign is a much more forgiving soul. In short, a few hours ago, our Divine allies have returned victorious, albeit short one woman. A small price to pay, for a little while after, we received confirmation of the Smiling Slaughterer’s death. The other two Divinities are incapacitated, and the death of one of their strongest will leave the others reluctant to take sides. Thus, we must now strike whilst the iron is hot and march out at first light, so that my Chosen of Heaven can prove once and for all that my –”

Stopping mid-sentence to wrench his head east, Gen stood there in wide-eyed confusion with a distant stare. “Oh?” he whispered, a smile stretching slowly across his face. “How fortuitous. One of ours dies, and now another rises to take her place? No, no, sadly not quite a Divinity, but close, so very close. Even the Heavens favour this Sovereign now, or perhaps this is merely a pleasant coincidence, but with luck, our new ally’s arrival will cause chaos within the Citadel before it escapes to –” A strangled gasp escaped Gen’s mouth and shock settled over his features, which Hideo took as a sign to back away. “No,” Gen exclaimed, his surprise giving way to predictable anger. “No, that’s not possible! How can this be? I must go, I must stop this. Get out.” Turning to Hideo in a rage, he charged forward and shoved him so hard he crashed through the door on his way out of the room. “GET. OUT!”

Bristling at such harsh treatment while brushing splinters off his body, Hideo had a mind to march back in and put the peasant in his place, but Gen was no longer rational. Throwing himself at his entourage of pretty serving girls, he lost himself in a haze of lust and hunger and Hideo lacked the stomach to watch. Gen was becoming unhinged, for these were not the actions of man walking the razor’s edge, but one who’d fallen off and was indulging his deepest, darkest desires. Scornfully leaving the fool to his perverse carnality, Hideo left to make ready to march. Gen was unravelling and would soon become his own undoing, so there was no need to concern himself with the peasant. Instead, he turned his mind to his imminent return to Central. Finally, they would bring this fight to the Empire, and with the Brotherhood, the Defiled, and the Chosen at his side, he would tear apart those Imperial lies and show everyone the Truth.

Father died defending a lie, so Hideo would devote his life to righting this wrong. Besides, he was long past due for a visit with his in-laws, as he was sure Eri-Hime would much appreciate it if Hideo reunited her with her parents. Poor aunty and uncle, they were probably still mourning the loss of their lovely daughter, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on their faces when he told them Eri-Hime had been with him all along...

Chapter Meme