As a young boy, Baatar once stole a jug of lychee rice wine from the man he now called father, and more than six decades later, his friends and family would still not let him forget it.
It seemed so innocent at the time, taking a single jug from Husolt’s wagon and running off to his secret hidden hideaway to taste his spoils in secret. There were still dozens of jugs in the wagon, so surely no one would miss one, and Baatar had never tried wine before, though he’d eaten lychees once during a festival, and they were the most delicious fruit he’d ever tasted. To this day, he still remembered how sweet that first taste of wine was, a delicious nectar which stung his eyes and burned his nose yet filled him with warmth and contentment for no reason besides merely existing. That first sip left him coughing and gasping from the potent bite, but the delectably fruity flavour and comfortable warmth pooling in his belly left him wanting more. Well provisioned with dried meat from a stag he’d hunted and smoked two days past, Baatar settled in to enjoy the wine while pretending he was older than his sixteen years and capable of wooing his beautiful Mentor away from her foolish bear of a husband.
The first hour or so went well as he gorged himself on meat and sipped gingerly from his ‘hard-earned’ spoils, but just as he was about to put his wine away to enjoy another day, he discovered the bottom of the jug was filled with lychees, delicious white-fleshed fruits with the skins and seeds already removed. Since he had yet to taste one, his young, drunk self decided he had to try it, and in the absence of chopsticks or other clean utensils to use, he figured his only course of action was to tip the jug back and drink deep until the fruits flowed into his mouth. The wine was sweet and delicious, but the fruits were like concentrated honey to his lips, and far more alluring than the alcohol itself. All too soon, the jug was emptied of both wine and fruits, and Baatar, with his belly full and mind awash with dreams of women and heroics, settled down for a happy little nap to digest his meal.
Only to wake up some time later to regurgitate everything he’d eaten in the past week.
It was the first and only time he’d suffered the effects of too much wine, and the shame was almost as bad as the pounding headache, foggy mind, and unending nausea which followed. Still drunk and now panicked, he crawled out of his cozy little cave and buried himself in the snow to seek relief from the burning heat of his own skin. A grievous mistake, since his body wasn’t actually warm to begin with, and the Northern winters were cruel and merciless even to the most prepared of travellers, which Baatar clearly was not. Between the miserable groans and unending vomit, he made enough noise that a passing Sentinel came to see what all the fuss was about, and ended up saving Baatar from hypothermia or worse.
Akanai was furious when she learned her new Disciple had been found drunk and covered in vomit out in the wilds. When he came to, Baatar learned she’d even threatened to cast him out from under her tutelage until Husolt calmed her down, laughing Baatar’s antics away as ‘boys will be boys’. Even then, he didn’t get off lightly, as she ordered everyone to leave him be to recover on his own instead of teaching him how to purge the alcohol or treating the effects, so he spent the rest of the day and most of the next wallowing in sorrow and self-pity until Sarnai snuck in to laugh at his plight and teach him how to remedy it.
It wasn’t just Sarnai either. Naaran showed up later that night, poking fun at his stupidity and complaining how he was too miserly to share, while Yaruq and Khagati voiced their insincere sympathies from the door and window. Horrible as the experience had been, he would gladly suffer that pain and humiliation each and every day if it meant his old friends would show up to laugh at his plight once again, but so many of them were gone, including quiet Khagati. Such is life, trials and tribulations without end, but at least the hawk-eyed hunter of the People could rest and relax in the arms of the Mother for a spell, before setting out into the world once more.
It was decades later when Baatar learned Husolt had actually seen him steal the wine jug and merely looked the other way, a kind man who treated his wife’s ‘cute’ Disciple with nothing but kindness. In the years following his unfortunate introduction to alcohol, the boisterous blacksmith would often sneak a small jar of alcohol to Baatar and cautioned him the same way every time. “Don’t ye make a mess of yourself again, lad,” he’d rumble, his eyes twinkling in barely concealed merriment. “And if ye do, don’t you let anyone know where ye got this from, ye hear?”
Small chance of that, as Baatar had learned his lesson well. Never again did he drink to excess, save for at his children’s weddings, but even then, he was careful to keep a firm rein on his inhibitions and purge the alcohol before going to bed. In this way, he carefully avoided the pitfalls of excess and never again suffered through that miserable experience, until today, when he awoke with clouded thoughts and a raucous ringing in his ears which threatened to shatter his skull into pieces. At least he wasn’t vomiting, but it was only a minor relief, for once his vision cleared and the world stopped spinning, Baatar discovered his mother, father, wife, and son all watching him with grave concern, while the Guardian Turtle snored peacefully in the boy’s arms.
“What did I do?” he asked, his cheeks heating in shame and dread as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings, an opulent room which screamed excess and indulgence. “How bad was it?” How did this even happen? What reason did he have to drink to excess again?
“...You went with the Disciplinary Corps,” the boy helpfully supplied, while everyone else traded amused glances. “And they arrested you for what happened to Shen ZhenWu at the manor. They must have given you something to knock you out and keep you from communicating with the rest of us, but Tokta burned it out of your system.” Beaming with obvious relief, the boy helped Baatar up into a seated position, much to his dismay, but the hug which came afterwards made his suffering worth it. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” the boy said, and the words hammered Baatar with an overwhelming sense of joy and relief, but only for a brief moment. Confused, but uplifted, Baatar hugged his son, who was so quick to show affection to his animals, but until recently was reluctant to do the same with people. “When I saw you lying there, I thought the worst and...”
Arrested? “You must be mistaken.” Touched by the boy’s overwhelming concern, the memories returned as Baatar looked to Sarnai for clarification and said, “I was called in for questioning regarding our manor defences, but the Justicar made no mention of an arrest. We sat down for tea and...” Seeing the anger in his beloved Mountain Rose’s eyes, he realized things were not as they seemed. “What happened?”
“Once you were in their hands, they announced you had been arrested for playing a part in the attempted assassination of Shen ZhenWu.” The boy gave Baatar a brief but rambling explanation of the day’s events, which resulted in too many unanswered questions. Then Mother explained in more clear and concise terms, and Baatar almost wished they’d left him to nurse his throbbing headache in blissful ignorance.
Marching on the command centre with an army at his back. Debating the new Legate in public with no care or concern for his new rank. Utterly throwing away face, both his own and that of the Imperial Clan by bringing their private feud out into the public. Knowing what the boy did filled him with both pride and concern, more so than having the past exposed or the Guardian Turtle’s presence revealed. Pride because of how little Rain showed the temperament of a true Warrior, ready to fight if need be yet also willing to explore other alternatives, but it was the manner in which he did so which Baatar found concerning. While he himself was ready to rebel if the Empire should harm his family, he was not without reservations or regrets, but the boy demonstrated a decided lack of concern with the fate of the Empire, to the point where he was almost daring his foes to act in an unrestrained manner. “You knew,” Baatar said, not so much asking as confirming. “You knew Jixing’s arrest was a ruse. That is why you approached the Death Corps alone.”
“More like I guessed.” Shrugging as if it didn’t matter, the boy explained, “Either he was stupid enough to actually arrest you and be proven for a fool, or he was bluffing which meant he was too desperate to predict. It wasn’t as dangerous as it sounds, because Imperial Scions are forbidden from ordering the Death Corps to attack over internal disputes. If they struck me down in plain sight, then we’d know Jixing was acting on behalf of Imperial interests, at which point we’d have no choice but to take things into our own hands.”
Meaning rebellion. It was one thing for Baatar to rebel in defence of his people, but quite another for his people to rebel to defend him, and despite knowing they would have done it for any one of the People, Baatar appreciated the lengths his friends, family, and comrades had gone to for him. “A good thing matters did not devolve so far,” he said, patting the boy’s styled hair to show his appreciation, before pinching his cheek lightly. “But if you suspected a ruse, why did you not tread more carefully?”
Wrinkling his nose in wounded annoyance, the boy asked, “And do what? Smile politely and twiddle my thumbs while not knowing if you were dead or alive? Hand Luo-Luo over and ask if he’d like a reach-around to boot?”
Crude as the boy was, he had a point, and while Baatar knew there were better ways they could have gone about things, he himself was clueless as to what they were. “You could have sought out Yuzhen and asked for her assistance,” Baatar said, never one to balk at asking for help. “Or Colonel General Nian Zu. If that failed, you still have Colonel General Ryo and Shuai Jiao to rely on, as well as Marshal Yo and Quyen. Instead, you took the obvious bait and ran headlong into a trap designed to ensnare you, and it pains me to know you would risk not just the Empire in such a foolish gambit, but yourself as well.”
Never one to take criticism well, the boy pouted and asked, “How is it any different from you all threatening to rebel if I’m injured?”
Hugging the boy tight, Baatar whispered, “Because it is every father’s ambition to die before his son, and similarly, their nightmare to die after. Even if I am fated to suffer this tribulation, at least do me the courtesy of first living for as long as you can.” Meeting the eyes of his beautiful wife, he took her hand and kissed her fingers to share the same sentiment, praying to the Mother Above that they might have many decades more to share together, for he could not even imagine a life without her. She was his passion, his flame, his reason for waking up in the morning and the person he laid his head down next to at night, and life without her was akin to life without colour, sound, and sensation.
Though repentant of his actions, Rain still refused to admit his wrongs and said, “Well, all is not lost yet. The situation can still be salvaged if we stand united with the rest of the Citadel, which is a big if, but not beyond the realm of possibilities.” Biting his lip in thought, the boy grimaced and added, “Though it would probably be a lot safer if we just left now to link up with Alsantset and the others before heading North. There’s a very good chance the Prime Minister is going to accuse us of treason over the death of his son, assuming the idiot is actually dead.”
Again, everyone traded glances with one another, this time in confusion, and it was Mother who finally broke the silence. “Foolish boy. We all saw a Wraith separate Jixing’s head from his shoulders, as did thousands of other Martial Warriors. How can he not be dead?”
“The world is full of strange and mysterious things.” Expecting him to rant about powerful Imperial secrets, Baatar and everyone else was taken aback when the boy solemnly said, “The human brain can survive for up to seven seconds after decapitation, meaning if there was a Healer nearby who was fast and skilled enough, they could have reattached Jixing’s head and left him none the worse for wear. Theoretically of course,” he concluded, offering the shrug he so often used when sharing information he couldn’t source or prove. “Not sure if it would actually work in practice. Guess I should’ve asked the Legate for our enemy’s completed notes when I had the chance. I bet that creepy old torturer tried this at some point, or at least I hope he did. That’s the problem with having morals and a conscience, because this is really something you want to be sure of before trying for yourself.”
It was disturbing how casually the boy voiced his desire to mutilate and even torment a living person, but at least he still understood it would be morally reprehensible and didn’t actually try it. It would most certainly be an issue if he still tried it regardless, but thus far, the boy had yet to show signs of going any further than theoretical musings, and that would have to suffice. Perhaps it was due to seeing so much death as a child, or from waking up in a pile of corpses, but the boy had no reverence for the remains of the dead, and no compunctions about profaning or desecrating them in the manner of the Defiled. Now, his thoughts were straying dangerously towards the living, but once again, this was all nothing more than theory, and if Baatar had his way, would never go any further than that. The boy would have enough issues with people suspecting him of Defilement now that he’d plainly admitted to being a slave, one in service to a Defiled enterprise no less, so it would be best if he remained on his best behaviour from here on out, lest he give credence to the Imperial Scion’s accusations that Falling Rain was allied with the Enemy.
Difficult to prove with not one, but two Divine Turtles at his side, though only sweet Ping Ping had revealed herself to save the boy. There was no keeping her ascension a secret anymore, as too many people had seen her appearance and witnessed firsthand how she pummelled an Ancestral Beast about with almost careless ease. It was common knowledge that Nian Zu’s famed Shooting Star hadn’t even fazed the Bristleboar Divinity, so how else could they explain this dog-sized turtle who looked suspiciously like the Divine Turtle of Ping Yao and was capable of scaring the Immortal Zhu Chanzui into retreating? Worse, how were the People supposed to keep Ping Ping safe now that everyone knew of her existence? Everyone and their Mentors would want to study this unprecedented Divinity, even the Emperor Himself, for before today, it was ‘known’ that birds, fish, and reptiles had no Path to Divinity, and that the only way forward for most animals was to become human. Ping Ping’s very existence disproved this, and humans acted in irrational ways when confronted with their own mortality. Who knew how many other animal Divinities were out there, creatures capable of extreme destruction with little more than a flip of their... paw, claw, or talons?
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In retrospect, perhaps the boy was right. It would be easier just to give up on the Empire and retreat to the North, but the Mother rarely presented Her children with an easy path to success. Rebelling and withdrawing from the Empire now might keep the People safe in the short term, but once the Defiled threat played out in one way or another, the People would be faced with another dire threat to contend with. Either the Empire would eventually come calling to put down the Saint’s Tribulations rebellion, or the Defiled would come to spread death and destruction, either scenario could only end in the People’s inevitable defeat, unless Ping Ping and Pong Pong could be convinced or compelled to take part in standard warfare. Even then, it wouldn’t be ideal, because no matter how powerful an animal might be, it was still an animal, no match for the canny wits of man.
Since he himself was too politically inept to remedy this situation, Baatar pushed himself to his feet and quietly thanked his family before saying, “Come with me. We will speak with the Colonel General while your grandmother –”
“Mother-in-Law.”
Smiling at Mother’s obstinate determination to have Rain call her by the lesser title because it made her sound younger, Baatar nodded in deference lest she teach him a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. “While your Mother-in-Law sees to the Sentinels. If we are to guide the People through this calamity, we will need the former’s counsel and assistance, though it may come to the latter’s bows and blades.”
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry. I thought I told you.” The boy’s tone was sombre and mournful, but Baatar didn’t understand why, until he added, “Nian Zu is dead. The Confessor ambushed him shortly after Jixing died, and I must’ve forgotten to mention it.”
Inwardly laughing at his son, Baatar reflected on how it was so like the boy to expect the worst no matter the circumstances. A foe decapitated? He might well still be alive. A valued ally attacked? There was no hope, and he must be dead. “You said he was killed, but Nian Zu lives,” Baatar said, intending to share this story with the Colonel General later when matters were less hectic. “Little Lin’s guard saved him from the brink of death, and the Colonel General just Sent me a request to meet.” That guard also happened to be Sarnai’s Mentor, but she was an obstinate, ill-tempered woman who never liked Baatar and said as much during their wedding, so the feeling was mutual. It was highly amusing watching Rain mouth off to her without knowing her true identity, but the boy would not be cowed even if he did. Today’s events proved as much, did it not? Despite knowing who Zhu Chanzui was and what he could do to the Citadel, the boy told the hostile Divinity to fuck off no less than three times, which should go a long way to soothing Sarnai’s disgruntled Mentor’s temper.
The boy had a dragon’s temperament, arrogant beyond belief, yet was still kind and compassionate to the extreme. Such a strange pairing, but it worked in his favour today, and perhaps would continue to do so in days to come.
Even though the world was still spinning and he needed Sarnai’s help to walk, it didn’t take long to reach Nian Zu, who was currently resting in a room on the first floor of the command centre. Gerel stood guard at the door but let them pass with little more than a nod, though Baatar saw the disguised pride in his eyes when they settled on Rain. As well he should be, and all the Iron Banner was, for this was the scared little slave they saved and brought back to the village, only to collectively watch over him for years after. The boy was Baatar’s son, but Falling Rain was the Iron Banner’s greatest success story, one they would all remember fondly until the end of their days.
Inside, the Colonel General lay supine across a couch with Yuzhen at his side, while Sarnai’s Mentor loomed in a corner nearby. Pale and wan from loss of blood, Nian Zu forced himself up and gently waved Yuzhen off with a smile, who was hard at work with water and cloth trying to get the blood out of the Colonel General’s poorly cropped beard. Despite her best efforts, Nian Zu was still a complete mess, the front of his gold and black armour covered in a spray of coagulated blood, which no doubt had been left to sit after Sarnai’s Mentor did the bare minimum to keep the Colonel General alive. To be fair, it came as a surprise that she would save an outsider at all, but even if she hadn’t acted, Baatar was positive there were hidden Divinities nearby who would have saved Nian Zu, even if they were reluctant to reveal themselves.
Reaching up to gingerly touch his neck, Nian Zu grimaced as his fingers lightly traced the still visible line which marked the passing of the Confessor’s hooked sword, and he offered a quiet nod to Sarnai’s Mentor. “Thank you, Great One, for saving this one’s small life. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“I care nothing for your gratitude.” Standoffish as always, Sarnai’s Mentor peered out from behind her veil, utterly indifferent to what others might say or think. “And you saved your own life by avoiding the blow. Take note, little rose. This one is only a little older than you and has mastered the Forms well, the movements so ingrained into his body that he acts without the need to think. A boon in many cases, as action is always faster than reaction, and in high level exchanges, every moment counts, as it did in this case.”
“Yes Mentor.” Baatar could hear Sarnai’s displeasure, no doubt grumbling about how her Mentor said Nian Zu was only ‘a little’ older. They were almost two decades apart in age, but Baatar supposed that two decades would be a short time to someone as old as her Mentor, even if it felt like a grave affront to his age-conscious wife.
Amused by how easily his presence was dismissed, Nian Zu ran his fingers through the ruined remains of his beard and sighed. Baatar himself never cared to grow a beard, mostly because Sarnai preferred him clean-shaven, but it was clear the Colonel General was more distressed than he should be over the loss of his facial hair. “Oh how your father would laugh if he saw me now,” Nian Zu said, speaking to Yuzhen about the former Marshal of the North, and Baatar sympathized with the Colonel General over the loss of old friends. “He’d likely call me a shorn show-sheep or something more clever than I can come up with, perhaps even take up ink and paper to paint a mocking caricature.”
Taking the Colonel General’s hand with a comforting smile, Yuzhen said, “I’m afraid the Empire still has need of your service, so you will have to wait a little longer to see him again.”
“Trials and tribulations,” Nian Zu replied, and after a short pause, gestured at his beard. “I need to make myself look presentable, then go be seen to assure the people and soldiers of the Citadel that I am still alive. Could you find someone you trust and is capable with a razor? It’s been some time since I shaved myself, and blood loss hasn’t made my hands any steadier.”
Wholly cognizant she was being dismissed, Yuzhen scowled but grudgingly obeyed. So long as she was not present for this discussion, she could later plead ignorance to whatever Baatar and the People might do, which was really for the best. Even if the entire Northern province joined the People in rebellion, which was unlikely at best, they would still need Yuzhen to appear as a neutral party with vested interests on both sides, if only to keep a line of dialogue open. Baatar knew what rebellion entailed, but he did not look forward to standing across the battlefield from old comrades, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t dream of challenging Living Legend Nian Zu in both tactics and single combat. Spars and theoretical debates were one thing, but the only way to know the true measure of a commander and Warrior was to face them on the battlefield in mortal combat, with life and death on the line and no room to retreat.
Once Yuzhen was out of the room, the Colonel General threw up a Sound Barrier even though Sarnai’s Mentor had them well covered. “So what now?” Nian Zu asked, glancing at the still sleeping Divine Turtle nestled in the boy’s arms. “Is it rebellion then?”
Baatar kept silent and let the boy answer for himself, for he was vital to what would come next. Poor Rain, he would have been so much happier as a commoner or Healer, living in the mountains while tending to the sick and needy. Unfortunately, his tortured past drove him towards strength and conflict, while his brilliant and unconventional thinking helped him excel in a field he was so utterly unsuited for. The boy cared too much to be an able commander, feeling the death of each soldier under his command and taking the loss too personally. Such was life, where the best commanders had to learn to separate themselves from the task and continue onward despite the mountain of corpses left behind.
And now, regardless of what he did, the boy knew people would die.
“Are we left with any other choice?” Though his delivery was tinged with impolitic sarcasm, the boy’s eyes held a spark of hope. “I mean, if we stay, we’ll be forced to fight once the Prime Minister or whoever comes by to demand justice for Jixing’s death. It’s stupid, I didn’t kill him, the Wraiths did, even with a Divinity there to protect him. What are the chances right? I thought it was pure coincidence Shen ZhenWu’s Divinity left to suppress an Enemy Divinity just before the Wraiths attacked, but I suppose nothing would’ve changed if he was still around, except maybe all the Wraiths would have died instead of just one.”
Baatar’s mind was reeling at the implications as he met Nian Zu’s gaze, and he could see the canny commander was thinking the same thing. “Say that again, boy,” Baatar said, urging his son to speak. “What was that about a Divinity?”
“The... err... head Big Piggy threw on stage? That’s Shen ZhenWu’s... I dunno, Divinity bodyguard.”
“His Dao protector, but that is not what I meant.” Looking the boy in the eyes, Baatar asked, “Who is Jixing’s Divinity?”
“The old beardy in the window.” Blinking in confusion, the boy raised an eyebrow and asked, “You didn’t know? I’m not entirely certain, since I only saw him once before in Nan Ping, but he was sitting at the table with the Legate and his Dao Protector, along with one other bearded Imperial and a bunch of Ancestral Beasts across from them.” Chuckling in muted disbelief, the boy added, “I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots back then. Guan Suo didn’t even hesitate before sitting down with them, and I just thought he was being cheeky.”
Baatar and Nian Zu traded another glance, and this time, the Colonel General asked, “You’re certain it was the same person? That was a Divinity standing in the window who accused you of colluding with the Enemy?”
“Yep.”
“Very well then.” Nodding once, Baatar shared this news with Mother and a number of his subordinates before telling the boy, “It is now vital we stay and fight this. For a Wraith, even a Peak Expert one, to kill an Imperial Scion whilst under his Dao Protector’s watch is suspicious at best, and points to nefarious dealings at hand. There is more to this than we know, which means it is all tied to an Imperial plot, one we have no knowledge of.”
“Right. If we flee, then we implicate Shen ZhenWu and he will have no choice but to throw us to the wolves, which may or may not have been his plan from the start. If we stay, then he may have to defend us, since I am technically an employee of the Liang Family.” The boy had a deft grasp of politics, as Baatar had not even thought so far ahead, only that technically, the People had yet to commit a crime besides defending themselves against unwarranted aggression, and fleeing would incriminate them in the eyes of the public. Still, there were questions abound, and no answers to be found, like why the Death Corps gave up the command centre without a fight or why the Justicars were so quick to release Baatar to the boy’s custody.
“Know this,” the Colonel General said, offering Baatar and the boy a salute. “Should the People be found guilty of treason for today’s events, then I, Nian Zu, will stand with you.” A difficult concession to make for the Hero of the Wall, a man who dedicated his life to the safety and defence of the Empire, but it could be seen as him placing the North above the other outer provinces, the same way the Imperial Scions obviously placed the East above all others. Here they were in dire straits, with the threat of wholesale slaughter on their doorsteps, and still the Imperials were playing politics.
That was not Baatar’s business though. His task was to defend Central, and in doing so, keep the outer provinces united as one, for if Central were to fall, then the East would be the first to abandon them all, and they still needed the Imperial Clan. Without them, they were without a leader, and Shen ZhenWu’s absence was already sorely felt, for with no hand to guide them, the outer provinces could not come to an agreement on how to best deploy their troops. Shuai Jiao felt it best to reinforce the centre, while Nian Zu believed their best course of action was to strengthen the flanks and let the Defiled overextend through the centre, so that Imperial forces could collapse on them from three sides. As for the South, they cared nothing for the state of the overall war-effort, only that the Wall held and kept their province defended, so they rigidly rejected all requests from North or Central to help support the ailing second line.
And make no mistake, the second line was already buckling when Baatar last checked in this morning, and Mother knows how they were faring now. Too much time had been lost already, and every second they fell behind was another second lost forever, so Baatar was eager to get back to work.
The boy had no attachment to the Empire at large, but while Baatar spent his entire life among the People, he still counted himself as a citizen of the Empire. Here and now, in this time of turmoil, the Empire needed its heroes, heroes like Baatar and Sarnai, Akanai and Husolt, and yes, Falling Rain. This was the holy duty given to all Warriors by the Mother above, to stand fast against the Father’s foul minions and defend Her children from their malevolent machinations, and Baatar would not shirk his duties and consign millions to death all because of the corrupt scheming of one, devious man.
Perhaps it was the wrong move. Perhaps the Emperor would see the People as traitors and rebels and demand the boy’s head, but if so, it would not be too late to resist. For now, Baatar would do what he’d trained for and defend the Empire from the Enemy.
Those were his thoughts as he marched out the room with his mountain rose and son in tow, but he stopped short as he came face to face with the kneeling Death Corps waiting for them on stage. Kneeling at the very front were five Royal Guardians, all dressed in their ceremonial Officer’s armour with their swords sheathed and spears laying on the ground beside them. Even then, Baatar almost drew his Bloody Fang and readied to fight, but he stopped short when an Imperial Scion he recognized stepped forward to greet them, the boy’s slovenly clerk Jian Xianhe.
“You’ll never believe this,” the grubby man began, addressing the boy with a wide and mischievous smile as he gestured at the Royal Guardians behind him. “They asked me to speak with you, because they weren’t sure if you’d accept an audience. The Colonel General ordered them to disperse, but they won’t move until you confirm the order.”
Taken aback, it took the boy some time to respond, so sharp yet so unwilling to believe in his own skills. “Me?” he asked, as if unable to believe anyone would need his approval for anything. “Why me?”
“That’s the part you won’t believe.” Clapping his thigh in merriment, Xianhe giggled and said, “With Shen ZhenWu and Yang Jixing absent, you’re the highest ranking Imperial Scion in the outer provinces and Shen ZhenWu’s immediate successor, as confirmed by his personal seal. Yang Jixing cut in line with help from an Imperial Mandate, but now that he’s gone, the title naturally falls back to you.” Offering a courtly bow that almost seemed mocking, Xianhe added, “By your will, Legate Falling Rain. How might these lowly ones serve?”
Excellent. Now with Rain’s hand to guide their actions, the Imperial Army might actually stand a chance of holding the Defiled at bay. Proud was not enough to describe how Baatar felt, but pride would have to wait, because right now, they had a war to win. It was vital the boy do well in his new role, for then the Emperor could hardly afford to accuse Falling Rain or the People of treachery, lest He risk having all the outer provinces turn against Him.
In a way, Baatar was glad Rain’s past had been revealed, because now, the rest of the Empire could truly understand the boy’s trials and tribulations and marvel at his perseverance and resilience. From slave to Legate, Baatar’s little foundling had come so far, and he could not be any prouder of his wonderful and talented son.
Chapter Meme 1
Chapter Meme 2
- End of Volume 33 -