The Heavens roiled as dark clouds gathered overhead, heralding doom and despair for the Empire below.

From the bay of Suihua adjoining the Azure Sea, to the sandy dunes of Kangbashi alongside the Arid Wastes, the ponderous storm plunged this thousand-kilometre stretch into murky darkness. Day turned to night as man and beast scurried to find cover before the skies unleashed their wrath, but the new Western Wall was spared its fury as the storm proceeded ever westward. In Suihua, the self-proclaimed King of Bandits, Huanhuzi himself, breathed a sigh of relief, for there was no shelter to be had out on the open seas. Flying his signature axe-and-cutlass flag, his fleet finished burning and razing SuiHua Harbour before slipping away once the Bloody Fanged Wolf Baatar came in sight. Were they to meet on the open field, this valiant army of heroes could have easily swept Huanhuzi’s forces aside, but the dastardly bandit would not stand and fight. Instead, he took full advantage of his pirate fleet’s speed and mobility to travel up and down the coastline, striking down retreating supply ships and rallying naval forces before they could present a threat.

To the south and west, Castle Wulin sat besieged by the once celebrated Imperial Hero, Mataram YuChun of the Ten Thousand Spears. The storm had yet to reach them, but the fate of the Imperial defenders looked dire indeed, for the canny traitor’s forces had encircled the castle from all sides. Though no famed Siegebreaker like his peer and rival Gao Changgong, the Mataram Heir was every bit as effective at bringing down the sturdy steel gate, unleashing a flurry of thrusts to single-handedly open a way into the castle, wherein he slaughtered any and all who stood in his path. Reinforcements led by Southern Major General Patcha Tong had already returned to offer aid, but they were unable to break through the overwhelming military force standing in their way, one consisting of a quarter-million Mataram Clan soldiers.

Meaning every last man, woman, and child of this famed family, one which bore the blood and namesake of kings long past and given rise to countless celebrated Imperial Heroes throughout history, had joined hands to turn their backs on not only the Empire, but the Heavens themselves.

Yet dire as the situation was in SuiHua and Wulin, it was on the open fields of Central where the pivotal conflict took place, with Legate Falling Rain’s forces coming under heavy attack from traitor Bai Qi’s army of armoured Defiled and Demons. Here, the storm clouds gathered overhead as the Mother Herself made Her presence known, bestowing Insight and Inspiration upon Her children whilst readying to unleash holy retribution against any who dared to strike down Her Chosen Son, but the Legate was never one to rely upon Divine intervention. All his carefully laid plans came into fruition as the three Colonel Generals of Central convened to deal with their traitorous peer, while leading a reinforcing army of Imperial heroes into position to slaughter the invading Defiled.

All made possible by the will and foresight of Falling Rain, for though the day is always darkest before dawn, a single ray of sunshine is all that is needed to banish the encroaching darkness.

– An excerpt from ‘Darkest Before Dawn, a saga of Falling Rain’, as written by Han BoShui

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The incoming reinforcements were a welcome sight, but Zian knew the battle was not yet won.

“With me!” he called, raising a single sabre high because lifting both would be a waste of stamina. “Death to the Defiled!” Throwing himself into the fray once more, he put his burning lungs and aching arms out of mind to focus on the battle and nothing more, his sabres whirling as he once again desperately fought his way to the front. Uncle Yang was out there somewhere and Zian needed to find him, for the battlefield was abuzz with news of Akanai’s astonishing duel against Gongsun Qi. Some whispers claimed Akanai was dead, and others swore she still lived, but there was no consistency regarding how the battle ended. Gongsun Qi beat her down with laughable ease, Akanai wounded the Lord of Martial Peace at great cost to herself, the Heavens themselves struck down the Defiled General and Akanai was caught in the blast, Zian suspected none of these rumours were true and that their exchange had ended without a clear victor. All he knew was that someone had interfered, and judging from what he’d read in BoShui’s atrocious publications, Zian would put good coin on that someone being Rain’s Mother, the fearsome Dragon Lady Sarnai. He also believed that so many soldiers could not be mistaken about Akanai taking injury, but he suspected she still drew breath since Rain had yet to take personal action.

What he couldn’t believe, and prayed was not in fact true, was the rumours of how Situ Jia Yang had taken the fight to Gongsun Qi, because regardless of whatever vast improvements he might have made, Zian feared his uncle no match for the Prince of Barbarity.

Aiming a sweeping cut at the closest Defiled neck, Zian grimaced and cursed as his sabre caught the edge of his foe’s Runic helmet. Were he fresh and rested, he would never have made this mistake, but even if he had, recovering would have been easy as turning a hand. Now, after hours of fighting with minimal rest, he was barely able to keep hold of his weapon in the wake of this jarring impact, much less recover in time to avoid injury. Utilizing Balance on Windy Leaf to sway back, he felt his foe’s spear brush across his nose and almost collapsed into the dirt from surprise, but Junyi offered a helping hand from behind and pushed him back to his feet, simultaneously cutting down the offending Defiled in the process. “Step back, young master,” he wheezed, still stubbornly clinging to Jukai’s form of address alongside the rest of Zian’s father’s comrades. “Rest a spell while we handle this lot.”

Never mind that Junyi was nearing sixty and had fought alongside Zian every step of the way, no Peak Expert to be sure, but an accomplished Warrior nonetheless. A brood of clucking hens they’d become, Junyi and all the rest, nagging and coddling him something fierce ever since Jing Fei’s pregnancy became apparent. As much as he wanted to stubbornly ignore the advice and keep fighting, he had no choice but to admit the veteran spoke sense. Though talented to the extreme, Zian’s training left much to be desired in that he rarely pushed himself to his limits. While natural skill propelled him to the forefront of his peers, he was no match for those fanatics who abused their bodies on a daily basis in the name of supposed training, but Zian knew the truth. Warriors like that, the Falling Rains, Tam Taewoongs, and Rustrams of the world were all stark raving mad and masochists to boot, so Zian would be a fool to try and match up.

Taking a step back to catch his breath and survey the proceedings, he shook his head at the sheer madness of it all. Rain had somehow snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, because even with three Colonel Generals working in perfect coordination, it was simply impossible for them to have gotten so many troops in the field if they only started their work after Gongsun Qi revealed his hand. They must have emptied the Citadel of soldiers, wagons, and horses to bring an army of this size, one which had no doubt been ready and waiting all morning on the off-chance something should go wrong. A good thing too, for now that they were here, the Enemy’s fate was sealed, but still the Defiled fought on, heedless of their inevitable deaths or the deafening happenings going on as the Colonel Generals unleashed hell upon the Enemy lines.

Oh how Zian wished he could watch those Warriors at work, three men standing at the pinnacle of human strength. Seeing Akanai fight had been an eye-opening experience, her Movements so natural yet elegant, straightforward yet sublime, a dance of death set to the tune of her own intent. Each strike was the culmination of hundreds of seemingly insignificant details which, when put together, formed an imposing and ingenious strike, while Gongsun Qi’s responses were no less accomplished. The grip on her halberd, the set of her shoulders, the point of her feet, and the wind in her hair, all these and more affected how Akanai chose to attack, and Gongsun Qi read these signs and developed a suitable response in kind. Then they did it again, and again, and again, dozens of times in the blink of an eye before finally breaking away. To the layman, it appeared as if Akanai lost every trade when she was sent flying back into the crowd, but Zian suspected her ignominious exit was more of a hasty, but effective retreat, rather than the result of anything Gongsun Qi himself did. Better to keep Akanai close so his hidden Demons and Wraiths could lend aid, but the beautiful and cunning leader of the Bekhai left them no opening to strike.

Honestly, Zian was starting to see why BoShui and Rain were so enamoured by the blond, buxom beauty...

Alas, only Mitsue Juichi’s actions were visible from Zian’s location, but only because it was difficult to miss all the ground-shattering showers of dirt and blood. In response, scattered groups of Defiled were retreating from the battle, and his spirits lifted at the prospect of victory and rest, but again, his work was not yet done. The Defiled had a long retreat ahead of them, and with their cavalry already streaming off into the distance, this meant the Imperial infantry would likely be called upon to chase down their Defiled counterparts. Assuming they ever broke and ran of course, since the majority of the Defiled army fought on without a care for their own survival. It was one thing to talk about the Enemy’s crazed dedication to death and destruction, but another altogether to see it in action. Despite their human forms, they seemed both less and more in so many ways, monsters clad in human flesh who fought for the sake of fighting.

Was there any chance of ultimate victory, or was the Empire simply going through the motions of this eternal war, year after year and decade after decade?

This was the world he sought to bring life into, a bleak and desolate existence steeped in constant chaos and bloodshed. Zian had talent beyond compare, and even he had issues adapting, so what would happen to his son or daughter if they were any less talented than he? Could he teach his child to fight? Could he protect them if they failed to Form a Core? What did he know of parenting? What wisdom did he have to offer to a mortal? And as much as he loved Jing Fei, he would be lying if he claimed he was wholly confident in her parenting abilities. If he needed advice on politics, poisons, or even a suitable sparring partner, there was no one better to turn to, but how would she fare as a mother to their children? The cold hard truth was that Zian’s beautiful wife was rather eccentric and could be cold and distant even at the best of times. While he knew how to best ignite her passions, how would their children fare with her? Would they see her as Zian saw his mother, as loving and protective but admittedly cold and controlling? Was that the sort of woman he wanted to help raise his children?

No parents are perfect, but love is all you really need. So long as you have love and share it, then half the battle is already won. As for the rest? You’ll probably pick it up as you go. You’re Lu Jia Zian, super genius.

Back straightening as his burdens fell away, Zian felt curiously better thanks to the reminder of his natural talents, though he must’ve been more tired than he thought if his internal voice was starting to sound like Rain. Regardless, he knew he would do whatever was needed to ensure his child grew up safe and loved, so the rest would simply fall into place, or he would use all the power and influence at his disposal to make it so. However, if he wanted his child to grow up in a world without Defiled, then he would simply have to work harder and kill them all before his son or daughter was born. Simple as that.

How strange. He had yet to even meet this child, a person who was still little more than a concept or idea, yet already he was willing to fight, kill, beg, and even die for them.

Rejuvenated from his short break, Zian dove back into battle before the cry even went out. “Demon!” a soldier called, and the cry was repeated by several others, all of whom were retreating away from the source of the warning. Not Zian though, for he knew there were few unoccupied Demon Slayers left to them, so he would simply have to step up. Angst and exhilaration warred within his chest as the field cleared and he caught a glimpse of his foe, for standing there was none other than the black-cloaked Demon which almost took Jukai’s life. Billowing out behind it was a cape of blades, twisting and writhing in a nonexistent breeze, only to shoot out and strike at the soldiers of Zian’s retinue. Dashing in with resolute purpose, he was given a first-hand glimpse at the cavernous gap which still existed between him and his deceased Mentor. Blocking the first three serpentine thrusts, the fourth slipped through his guard and punched him clean in the chest. Reeling from the attack, he counted seven more strikes before he finally got the timing right and started using his Domain to Deflect them away.

Ignoring the urge to rub his aching chest, he gave silent thanks to Mother for somehow acquiring yet another Runic breastplate, else his life would’ve been lost a dozen times over today, not including the eight close calls he just experienced. Bringing his blades about in a rotating ring of steel, he parried, blocked, dodged, and Deflected the Demon’s dagger-like appendages as best he could. It was easier now that it knew he wore Runic Armour, as its attacks were now focused on his face and lower body, but even then it took everything he had just to hold his ground. Jukai had made it look so easy as he weathered the storm of attacks, but with the Demon’s grotesque, furrowed face and glowing green eyes so close to Zian’s face, it took every scrap of concentration he had to keep his foe at bay.

Seeing his dilemma, his soldiers tried to lend aid and distract the Demon, but its attacks had remarkable range and were growing increasingly difficult to read. At times, it felt like each dagger-appendage had its own mind, and though Zian was more practised at composing his own deadly melodies, the multitude of piercing attacks set a tempo he could ill-afford to match, to say nothing of the katars fused onto the ends of its arms. How did Jukai do it? How about Uncle Yang? Dong Ping of the Twin Spears fought with a similar, defensive style, but try as he might, Zian could not piece together how any of these Peak Experts were able to implement such a dazzling and impenetrable defence. There was no time to react when fighting at these speeds, and any attempt to act would leave openings for his foe to exploit.

You have no time to react, but the same could be said for your foe, burdened as it is controlling so many appendages at once.

Insight struck and Zian put more thought into his haphazard defence, shifting his routine and rotation so that his parries and Deflections started directing the Demon’s appendages back towards it. Immediately rewarded for his actions, the flurry of attacks slowed as its appendages tangled and inhibited its actions, giving Zian much needed room to breathe and plan his next move.

Whirling ring of death and defence sounds nice and all, but your swords aren’t the only things that move. Did you not spend the last few months taking lessons from Vichear?

Pivoting aside to avoid a barrage of attacks, Zian stepped and spun while delivering two sabre strikes to the Demon’s leg. That was all he had time for before the storm of blades began anew, but under the melodic chiming of steel and fury, he found his rhythm once again. Turning on his heel, he spun and twirled about the Demon, striking it wherever he could, the creature a mere blur of colour as the world went round and round. Deflection kept him safe all the while, his Domain deployed to warn him of oncoming attacks, and somehow stretching far enough to allow him ample time to act. Only now did he notice the Energy of the Heavens surging through him, Balance found in the midst of battle as he fought this fearsome foe, the Mother Above lending aid to Her child in this time of desperate need.

Intelligible Insight seeped out of his mind, but the lessons remained behind. Just because Jukai stood firm in the face of these attacks, didn’t mean Zian himself had to as well, for he’d been trained differently from Twinned Dragon Jukai, Situ Jia Yang, Lu An Jing, or even Dong Ping of the Twinned Spears. Unlike those great heroes, Zian had also learned to dance from his beloved wife’s Mentor, and it was high time he put his efforts to good use.

Diagonal forward, then shuffle back, followed by a spin to the right, a routine which saw him past the Demon’s bladed appendages and under a back-handed swing. Chopping the Demon with both sabres as if wielding a pair of scissors, he left the blades embedded in armoured flesh as he danced and twisted about, deftly avoiding attacks through movement and positioning alone. The appendages were dangerous at range, but limited in use up close, which was where the katars came into play, but keeping track of two limbs was child’s play after the ordeal he just went through. Drawing back as if to retreat, he allowed himself a small smile as the Demon shifted forward to chase him, only to impale itself upon Zian’s sabres as he reversed his momentum once again.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

This was where his dance differed from Ishin Ken-Shibu’s, and why he knew he would surpass the Painted Dancer in time. Ken-Shibu’s compositions largely comprised of him dancing alone, while a team of other dancers supported him, but Zian had learned to dance with a partner in mind, and he danced well. At the core of it, opera dancing shared many similarities with love-making, a subject he’d immersed himself in dedicated study for many, many years.

Making a note to thank Rang Min for helping him ‘fall into depravity’, Zian skipped out of range of the Demon and took stock of his work. Tattered and worn was the only way to describe it, the Demon’s form looking ragged and worse for wear, but far from its last breath. Aside from those last two thrusts, its injuries were largely superficial, though it’d lost enough Ichor to form a blackened ring in the dirt. How many more strikes would it take to kill the thing? Invigorating as it was to find such shocking success, Zian was almost entirely spent and no longer certain of victory. Chi he had a plenty, but this did nothing to steady his ragged breaths, his head light and arms heavy as he readied to trade blows yet again.

A light touch brushed against his neck, which by all rights should’ve had him on his guard once again, but instead, he involuntarily relaxed and leaned back into the previously unseen stranger. A fragrant scent cut through the stench of death and blood, a familiar smell of tea and roses which always accompanied his mother. There she stood on the field of battle, smiling as she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. Most men would feel ashamed by this show of affection, but Zian was starved as it was when it came to his Mother, a cold, blunt woman even at the best of times. “Well done, my little dragon,” she said, her eyes scanning the armour she’d had Jing Fei bring to him. “You look a mess though, so go freshen up while Mother finishes up here.”

Opening his mouth to protest, his jaw dropped as he watched his weak, frail, dainty Mother stride headlong into the Demon’s storm of writhing blades. Not a single appendage touched her, but to his eyes, it almost looked like the Demon intentionally moved to avoid striking her with its blades, as if even a foul minion of the father couldn’t bear to harm a woman like Situ Jia Ying. Sensing the threat she presented, the Demon retreated in the blink of an eye, jumping through shadows faster than the eye could follow. Dressed in a fine silk gown, Mother moved without haste or exertion, yet somehow kept up with the Demon’s ground-shrinking steps, always only a single step away. There was no weapon in her upraised hand as they moved across the battlefield, but the Demon refused to attack her, its katars tucked away and bladed appendages waving wildly about despite her seemingly defenceless appearance.

And when she finally laid hand on the Demon, Zian understood why, for the creature simply crumbled to the ground in a lifeless heap, its body cracked, fractured, and steaming as the Ichor spilled out into the dirt around it. Mother was back at his side before he could even blink, and all he could do was gape like a fish on dry land. “How?” he began, before his brain thought better and asked, “What?”

“Your eloquence leaves much to be desired, oh cherished son of mine.” Smirking as Zian’s cheeks heated at Mother’s use of Jing Fei’s manner of address, she casually wiped her palm with a handkerchief before discarding it to the wind. One of the nearby soldiers caught it and secreted it away, and Zian noted the man’s face so they could have words later. “How do you think I caught your father’s attention in the first place? He was as much a playboy as you are, so my feminine wiles were of little use. I had to beat him silly before he took notice, and then I beat him some more to make sure he worked for it.” Shrugging, she added, “Until recently, it served my purposes to feign helplessness, but it wounds me to think even my own son doesn’t know me well enough to see through the charade.”

Still unable to formulate whole words, Zian stood in shock and let his mother shepherd him away, his retinue cheering her name as they finally fell back to rest and let the reinforcements take their place. Today was a day for many revelations, but he would have to ruminate on them later, for off in the distance, he heard a tumultuous din which drew his eye, only to find Mitsue Juichi and Gongsun Qi trading blows in the sky.

Now was the time to see how Akanai measured up compared to another Living Legend and Colonel General. Was Gongsun Qi ridiculously strong, or was she simply lacking compared to those standing upon the pinnacle? Zian eagerly watched and waited to find out.

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Horses. Crafty, despicable, spiteful beasts, which Baatar loathed with all his heart.

Whoever designed these damnable saddles also deserved equal amounts of contempt, for they could only have been fashioned with ill-intent. A Defiled artisan, no doubt, one who delighted in conspiring to create the most uncomfortable manner of conveyance in existence, the soft leather no buffer from the ridged, rugged, steely spine underneath as the beast plodded along at a jarring, uneven pace. Then there were the stirrups, which forced him to either sit with legs spread and swinging at unnatural angles, or to continually exert downward pressure and bob with the rhythm of the beast. Maddeningly distracting, especially when he had other matters to focus on, so he forsook comfort and bounced along like a fat sack of rice atop the damnable horse’s back.

It wasn’t all the stupid stallion’s fault, a hulking warhorse that was remarkably well-trained and clearly as unhappy with his rider as Baatar was with his mount, palpable disdain oozing from its eyes as it periodically turned its gaze upon him. There was no helping it however, for Colonel General Nian Zu had said this must be done to make him seem like less of an outsider, and Baatar was nothing if not a good soldier. At least he could rest easy knowing Balor was watching over Sarnai, the fearsome quin a force to be reckoned with whose dense, indestructible fur rendered him nigh-invulnerable to all but the most powerful of blows. In contrast, this dumb horse wasn’t even a Spiritual Beast, despite costing a veritable fortune to acquire, and as far as he knew, there were no such tamed beasts in existence. Another point for the superiority of roosequins, a tally which he had long since lost count of, save to say that there was no future in which he would willingly pick a horse over a roosequin.

Growling in misery and frustration, he snarled as his beast flinched and tried to throw him off, but a squeeze of his calves took the fight out of it. Neighing in protest, it gave him a pitiful, pathetic stare in an effort to elicit sympathy, but Baatar was wise to its tricks. Only after it deigned to look away and lower its head did he release his clamped grip, the beast sputtering its lips in a mixture of relief and irritation. It’d already thrown him off once before, and he would not be shamed by it again, else he would be forced to take drastic measures and send it off to Charok to be butchered and roasted. Thanks to their newfangled love of cattle, Baatar’s entire family was slowly eliminating beef from their diet, and he was fast growing bored of mutton, pork, and poultry, so horse-flesh would make for a refreshing addition.

Better if the Royal Guardians could be convinced to part with a lion or three, whether it be to ride or eat, but even the boy couldn’t sway their minds, so Baatar was out of luck.

The boy. Turning his gaze southwest, his eyes lingered on the distant storm clouds which only recently passed overhead, and for a moment, he imagined they were converging over the boy’s head. A fanciful thought, considering even a Divinity would be hard pressed to call up a storm of this magnitude without warning, if not unable to do so at all. Manipulating weather was a tricky thing, or so he’d been told, but as his beloved rose would say, the sum total of his personal understanding wouldn’t fill a thimble. Suffice to say this sudden and seemingly unnatural storm could not be Rain’s work, nor could it be the doing of anyone short of a true Deity, one akin to the Mother or Father themselves.

And yet, Baatar’s unease would not go away. The boy was a constant source of joy, concern, and frustration. How was he doing out on the field of battle? Despite knowing the boy had power lurking beneath the surface, power he had yet to understand, Baatar worried for his silly, wayward son. It felt like a betrayal, leaving his family and friends to their own devices, but little Rain had planned for this and Baatar could do naught but follow them through. Technically, the boy hadn’t planned for this specific set of circumstances, wherein pirates led by a notorious bandit attacked and razed SuiHua harbour, but he did make contingencies for possible attacks by sea and by land, and events since then proved his precautions wise.

Though still not enough.

It pained Baatar to admit it, but the Colonel General had erred greatly by not putting more thought into the naval defences. In his defence, Nian Zu was no sailor or admiral, more used to thinking in terms of static barriers and avenues of approach, and this dastardly Huanhuzi was infamous for his ability to circumnavigate said protections, but the loss of SuiHua harbour was a costly blow which the Empire could ill-afford. Upon seeing the trail of destruction left in the nautical bandit’s wake, Baatar considered sending word to Taduk so he could set the shrimp-guzzling turtle tyrant to work, but even Rain couldn’t control Pong Pong. Baatar slept better knowing the dangerous Divinity spent his days and nights out in the wilds, for one could hardly predict the moods of an all-powerful turtle, one so stealthy he’d all but given up trying to track his comings and goings.

Still, it rankled the nerves to ride overland while watching sails flit in and out of the horizon, the pirate ships keeping track of Baatar’s army as it navigated over the fathomless depths of the Azure Sea. Suicide to travel in such a manner, the experienced sailors all claimed, but Huanhuzi’s fleet did so easily enough, their ships untouched by the denizens of the deep and free to come and go as they pleased while their Imperial counterparts were unceremoniously sunk. Thrice now, the Imperial Fleet had attempted to chase Huanhuzi into deeper waters, and thrice they’d been attacked, first by sharks, then giant squids, and most recently a school of flying pike. Each time resulted in considerable casualties for the Imperials while the pirate ships escaped unscathed, which lent credence to the rumours of Huanhuzi’s boundless good fortune, as if blessed by the Mother Herself.

A theory which could now be discarded considering the bandit’s current allegiance...

A Sending arrived to inform him their forces were all in place, so Baatar silently heaved a sigh as he readied to put Rain’s plan into action. There was nothing wrong with the plan itself, and he was proud to see the boy come into his own, first as a warrior, then merchant, then politician, and now commander, but it seemed like some things would never change, for the boy once again forgot to take into account face. Not so terrible a sin in this case, as Baatar’s pride could survive the blow, but it was still a bitter pill to swallow.

Splitting his forces piecemeal, he dispatched them to carry out all manner of tasks, from fighting fires, searching for survivors, salvaging supplies, and clearing sunken hulls along the coastline. Minutes passed by, then hours as Baatar’s forces following the pirate fleet dwindled and shrank. After long, uncomfortable hours in the saddle, the opportunistic bandit finally felt safe enough to come out of hiding, and Baatar smiled as he watched the sails emerge from behind the horizon. Left with only a quarter of his original army, he set them into formation just outside the range of ship-mounted catapults and bolt-throwers before waiting for the bandit to disembark.

A cautious one, this half-badger Huanhuzi, but hardly surprising for someone who thrived for so many years in his trade. Bandits were a bold and daring lot, but there were few bandits who were both bold and old. Skirting over the shallows as they approached the coastline, the sleek pirate ships cut a graceful, ninety degree turn to head either east or west along the coastline, a maneuver which set the soldiers with nautical experience to whistling. In Baatar’s eyes, it was only mildly impressive, but he knew nothing of ships and did not care to learn. It was clear these actions were a feint however, hoping to uncover any waiting Imperial ships veiled by Concealment, either by accidental ramming, watching how the waves broke, or any other number of ways Baatar was not entirely familiar with. It’d all been part of a briefing regarding nautical defences, but since it was not his area of expertise, he trusted Nian Zu’s judgment and let it be.

Not Rain however, who pored over those documents and brought in numerous experts to help explain them. He must have come up with a dozen difference schemes before finally settling on this one, though part of it was because the others were too impractical to put to use.

Finding no hidden ships waiting to catch him off-guard, Huanhuzi finally felt confident enough to order his pirates to disembark, no doubt seeing this diminished reinforcing army as a juicy target of opportunity. That was the issue with bandits, no discipline whatsoever, since the smart thing to do was to sail away once the damage had already been done. Had Huanhuzi’s fleet stayed out over the sea depths, then there was little the Imperial forces could do to stop him, but the greedy bandit was not yet done and saw a good chance for some bloodletting.

The pirate fleet disembarked in record time and even fell into formation without too much of a fuss, leading Baatar to raise his opinion of the bandit a few notches. So perhaps it wasn’t a lack of discipline which drew him to attack, but rather the unquenchable bloodlust which came with turning Defiled, though there were enough pirates here to give even Baatar’s full army a good fight. Still, he never understood how anyone could be so foolish as to believe the Father’s foul lies, but Rain was most impressed by his ‘stubbornness’ and how there were only two Spectres around him at his lowest, when his beloved Sarnai almost seemed lost.

Baatar would walk his own path, and no one, not even a Deity on the level of the Father Himself, would sway him.

Ever the coward, Huanhuzi’s forces stayed close to their ships in case an Imperial fleet was on the way, so Baatar happily gave the order to march out. There were no words exchanged or duels offered, because he had no time for this nonsense. The sooner he did away with the pirate threat, the sooner he could ride to reinforce Brigadier Hongji’s army, though he feared the battle would be long over before he arrived. Still, as Mother liked to say, where there was life, there was hope, so Baatar hoped his family still had life yet.

Drawing his Crescent Moon bardiche, he raised it over head and almost lost his seat as his damnable horse reared up on its hind legs. Once it had all four hooves on the ground again, Baatar shouted, “Charge!”

And to their credit, his soldiers obeyed, despite facing a Defiled force which outnumbered them at least twelve to one. Had they stood in formation and weathered the charge, this bandit army could have torn Baatar’s soldiers to shreds, but as he bounced atop his hulking war horse, he saw the first signs of his ally’s efforts as chaos broke out from within the pirates’ ranks.

For their precious ships, anchored just off shore behind them promising refuge and safe escape, were now sinking into the shallows.

Baatar’s forces struck the Defiled lines like a hammer against soft tofu, but the Enemy had begun scattering before he even arrived, for a second Imperial force had emerged from the water and was screaming bloody murder to all who would hear it. Spilling out of their sealed submersibles, rounded vessels which looked none the worse for wear despite having almost made a full circuit of the Azure Sea, these warriors were a fearsome sight to behold in action. Dark scarves covered their heads and faces but left their eyes bared, eyes which burned with a holy fire yearning for blood and vengeance. Forming no ranks and charging out in all directions, they threw themselves upon the Defiled like starving wolves upon a herd of fat, unguarded sheep. Staves and hammers were their most common weapons of choice, heavy, ponderous armaments which they used to bash and bludgeon their foes to grisly death, an effective, but messy approach which soon made it difficult to distinguish the Imperials from Defiled at first glance. More than one newcomer was crying as they fought, spilling tears of anger and relief as they dispensed retribution upon the criminals who despoiled their homeland and drove them away, and Baatar’s heart swelled with pride for his most precious son, as none of this would have been possible if not for Rain.

The slaughter went on for another hour as the Defiled fought to the bitter end, as the Enemy was wont to do. Unfortunately, Huanhuzi escaped with his life intact, or rather never took part in the battle to begin with, his ship sailing due West with half his forces after the razing of SuiHua, just as Baatar would have in his place. Still, a great victory had been won here, and even though his damned horse survived the encounter, his spirits could not be dampened. Striding over to meet the commander who helped make this possible, he offered a Martial salute to the stalwart Great General, a hero who remained loyal while so many of his former comrades turned Defiled. “Well met. I am Baatar, Lieutenant General of the Empire and Warrior of the People.”

Tearing off his headscarf to reveal a face dripping with blood and water, the bald, dusky Warrior gave him a broad smile framing a set of shockingly white teeth before falling to one knee, and every soldier who arrived with him followed suit. “This grateful one be Gao Changgong, here to pay his respects to the Legate’s honoured father.” Raising his head to look around, he asked, “Is the Legate here? May the Mother bless his fortunes. This Gao desires to give thanks in person, for without the Legate’s mercy, every one of my comrades here and so many more citizens of the West would have been found and killed on the shores of the Azure Sea.”

So, another fervent devotee for little Rain, and a powerful one at that. Gao Changgong was a Major General and almost as strong as Baatar himself, strength they would need to keep the Western General safe in light of recent events. “My son is there,” Baatar said, pointing off into the distance at the roiling storm clouds. “Fighting against an army of Defiled on the open plains.” Readying his weapon to strike should Changgong show any sign of betrayal, he added, “An army led by the traitor, Gongsun Qi.”

Blinking once to take it all in, Gao Changgong nodded and corrected, “Better to call him Bai Qi then, the name the bloodthirsty bastard was born with. ‘Gongsun’ is the name he gave himself, a homonym for ‘Prince’ in order to mock those who called him the ‘Prince of Barbarity’, a title which barely touches upon the depths of his cruelty. Even before his betrayal, no true son or daughter of the West would have called that traitorous butcher ‘Prince’.” Eyes lighting up in eager impatience, he asked, “Have you wagons or horses enough for this Gao’s soldiers? Let us ride out in support of the Legate, may the Heavens bless his name.”

“Matters are not so simple.” Or so Rain said. “By Imperial Mandate, you and yours are technically marked for death, as the Western Province has long been contained and closed off.”

Anger smouldered in the large warrior’s eyes, and Baatar smiled to see it. “So?” Gao Changgong asked, as if this were of no concern. “The Legate has already saved this Gao’s people. Do you, his father, intend to correct his errors?”

Though ready to fight, the Western Warriors all remained on their knees, as did Gao Changgong, showing remarkable restraint considering the circumstances. Good, good, these soldiers were well disciplined and could hold their tempers. Not definitive proof they were unaffected by Spectres, but a good start. “No.” Locking the borders had been the height of Imperial foolishness, though Baatar suspected someone other than Shen ZhenWu had ordered it, for the Imperial Scion seemed far too savvy to make such an ill-advised mistake. “But we will have to tread lightly, lest your presence be used against us.”

“Bah.” Rolling his eyes, he said, “What presence? This one be Gao Liang, Warrior of the North, sworn to the Legate’s personal service. Not once has this Gao set foot in the Western Province, and a pox on any who claim otherwise.”

As if anyone would believe him, considering his clothes, complexion, manner of speech, and weapon of choice, a massive, weighty staff that could double as a lance, but it was enough for Rain’s sake, since none would dare say otherwise in order to give him face. It showed that the boy at least understood the concept of face however, which made this egregious slight all the more difficult for Baatar to swallow. Imagine what people would say once they learned that he, a Lieutenant General and the Legate’s own father, had been used as a mere distraction. Oh how they would laugh, but Rain insisted Baatar be present to better ‘sell the story’. “Don’t worry, I have other plans in place, and I’d rather you went along to take charge,” Rain said. “If one thing goes to shit, I always expect more to follow, because it never rains. It pours.”

Alas, events here went perfectly as planned, or as perfectly as they could considering the circumstances. Sighing as he once again took in the growing storm, he hoped things were going just as well with Rain, and somehow, almost knew they most certainly weren’t.

That was life with Falling Rain. Never a dull moment, and Baatar counted himself blessed for having such a wonderful son.

Chapter Meme 1

Chapter Meme 2

Created by SassyAsses and corrected by Drak on discord