Since the day he brought the foundling home, Baatar’s son had always been a source of joy and concern.

The first was self explanatory, for he counted it as a privilege to have witnessed little Rain’s transition from tormented slave to lively young man with friends, wives, and pets aplenty. This was without even touching on his lofty achievements in life, whether they be political, mercantile, medicinal, Martial, or any other sort of accomplishment worthy of praise, for the boy had become a man to be proud of. That being said, he would always be a boy in the eyes of his father, the same way his sister would always be a little girl despite being a mother of two herself. That was the way of parenthood, and he would be their loving father from now until the day he died, always ready to help if they should falter or offer whatever advice he could. Both son and daughter had proven uniquely challenging to raise, and while he was glad he raised the girl well, it was grating to admit he had little to do with the boy’s development aside from those first few initial steps, as little Rain took off sprinting the moment he learned to walk. Proud, stubborn, compassionate, and loyal, he picked these traits up without any need to be taught, a man who held fast to his own morals regardless of what anyone else might think. Though this made him a man worthy of admiration, it cut both ways like a double edged blade, for the boy held fast to his ideals without fear or respect for the dangers they posed.

Which was a large part of why the boy was also an endless wellspring of vexation, but Baatar cherished his worries almost as much as he treasured his joy, for the former made the latter just that much more precious. Early on, he’d tried to distance himself from the boy for fear of growing too attached to do what needed to be done should the worst come to pass, but that turned out to be a mistake. They all worried that his time spent in the mines had damaged him beyond repair and turned him into the Father’s foul minion, and so they kept him at arm’s length, but in hindsight, this sort of approach would only serve as a self-fulfilling prophecy. What better way to push an individual further from the Mother’s light than fear, suspicion, and isolation? Were it not for little Alsantset’s courage and compassion in opening up her home and heart to little Rain, he might well have given in to the Father’s lies and become the very thing they all feared. Instead, Baatar’s valiant daughter accepted the foundling as her little brother in truth, and in doing so, she showed her parents the folly of their ways.

What parent did not spend sleepless nights worrying about their children’s futures? What parent did not know the anxiety of watching their children make their own mistakes? What parent did not share in the heartache and misery of their children’s failures? An uncaring, unloving, undeserving parent, and after seeing how far the boy had come in a mere six months, Baatar could play that role no longer. For this reason, he sought out his old friend Naaran to take over his role as little Rain’s guardian, for Baatar had long since lost the ability to look at his son objectively.

The practice of assigning guardians had been around since the founding of the Sentinels, for they guarded the people of the Saint’s Tribulations mountains from all threats, both from within and without. A guardian was assigned to all newcomers, not just foundlings extracted from trying predicaments like little Rain, but also orphans of unknown origins, abandoned demi-human children, and even exiles seeking to make a life in the Saint’s Tribulations Mountains, whether by joining an existing village or striking out on their own. The isolated nature of Baatar’s homelands meant that it often drew the attention of the Father’s foul minions, especially those who were weak of will and weak of arm seeking a quiet retreat to indulge their murderous urges and heretical practices without interruption. To counter this, experienced Sentinels often took on the secondary role of guardian to any and all new additions to the Saint’s Tribulations mountains, wherein they watched for any signs of Defilement and lesser corruptions for a period of time and served as warden and executioner whenever the need should ever arise.

This was the true role of Sentinels in the Saint’s Tribulations Mountains, the watchers and guardians defending them from the Father’s foul influence as much as they guarded the people from His earthly minions. Of course, this role was kept secret to all except those involved, since this sort of power would appeal too much to those who would most readily abuse it. Mother was the one who insisted on this, for she loathed the idea that the organization she built from the ground up might one day be used for nefarious purposes. It was so secret that as a child, Baatar never even knew he had a guardian, or that the Chief Provost herself had taken on this most significant of roles, for her time as his guardian came to an end years before he first came into contact with her. A good thing too, because it meant he was sent to live at the People’s village, where he eventually met his beloved Mountain Rose, Sarnai, not to mention how his mother, who was merely his guardian back then, argued vehemently on his behalf to keep his head attached to his shoulders, for he’d been a wild child like the rest of his half-siblings who’d come before him, an angry, territorial brat that fought tooth and nail to lay claim to whatever took his fancy.

Though he himself had little memory of his early, formative years, Baatar believed all the stories he’d heard after serving as Guardian for young Huushal, a role he volunteered for after hearing he had a younger sibling and couldn’t bring himself to adopt the pup. It wouldn’t have been fair to Sarnai, as she would have been the one responsible for little Huu what with Baatar being away all the time, and she already had her hands full wrangling the rebellious teenage Alsantset, who was every bit as fierce and independent as her heritage might suggest. Chickens coming home to roost as it were, for Sarnai had been the one to pick out that bundle of female, feline fury from the orphanage, taken in by the girl’s dazzling round eyes and beautiful tufts of fur surrounding her rounded, tiger ears. Of course, Alsantset wasn’t half as bad as Huu had been, for she had been snatched up as soon as the Ancestral Tiger abandoned her, a beautiful baby not yet weaned and wholly trusting of her new parents. Alas, little Huu was a few years old when he first arrived at the orphanage, abandoned by his birth mother who could no longer keep up with him, and not without reason either. The orphanage volunteers were at their wits’ end trying to deal with his temperamental and territorial nature, a feral and angry child unlike any they’d seen before, for the good people who helped raise Baatar had long since passed away. On his good days, little Huu was quiet and docile as could be, happily ensconced in his bed whilst peering out from beneath a pile of blankets he’d claimed as his own, but woe betide the poor soul who tried to tidy his room, put away his toys, or wash his clothes and bedding, for he did not take well to intruders within his den.

One might think the actions of a furious toddler laughably adorable to behold, but they’d never seen a half-wolf boy tear out a chunk of bloody flesh from a caretaker’s throat with teeth alone.

Baatar remembered the day well and almost executed the boy for his ‘murderous’ ways, but luckily, the thought of killing a child and half-brother was too much for him to bear. Instead he sought out his friends, got drunk, and laid bare his thoughts, about how the pup just needed a more stable environment in a home without so many unfamiliar faces moving about, which eventually led to Ghurda adopting the pup as her own. They were a good fit, their little family of four, six now that young Huushal was married twice over, but not all stories were as happy and heartfelt as his and little Rain’s.

Nor were either of their stories over just yet. Young Huushal was now the Ravenous Wolf, still struggling with the same murderous urges which Baatar himself shared, ones they both channelled towards their desire to protect their families and loved ones. The pup was struggling under the Father’s attentions, but time and tempering would serve him well so long as he did not break, and the same could be said of little Rain. Having seen him blossom into a devious politician, cunning tactician, and brilliant leader over the past two years made it all too easy to forget that the boy was still green yet, a novice in the ways of war and the dark hearts of the Defiled. What’s more, in spite of having experienced so much pain and darkness firsthand, little Rain never lost his empathy for others and was driven to help as many as he could. Never before had the boy spoken of his time in the mines in detail, not beyond a few words in passing, not to his parents, his wives, his grandparents, his friends, or even his pets. There were hints of course, aside from the traumatic condition they found him in, as oftentimes, they would find the boy staring off into nothingness like a grizzled veteran haunted by memories of war. A condition that persisted even to this day in fact, not to mention his nightmares which he never acknowledged and the lengths he went to in order to avoid his traumatic past by creating a brand new personality to become instead. Baledagh, he called it, or ‘Warrior’ in the language of the People, a role little Rain aspired to while being wholly unsuited for the job if one took everything except talent into consideration.

It all came down to his personality, a kind and caring young man who was utterly unlike everyone else in his bloodline. Were it not for the fact that Charok’s parents never stepped foot out of the village right up until the day they died, Baatar might well have suspected the baker of siring little Rain out of wedlock, for their personalities were far better matched.

Alas, there were absolutely no doubts as to the boy’s heritage, but that was neither here nor there. What was more surprising was to hear the boy talk about his time as a slave to every soldier gathered outside of SuiHua, a massive, conquering army consisting of Warriors from all five provinces. Even without his Aura to make his emotions clear, Baatar could tell it cost his son something dear to acknowledge those dark moments and speak of his pain and suffering even in the most cursory of fashions, for those scars were buried deep and revisiting them caused them to open up fresh once more. The physical abuse meant little to the boy now, for he emerged stronger and more resilent, but the mental trauma it left behind still plagued him to this day, though it gave rise to his formidable strength of spirit and faith in humanity. That was the crux of Rain’s speech, his faith, for even so dedicated an effort from the Father’s minions failed to turn even a single child slave, so why should the people of the Empire fear Him so? A much better way to go about it than revealing his ability to Devour Spectres in Baatar’s opinion, as that would’ve required an explanation of Spectres and Devouring both, not to mention how it would’ve laid all hopes of success upon the boy’s frail shoulders, a burden which was best left shared.

And Baatar would do his best to help shoulder that burden, but the boy was not making it easy to help.

The slaughter in LuZhuo was not entirely unexpected, but little Rain was caught wholly unprepared, because thus far, the war in Central had been fought out in the sticks with clear lines drawn between the two opposing armies and no innocents wandering about to get caught up in the conflict. As such, soldiers and officers alike were largely spared the sight of the bulk of the Enemy’s atrocities, aside from those few occasions when the Defiled sought to use those atrocities against the Empire, like when Bai Qi made a spectacle of forcing captured soldiers to torture their comrades during the siege of JiangHu. Having patrolled the Saint’s Tribulations mountains for nigh on fifty years, Baatar had seen more than his fair share of atrocities, and so when the Demon unveiled the horrific spectacle hiding underneath the massive canvas tent, Baatar had already steeled his heart in preparation of the worst. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for his son’s scream of palpable rage and sorrow, a piercing, keening howl of wordless emotion which threatened to overwhelm every last man, woman, and animal in earshot.

A response he should have seen coming, but overlooked in the moment. Though he’d not been present at the time, Baatar had heard the stories of how his son came across the ruined remains of an isolated village located outside the protection of the Sentinels and Imperial Army both, all those years ago in the opening months of this extended conflict. There, he stumbled across the foul work of a Defiled scouting party, a discovery which set him on a collision course with madness as he gave into his anger and set out to unleash his rage upon any and all Defiled he came across. Thankfully, Yan had been present at his side and kept him in check, but little did they know that Naaran had been watching over both of them from above, his spear ready and waiting to end the boy’s madness should he ever go too far.

Baatar still had nightmares about it to this day, knowing that Rain had almost broken down and tortured a Defiled captive in those woods just to make her scream, ostensibly to draw out her allies, but they all knew that was a thin excuse at best. Rain wanted the Defiled to suffer for the sake of suffering, and though he’d come a long way since those humble beginnings, this time, Baatar would be here to step in before his son went too far.

Despite the dire circumstances and near disaster behind them, he still took great pride in seeing the boy at work in Sha Meng, standing out in the bay as bold as could be to demand the Defiled surrender. Then again, the boy was nothing if not bold, to bring a force of three-hundred Peak Experts out into the field without any support whatsoever. Were he of mind to go head to head with the Enemy forces, Baatar would have long since put an end to this folly, for Peak Experts were a precious resource to be jealously guarded rather than recklessly squandered in chaotic melee. At least, that’s what standard operating doctrine dictated, and Baatar wholeheartedly agreed, right up until he saw eight Runic Cannons make short work of some eight-thousand Defiled.

The roar of the Cannons and screams of the Defiled filled the air once the boy’s deadline was up, and Baatar gazed upon the new face of war, wherein eight Warriors led by his father Husolt rained death down upon a disciplined and well-fortified army. Were this an Imperial fortification, they might well have broken in the first salvo, for no Warrior feared anything more than being helpless to act. Once these Runic Cannons grew widespread or little Rain’s idea of projectile Spiritual Weapons bore fruit, there would soon come a day in which Peak Experts were valued for their mobility and stamina over their strength of arm and spirit. So long as one could Cloud-Step about, they too could wreak untold destruction with a Runic Cannon or Spiritual Rifle in hand, to the point where even the famed Grasping Vine Shuai Jiao needed to take extensive measures to guard against a mere MuYang. Were Rain truly after the Commander General’s head, he could easily have substituted his notorious spymaster for the less distinct Ravil, Bulat, or any one of the former cripples currently wielding one of Mila’s wonder weapons, and so long as they weren’t too concerned about surviving after the fact, the Commander General’s death would have been all but guaranteed.

For years, the boy argued about how might should not make right, and it seemed that his solution was to make everyone so mighty that even the strongest Peak Expert should have need to fear the weakest Martial Warrior so long as the latter was properly equipped and determined. Change was coming, but that was a matter for the future, as the here and now demanded Baatar’s full attention. There was little for him to do at this very moment however, for even the fearless Defiled could not stand firm in the face of this deadly barrage. It took less than a minute for their line to break into full-fledged retreat, but they would have held even longer if not for the boy’s Aura of overwhelming despair, one he emanated from where he stood without affecting any Imperial in sight. Had Baatar not experienced it first-hand, he would have been as perplexed as the other three-hundred Peak Experts gathered here in Sha Meng, but despite progressing by leaps and bounds along the Martial Path these past few weeks, the boy’s Aura was still his most deadly weapon by far.

In these trying days, being the boy’s Mentor was synonymous with being his test subject for whatever new mad skill he’d devised, and the offensive Aura had been the first and most formidable working on the boy’s long and lengthy list. Granted, this was a weapon borrowed from the tiny Divine Turtle’s arsenal, but made it no less impressive in execution. Though he and all the other Imperial allies had been spared from Rain’s offensive, Baatar remembered the sensation well from a few hours earlier and pitied the poor Defiled subjected to it. This particular Aura was overbearing and oppressive, a mountain of weight pressing in on him from all directions and threatening to crush him where he stood. It wasn’t grief or anguish, doubt or dismay, but pure, unsullied despondence, a hopeless surrender that paralyzed you with the realization of an inevitable and inescapable doom. It wasn’t like standard Aura which made you too terrified to move, but rather one which filled you with so much dread and foreboding that it made you want to welcome death, for at least then there would be an end to the despair.

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So to see the Defiled overcome their forced despondency and flee was nothing if not impressive, a feat Baatar was not sure he himself could replicate under the same circumstances. The Cannons were formidable, but he had little to fear from death, and the same could be said of the Defiled.

“Demon birth,” the boy exclaimed, as if unaffected by the slaughter taking place before him. “With me. Kill it before it escapes.”

To others, it would appear as if little Rain had already recovered from the ordeal in LuZhuo and put it out of his mind, but Baatar knew his son had merely swallowed his rage and buried it deep. In him burned a fire that would not be extinguished, a thirst for vengeance that could not be quenched, for he knew not who to direct all his rage at. That was the boy’s greatest failing, his inability to let go of his fear and hatred, and Baatar counted it as his own failing for being unable to guide the boy to an appropriate answer.

Now, with an outlet to direct his ire towards, the boy became the Warrior once more, stepping into the role as easily as Baatar might step into his most comfortable slippers. With Tranquility already strapped to his wrist, the boy drew Peace with his left hand and unslung Unity with the right as he Cloud-Stepped towards the transforming Demon. For a Defiled Warrior to give into despair was not only expected, but eagerly anticipated by the boy who no longer saw Demons as a threat to be wary of, but rather a resource to be hunted and Devoured. As well he should given how each slain Demon represented a significant source of ‘usable’ Heavenly Energy for him to plunder and hoard, one he needed to replicate his miraculous and awe-inspiring demonstration which snatched victory from the jaws of defeat during the naval engagement with Huanhuzi. That being said, even this much wasn’t enough to sate the boy’s voracious appetite, as the boy Sent, “Hold the perimeter please. I’d like to tackle this one myself.”

A useful skill, Sending to multiple recipients at once, and no one was as adept as the boy, not even Luo-Luo who gave him the idea for it. To hear him explain it, he envisioned Sending as transmitting a wave of sound to one specific recipient, whom he designated using a unique identifier he allocated upon meeting the recipient and kept firmly affixed in memory. It was similar in theory to the Keystones he relied on earlier along his Path, and while he had yet to revisit the idea in whole because he had yet to feel the need, it was clear he was entertaining notions of going back to those unwieldy crutches rather than work on mastering the skills in their entirety. Though Baatar disapproved of such shortcuts which cut off the path towards self improvement, he could see why his son was so enamoured by the idea of them. Given how the boy advanced along the Martial Path faster than anyone in living memory, any sort of ‘natural’ progression must seem agonizingly slow in comparison. Of course, this didn’t mean taking short-cuts was the right move, but ultimately, even though Baatar was the boy’s father and Mentor, little Rain had to walk his Path alone.

And so, Baatar suppressed his protective urges and watched with a belly full of dread as his boy readied to battle a newborn Demon in single combat. It was never easy watching your beloved child struggle against adversity, but even a lion will push its cub off a cliff to teach it to endure, so how could Baatar do any less for his son? This was the difference between Rain and Alsantset, not one of skill, courage, or heart, but of resolve and determination. While the girl was a natural genius standing at the forefront of her peers, she’d faced few true tribulations in her blessed life, a result of her mother’s over-coddling. His too, if Baatar was being honest, for he would sooner remove his own spleen than watch his daughter suffer without need, but where sweet Alsantset was a dutiful daughter, little Rain had come to them as his own man and refused to let his parents shelter him from above.

It was a point of pride for the boy, to stand alone without aid, something Baatar only figured out a handful of days ago on the fields of SuiHua when he gave his speech to the army. The boy struggled to survive in the slave camps without anyone to rely on, and he would’ve died in a pit if not for luck and fortune, a fate he refused to submit to. Thus, in order to prove himself worthy of this life, he was determined to show everyone that he was wholly capable of standing on his own two feet, even though he had so many people ready and waiting to support him. A fool’s pride, but pride all the same, and Baatar would wound the boy greatly if he were to trample upon it, for while others called Falling Rain a genius, even the greatest genius in existence would have amounted to nothing next to the boy’s staggering dedication and conviction.

That being said, Baatar wasn’t overly concerned for his boy’s life as there were so many Peak Expert protectors standing nearby. The Death Corps would die for him in the blink of an eye, not just because of their Oaths, but because they respected him as a man and master. The same could be said of Gao Changgong and the other loyal men and women of the West, for little Rain was not only their saviour and benefactor, but also the sole champion of their cause, one who made no demands of their loyalty because he fought for justice. For similar reasons, the Aspirants were also wholly devoted to the boy, having lost their faith after pledging themselves to a false cause only to find a like minded lead in little Rain. Though initially founded by the traitor Confessor Goujian, the Aspirants’ had not banded together simply to uncover the Defiled and remove their threat from the Empire, but because they aspired to a better tomorrow in which the Enemy was no longer a threat, a belief which, despite all his talk of lacking faith, little Rain shared.

Any one of these gathered Peak Experts would gladly die to keep the boy safe, and they would be competing with Baatar for the opportunity, but truth be told, there was a good chance little Rain wouldn’t even need their help. Stalking over as he studied his prey, the boy flicked his wrist and transformed Unity from longsword to glaive, the blades sliding up and locking into place with a click that was lost to the booming Cannons overhead. The majority of work was done by those eight Runic weapons, while the remaining Peak Experts cleaned up the stragglers not worth wasting the ammunition and Chi on, not to mention each Cannon could only sustain fire for so long before warping from the sheer heat of the forces involved. A carefully guarded weakness that Rain wholly ignored in favour of shock and awe, but having seen the results firsthand, Baatar couldn’t argue against the daring decision.

As if reinforcing his brazen reputation, the boy attacked before the Father’s foul attentions had faded from His newest abomination, a vaguely humanoid aberration with supple flesh the colour and texture of hard stone. Peace shot out and pierced the Demon’s throat an instant after the danger had passed, but the monster was beyond such mortal failings as the need for air or blood. With a raspy, inhuman roar of bestial fury, the rock creature charged forward to crush the boy standing before him, a hulking monstrosity that towered over Baatar’s courageous son. The Demon’s rocky hide pulsated and shimmered, flowing like a solid liquid to form sharpened stalactites that erupted from its skin, but the boy’s follow-up attack landed before the creature was even in range.

To see him in action was like watching poetry in motion, his Movements so fluid they blended seamlessly into one another until it was all but impossible to see where one Movement ended and the next began, so Baatar didn’t even bother to try and instead focused on the final product instead. On the surface, the boy’s opening attack was nothing special, a two-handed, horizontal swing like any child could emulate, but the difference lay in the execution. Toes, ankles, calves, knees, quads, hips, back, shoulder, and arms, every link in the chain from bottom to top worked together in perfect concert to deliver this near-transcendent strike. Easy to say but impossible to teach, for each person’s body behaved differently depending on a near endless number of factors, of which height, weight, muscle tone, and body shape were but the most obvious of the bunch. There was no wasted movement in the attack, no inefficiencies to be seen, a fluid strike from start to finish that was deceptive in its ease of appearance, for this sort of Movement was something every Peak Expert aspired to, but at a level few would ever reach.

Baatar himself included.

Of course, even though the boy’s superlative movements allowed him to exert one-hundred percent of his force without waste, his attacks were still limited by his base strength. Even Reinforced and Amplified to the high Heavens, the force delivered by little Rain’s attack was unable to match one of Bai Qi’s attacks, which were less perfect and perhaps only ninety-five percent of the traitor’s full potential, but ninety-five percent of a much larger base figure. That being said, the newborn Demon was no Bai Qi and died in the first strike as the boy’s glaive cleaved it in twain from hip to hip, ending the match in a single exchange almost before it could even begin. A spray of Ichor erupted from both halves of its remains, and for a moment, Baatar’s stomach leapt into his throat from concern, but the boy paid the caustic liquid no mind as it splattered harmlessly around him, missing his hair, clothes, and armour completely while landing only on bared flesh. Which was intentional of course, so he could Devour the Heavenly Energy trapped within without raising any suspicion, but Baatar was taken aback by this phenomenal display of Controlled Deflection. Despite having secured his bounty however, there was no sign of joy or victory in the boy’s furrowed expression, and instead he wore a grimace that spoke volumes to his inner complaining.

Striding past the Demon’s still toppling lower half, little Rain leaned over its torso to pluck his sword from its throat, glowering all the while at this latest mystery he could not solve until Baatar could contain his curiosity no longer and Sent, “Something amiss?”

“Sort of, but nothing dangerous. Just unexpected.” Looking up from the Demon corpse, the boy met Baatar’s gaze and pursed his lips. “There’s something off about the Demon’s Ichor, the same as those Half-Step Divinity Wraiths which attacked the former Legate. Look at the dirt and grass around me.” Once the boy pointed it out, Baatar instantly saw the issue, as the Ichor pooled harmlessly around the bisected corpse. There was no white smoke of blackened ash to accompany the nonexistent burning, the Ichor inert and harmless as water and insolvent as molasses, refusing to eat or sink into the dirt and grass and instead doing nothing of note at all. Sucking his teeth, the boy continued, “Zhen Shi’s work no doubt, to keep me from benefiting from slaughtering Demons, but how?”

Thankfully, the boy was just voicing his thoughts through Sending rather than asking Baatar for his guidance, as this sort of question was far above and beyond his understanding. “Study later,” he Sent, directing the boy’s attention to another disturbance nearby where a second Demon was forming. “For now, we fight.”

“Right.” Before he even finished Sending the acknowledgement, Rain hurled Peace up and out into the air, where it curved in an impossibly sharp arc to pierce the still forming Demon through the head. A chorus of gasps rose up around them, and only then did Baatar realize the Cannons had fallen silent, their echoing roars still ringing in his ears despite no longer sounding in the air above.

“Lad, have you gone daft?” Father roared, his boisterous words cutting through the deafening silence as emotion overruled reason. “Was shattering your Core once not enough?”

“Sorry for worrying you, Grandfather,” Rain replied, flashing an apologetic smile before Cloud-Stepping over to slaughter the second Demon with a single blow, only this time he didn’t waste the effort to perfect his movements. He didn’t even wait until his feet were back on solid ground before delivering a half-hearted strike from mid-air, but the results were as spectacular as the first. The still forming Demon came apart in a shower of blood and Ichor, its transformation not even half-finished and face still visibly human, at least insofar as the parts Peace did not ruin, an oversight little Rain remedied by stomping the head into meat paste after extracting his wholly intact sword and waving it about for all to see. “I had a hunch I wanted to test out,” the boy Sent, clearly broadcasting to Baatar and Father both. “Zhen Shi is poaching my Heavenly Energy somehow, siphoning it off before I can Devour it. While he can’t do anything about the energy being infused into the Demon’s flesh, he’s intercepting the rest before it can empower the Demon in a... I wanna say ‘metaphysical’ manner. Dunno if that’s the right answer, but it feels like it should be, because I’m pretty sure its the act of merging of the physical and metaphysical that causes damage to Spiritual Weapons.”

Frightening to think this eight-hundred year old foe would so quickly uncover the secrets behind little Rain’s Devouring, or at the very least come up with a method to deny him its use. The boy warned them all that this was likely one of Zhen Shi’s goals, to capture him for study and experimentation, but even without little Rain in hand, the mad researcher was able to comprehend at least some part of the boy’s ability. Wholly focused on ascertaining even more information, little Rain barely paid the dead half-Demon any mind as he Cloud-Stepped towards a third, slaughtering any and all Defiled he passed with almost casual disdain, and it was easy to see the admiration in the eyes of the gathered Peak Experts. Even though the boy himself claimed he was not yet ready to join their ranks, these gathered Warriors were able to appreciate just how far along the boy really was, and if they had a head on their shoulders that wasn’t hidden up their ass, they would agree with Baatar’s opinion that Falling Rain had in many ways already progressed beyond the level of a mere Peak Expert.

His flowing movements, his casual and almost instinctive use of Chi, and his nigh unheard of ability to control his Spiritual Weapons, these sorts of achievements were normally attributed to the realm of Divinity, or Half-Step Divinity at the very least. While he was sorely lacking in raw strength, skill, and ability, none could deny that the boy’s fine control was far beyond what even the greatest Peak Experts could match, and soon enough, the rest of the Empire would learn of it too. During the public spars, the boy only ever showcased his physical abilities, and not even half of them at best, because when it came right down to it, it was impossible to get him to take any spar seriously, even one with Gerel whom he instinctively clashed with.

Having already lost that same tension, the boy’s fourth attack was even more careless than the first three, a throw of the sword that hurtled end over end before cleaving clean through the third half-formed Demon’s skull. The boy’s accuracy was near flawless, but Baatar saw the panic on his face before anything else and his stomach flopped with dread, for there were few things that could unnerve the boy so. Fear turned to pain, then pain into anger, and the boy seized that emotion to let loose with a roar of unrestrained fury, an emotion which spilled out through his Aura and was felt by all. Alas, this meant he was no longer emitting his Aura of despair, and the Defiled recovered quickly once its absence was felt, their headless hysteria transitioning into a disciplined fighting retreat in less time than it took to blink.

“Disengage,” Baatar ordered, praying he wasn’t too late, for even a single death here would serve as the fly in little Rain’s ointment and spoil the victory for all. Thankfully, even though there were enough gathered to make others think they were mere cabbages, these were still Peak Experts poised at the forefront of humanity, each one a seasoned veteran and dauntless survivor at the very least. The Enemy withdrawal continued as father took up the slack to resume his bombardment of the Enemy forces, but it was clear his heart was no longer in it as his once vigorous tempo slowed to a feeble crawl.

As for little Rain, he’d already charged over using Mother’s signature Ground-Shrinking Strike and skewered the Demon clean through, but even this was not enough to sate his rage. Screaming like a maddened berserker, he repeatedly plunged Tranquility’s twin blades into the Demon’s torso as it toppled over dead to the ground, mangling its corpse beyond all recognition and demostrating why so many were so concerned about his state of mind, his Warrior persona so very different from the calm and rational man he presented himself as. Worrying as his behaviour might be, what was truly concerning was the half-melted state of the boy’s shield, the caustic Ichor back in full force as it ate away at his clothes, armour, and Spiritual Weapons all at once, yet somehow leaving the boy’s tender flesh completely intact. No wonder the boy was so incensed, for the pain of a shattered Core was not something to laugh at, especially after having so easily taken the bait to fall headfirst into his foe’s insidious trap.

A learning experience, Baatar told himself, a lie to quell his mounting fury. Thirty days and the boy’s Core could be restored once more, along with his Spiritual Weapons to boot, so at most, this was merely a much needed lesson in humility and prudence for Baatar’s beloved son, albeit a painful and humiliating one at that.

Chest heaving with exertion, the boy stood shirtless over his fallen foe and fumed in silent fury as the gathered Peak Experts took in the aftermath of his folly. No one said a word, not even Baatar himself, for he would much rather the boy act on his anger and hatred than swallow it up inside. There were no more angry roars or futile flailings however, and instead, the boy reclaimed his ruined weapons and turned to glare at the shadows to the West. “Is this all you can do?” he asked, his fury lending volume to his words. “Slaughter helpless innocents and play trifling tricks while hiding from real conflict? Coward.” The Energy of the Heavens surged around the boy, and so too did Baatar’s hopes, for it meant his Core was not wholly shattered yet. “I’ve already shattered my Core once and it didn’t stop me then,” he declared, sneering at his unseen foe. “So what makes you think this is enough to stop me the second time around?”

Holding his broken sword overhead, he showed everyone how the blade melted clean off and only a hilt remained, as well as the broken tusks of his shield and the shattered blade of his glaive. Then, the Energy of the Heavens ran wild as the boy Devoured it all for himself with a determined look in his eye, converging around the Mother’s Chosen Son to answer his call. “I am the Sword,” he declared, standing tall and unbroken while channelling more Chi than the three hundred gathered Peak Experts could manage all together. “The Sword is Me.”

And there, before the eyes of so many witnesses, Falling Rain reforged his Spiritual Weapons in what could only be described as a miracle, drawing steel out of thin air to make up for what was lost. Chi was a wondrous power, one that allowed Martial Warriors to soar high above mere mortals and carry out feats of inhuman strength and skill, but what the boy did now was beyond the means of mere Martial Warriors. Though he claimed it was no different from Healing a broken limb, the human body was not made of lifeless metal, which made this a feat of pure Creation, something supposedly only a Divinity, a True Divinity, was capable of.

And the boy showcased his talents so shamelessly just to spit in the eye of his foe, who may or may not be watching.

“Gather the captured civilians,” little Rain said, putting his reforged weapons away without noticing the astonished and reverent gazes cast upon him. “We’ll sort them out, then move on to the next harbour, so we can strike while the iron is still hot. Send word back to the fleet and tell them to dispatch another group of Peak Experts to meet us along the way, as well as ships with food and blankets aplenty to offer some small comforts to these people. I’ll talk to them myself and reassure them that everything will be fine, but...”

And so the boy continued, striding off like the commander he truly was, while everyone else still had yet to recover from their shock. Chuckling beneath his breath, Baatar met Naaran’s eyes and clapped his old friend on the shoulder, basking in pride at how his beloved son turned out. Soon enough, Naaran was chuckling along with him, which then turned into full on hearty laughter, with only a bare hint of unrestrained hysteria.

For what else could one do when witnessing the impossible save to go along with the flow and laugh?

Chapter Meme