The stifling darkness of the pitch-black mines was unsettling to most, but Siyar felt right at home in the tunnels under Pan Si Xing.

Arm outstretched and fingers brushing against the bedrock walls, he followed the tunnel due west without so much as a whisper. The same could not be said for the six idiots following closely behind. They thought themselves quiet and stealthy, but they might as well have been clanging pots and screaming bloody murder for all the noise they were making. To Siyar’s vision-sealed senses, their every breath and shuffle rang so loudly in his ears he wondered how it was possible the Enemy had yet to descend upon them with blades drawn. The thud of their boots on hard stone underfoot echoed along the shaft walls in time with the rustle of their pant legs scraping against one another as they moved, all to the beat of the clapping scabbards, creaking leathers, clacking crossbows, and clicking bolts. All problems that were easily fixed mind you, as all you had to do was shift your scabbard, wear better fitted pants, oil your leathers, cradle your crossbow, and line your quiver with a folded up cloth, but these blockheads couldn’t even be bothered to stifle their breathing instead of huffing and puffing up a storm. The last part wasn’t entirely their fault, as the stale air and rock dust was irritating to say the least, but the same face coverings that protected them from the blowing desert sands proved useful here, provided his soldiers were smart enough to use them.

His soldiers. Siyar didn’t much like that, not at all, because it burdened him with obligation and responsibilities he’d spent his whole life avoiding. Some men went to great lengths to seize the reins of command, mostly so they could lord themselves over others and feel better about themselves, but he never saw the appeal. Too much work having to tell idiots what to do, like trying to wrangle hogs out of the mud except people were usually dumber. Least hogs knew enough to keep quiet when danger reared its head, but these particular idiots were acting like they wanted the whole city to know they were coming. Stealth specialists is what they called themselves, which would be worth a laugh if Siyar wasn’t stuck right in the middle of them. This was the Legate’s idea, tasking Siyar with the burden of training other soldiers to be quiet and stealthy like him. An impossible demand, because there was no one like him, else he wouldn’t be the best at what he did, but there was no explaining that to the half-rat. “I’m not asking for miracles,” was the Legate’s response to Siyar’s well-reasoned refusal to his ridiculous demand. “Just train them until they’re good enough to sneak past the Khishig guards.”

As if that were so easy. Even Siyar had to work at it to avoid most Khishigs’ notice, as keen a bunch as any, but that’s what mountain life did to you. Out in the wilds, it was the danger you don’t see that gets you, a lesson the Khishigs learned well else they wouldn’t have made it this far in life. He’d have given his left arm for a Bekkie or two here with him, but they were more useful as light cavalry in the grand scheme of things, and Jorani wasn’t so terrible a commander as to waste them. Huntsmen from the Protectorate would’ve been Siyar’s second choice, but they were skilled archers who also couldn’t be spared, leaving Siyar to choose from the best of a rotten bunch of farmers and street rats. The only consolation was knowing that the murderous bastard Ravil had a similar lack of success imparting his sneaking skills to the soldiers assigned him, who were now off in a different mine shaft with their own objective to complete. Teaching was just so much harder than Siyar thought it’d be, because so much of what he did came as second nature, but when he sat down to write out everything his students needed to know, the list went on and on and on. Things like how to walk on the balls of your feet without straining your calves and keeping your focus wide instead of fixating on your target. Kid’s stuff really, but somehow, even former sneak thieves like Jinoe and Ronga didn’t have the knack for it, leaving Siyar wondering how they survived to adulthood with both hands intact.

He’d seen more skilled thieves lose fingers for less, which just went to show how unfair the Heavens truly were. Better lucky than skilled, that’s what Light-Fingered Yu used to say, right up until his luck ran out while fighting Butchers in Sanshu. A damn shame too, because he would’ve made for a better teacher than Siyar. The man could cut a throat and walk away clean before anyone knew what was happening, the target included, but more importantly, he was a silver-tongued devil who knew how to get his point across without needing to yell. He’d have had these soldiers dancing to his tune right quick instead of stumbling along like a herd of drunkards lost in the city streets, but that’s just the way things worked out sometimes. It wasn’t always the better or more skilled or smarter man who survived to the end, because life was a gamble and sometimes, the dice just refused to roll your way.

That’s how it felt in recent months at least, ever since the Legate tapped Siyar for increased responsibilities. He’d rather risk his neck sneaking into Shuai Jiao’s kitchen each and every day than have to deal with the burdens of command, but the Legate was not an easy man to say no to. Not because he’d string you up and punish you for refusing, or twist your arm and remind you how much you owed him, but the opposite really. Had Siyar turned him down, then Falling Rain would’ve sighed and accepted it without saying another word, except maybe to ask for a suggestion regarding a replacement. Thing was, Siyar knew this, and he also knew there was no one else who could teach those soldiers. Too much of what the Bekkies did was ingrained into their culture, the culmination of centuries of experience living out in the wilds, so it wasn’t always applicable in cities and plains. They were a right sneaky bunch alright, but they only knew how to stay hidden, whereas Siyar was an expert at moving unseen even when walking in plain sight. It might seem similar on the surface, but the two skills were anything but, so Siyar took the bossman’s offer despite his better judgment because what other choice did he have?

Somewhere along the way, the scrawny, piss-eyed little upstart had earned Siyar’s respect, and damn it if he didn’t hate the runt for it.

The change in Siyar’s surroundings was so subtle he doubted anyone else noticed it, but he felt it so keenly he could pinpoint the exact moment when he moved from mine shaft to underground passage. A difference without distinction, some might say, but they’d be wrong and stupid to boot, because it made all the difference in the world. A mine shaft was for working, which meant it followed the ore veins and nothing else, while an underground passage was made specifically to get from one point to another. The walls straightened, the floors were smoothed, the air moved faster due to better ventilation, all of which meant that they were getting close to their destination. Without slowing his pace, he turned to get a better sense of how close his soldiers were behind him, the answer to which was not close enough. The darkness made them anxious, and their anxiety made them stupid and slow, having forgotten all the lessons he’d tried to drill into their heads. “Tsttt,” he hissed, soft as a fluttering eyelash, but to his credit, his soldiers froze in place with only a bare minimum of quiet collisions. Still enough to give them away if there were Defiled abound, which was why he’d done it here and now when there was still minimal risk of discovery. Wishing he’d picked up the bossman’s trick of Sending to multiple people, Siyar turned to his soldiers and whispered, “We’re out of the mines and into the city proper.” Or would be soon enough, but if they couldn’t tell that just yet, then all the more reason they should be more careful. “You all know the plan, so stay tight and stay quiet.”

He could hear the idiots nodding like chickens pecking grains, but Siyar’s talents didn’t extend to seeing in pitch black darkness. Even the Defiled needed clear skies to see at night, but these idiots seemed to think he could see clear as day down here through some magical means. They’d see just as much as he did, but what they didn’t do was pay any mind to their other senses, ones which gave almost as much information as their eyes did in full light. Siyar had taught them all the tricks he could, like moving your feet in semi-circles when walking to sweep for obstacles and counting to hear how far the echoes carried and how long between each interval, but he might as well have been describing colour to the blind. Using the wall to orient himself facing forward once more, Siyar tensed up as Ronga, the soldier directly behind him, blindly groped at his back before looping two fingers into his belt, which was one more than he needed. He hated having to do this, but if he had to lead the blind, then he had to make sure they did it quietly, because everything was fucked if they were discovered before reaching their target. Not entirely true, but close enough for his tastes, as they would need every advantage they could get if they wanted to succeed. Taking Bai Qi’s head would be a real prize indeed, and Siyar was mildly irked no one came to offer him the job. Some of the most famous killers had tried and failed to assassinate Bai Qi, and Siyar was curious how his skills measured up, though any assassin whose name was well known couldn’t be all that good at their job, seeing as how the work was so much easier when you had anonymity to rely on. MuYang knew that well enough, though that man was a damned master of the craft, so good even Siyar had trouble keeping track of him in a crowd. It wasn’t a fair comparison though, as the spymaster admitted that most of his skills relied on a prodigious use of Concealment, which was why he saw value in Siyar’s teachings. It was a strange feeling, instructing Peak Experts and religious fanatics alongside lowly rank and file soldiers, but they were idiots all the same once you took away their Chi. That being said, an idiot of a Peak Expert was still a Peak Expert, and he would’ve loved to have a few in his pocket for this mission, but MuYang and his ilk were off doing their own thing elsewhere.

Soon as Siyar figured out External Chi, Concealment was gonna be the first skill he worked on, sure as sure, but until such a time, he’d just have to be sneakier than the opposition.

A double tug on his belt told Siyar that Ronga was ready to set out, a signal he wouldn’t have given before receiving the same signal from the man behind him, and so on and so forth. Moving out with right foot first, Siyar set out at a slow and steady pace and kept to it while everyone else struggled to match him, which was a little like trying to pick out an individual bird call amidst a symphony of squawking. It only took ten steps for them to fall into the right rhythm, but for Siyar, those ten steps took more mental effort than carrying on a conversation with Kimi for a day and a night, which was really saying something. The woman used to hate talking, which was one of the things Siyar liked about her most, a no-nonsense sort of girl who knew what she wanted and didn’t dance around the subject, but that changed somewhere along the way and now she couldn’t stop talking. Not that he minded it all that much, since she had a devilish voice he liked knowing more about her, like where she’d come from and how she got here. The girl still had family in Sanshu, a mother and two sisters, and she’d been hinting at heading back to see them after all this was said and done. Why she was being so shy about it, Siyar couldn’t say, but she always mentioned going back without ever making any plans, and it always led to a lull in the conversation as if she expected something from him. He’d tried encouraging her to go and asking if she needed a loan or anything, but that only made her angry, which made about as much sense as trying to get milk from a bull.

Madness is what it was, but that was nothing compared to the fact that he was glad Kimi still stuck around after it all. He’d gone full domestic now, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but not something he’d ever have expected from himself. A part of him wished she were here by his side right now, but she wasn’t one for sneaking. Had a vicious right swing though, and handled her spear like a real noble now, with all the twirls and flourishes you’d expect. In a straight up match without Aura, she’d clean him out right quick, but that was about to be expected given how little he cared for fighting fair. That was just stupid, taking even odds against death, but the world was filled with idiots. Hell, Siyar had hitched his wagon to maybe the biggest idiot of them all if this was the metric to measure by, but Falling Rain had his Path, and Siyar had his.

The right tool for the right job, is how Brigadier Hongji put it when he filled the vanguard in on the plan, which was fitting indeed, because they needed killing to be done quietly, which was right up Siyar’s alley.

First, he had to get his soldiers in place though, which was turning out to be a trial and a half. The minutes passed slowly as he made his way down the passageway as quiet as could be, but it wasn’t quiet enough. The mining shafts ran deep, but this passage was dangerously close to the surface and only getting closer. Though they’d long since fallen out of use, there was a time when every building in Pan Si Xing had a cellar connected to these tunnels so that miners could make the long trek to the mines without having to brave the elements above. More importantly, any mined products could also be carted back to the warehouses without having to hire Warriors to guard against rebels or bandits, though from what Siyar could tell, the people of the West had more use for rice and bread than salt and diamonds.

According to the locals, once the mines dried up, the tunnel entrances were sealed and boarded up since there was no need for them any longer, and leaving them open was all but inviting criminals and rodents to raid their purses and larders. That was almost six-hundred years ago, well beyond the lifespan of any locals, which was good since it meant Bai Qi probably didn’t know about the tunnels either. He likely knew of some of the more obvious exits and would have guards watching those, but these underground mineshafts and passageways came together to form an entire under-city that an army could get lost in, meaning there was no way the Enemy could know of and watch each and every exit.

With his hand still brushing the wall, Siyar made his way past hundreds of openings that could have lead him right out into the city or the cellar of any number of occupied buildings, but Brigadier Hongji had pinpointed the exact location he wanted Siyar to come out of. Though he had to backtrack five times and carefully carve his way through three barricaded doorways to get there, he found his target easily enough. According to the maps they’d brought and the information the locals provided, the door in front of Siyar should lead up and out into an old alleyway that was blocked on both ends, which the locals only knew about because the local children liked to come here and hide. No doubt the Defiled weren’t all too keen on letting their slaves play in the streets, so the chances of them discovering this exit was minimal at best, but Siyar wasn’t taking any chances. Using his Honed blade, he slowly but surely carved an opening into the door, wincing as the flat surface of his blade scraped against the clay bricks used to barricade the door shut. When the first ray of moonlight broke through the surface to illuminate the tunnel underneath, Siyar held his breath and listened for a full minute before daring to put his eye up to the opening. Even though dawn was still the better part of four hours away, the Westerners were rich in oil and kept their streets lit up all night to accommodate the fact that most of them slept through the days to avoid the worst of the heat. Seeing and hearing nothing that would dissuade him from continuing his efforts, Siyar set to work carefully widening the opening while his soldiers held a cloth underneath him to catch the stones and sand before they could land on the hard floor below and make even more of a din than he already was.

It wasn’t the safest way to infiltrate the city, not by Siyar’s standards, but this was the only way for his soldiers to make it this far in without being detected. He could’ve made it in if he was alone, but there wasn’t much one man could do in the grand scheme of things. Besides, even if they were discovered, tunnel fighting benefited the Imperials more than the Defiled since the natural choke-points prevented the Enemy from surrounding and overwhelming them through sheer numbers. Granted, this meant his six-man squad might survive a few minutes instead of getting slaughtered outright the moment they were discovered, but he’d take any advantage he could get.

Freezing in his tracks, Siyar signalled his people to silence just as they were depositing their latest load of sand and stone to the side. The whisper of footsteps sounded overhead, close enough that they might hear the clatter of sand and stone, but thankfully, Ronga was paying attention and stopped pouring, but just a hair’s breath too late. Just as he righted the cloth and froze in place, one last pebble came tumbling out and was thrown up into the air. Time slowed as it traced an arc though the moonlight, and Siyar reached out to grab it, catching the errant projectile in mid air to keep it from clattering against the ground or floor.

Then, his foot slipped on a layer of sand and scraped across the stone steps in a near deafening din.

Everyone in the tunnels collectively held their breaths as the footsteps continued overhead, and Siyar prayed the passerby was a slave rather than a Defiled or Chosen who might overhear and feel compelled to investigate. Hell, even a commoner might’ve heard that, for the footsteps were so close he could reach out and grab a leg if it wasn’t for the wall and floor in the way. Thankfully, the passerby came and left without pause or hesitation, but still Siyar did not relax. Fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword, he listened to the footsteps fade into the distance and counted to a hundred before tentatively accepting that they probably hadn’t been discovered.

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Heart pounding and back cold with sweat, he went about his work as calm and collected as could be given the circumstances, though he liked to think his nerves weren’t showing. That was the trick to staying calm under pressure, to never let it show, because once things progressed that far, there was little to no chance of recovering. It took a full ninety odd minutes to make an opening big enough for all his soldiers to squeeze through, mostly because he had to stop work another four times as more Defiled patrols passed by. The Enemy was making the rounds every fifteen minutes like clockwork, which meant security was much tighter than expected, almost overkill in fact. The paranoid part of Siyar wondered if the Enemy had already discovered his presence and were merely waiting for him to crawl out of his hole before slamming the trap down on him, but the rational part of him pointed out that even if this were true, he had no choice but to walk willingly into the fire. His wasn’t the only group working to infiltrate Pan Si Xing, and like he mentioned before, getting discovered wasn’t the worst thing in the world. In fact, that was pretty much the end goal of the plan, though he would much rather delay discovery for as long as possible since it meant he’d have more allies to hide behind once the fighting started.

With nothing else to it, he divested himself of his belt and crossbow, took a deep breath of fresh air, then gingerly poked his head out the hole. A quick study of his surroundings uncovered nothing suspicious, so he quietly pulled himself up and out of the tunnel and into a readied crouch, all without even the faintest hint of a sound besides the pounding of his beating heart. Still sensing nothing amiss, he reached down to take back his belt and crossbow before moving away to make room for the next person through. Wincing at the sounds of his soldiers coming out of the opening, he prayed that the next patrol wouldn’t come early, because if they did, there was no way he’d hear them before they heard his people. Graceful as a herd of drunken deer stumbling down the hillside, but they made it through undetected, which said more about the Enemy’s lacking vigilance than his soldier’s skills. The constant patrols were undoubtedly due to Bai Qi’s influence, but even the best commander in the world couldn’t instill discipline into Defiled tribesmen. Might as well ask a man to spin mud into gold, but Siyar still wasn’t taking any chances.

Feeling exposed in the flickering lantern light shining overhead, he made his way over to the darkest corner of the cramped alleyway before pulling himself up to peek over the wall. The city streets weren’t exactly bustling, but they weren’t empty either, and the lanterns made it difficult to escape detection. Difficult, but not impossible, so Siyar signalled for his soldiers to fall in behind him as he slipped over the wall with ease. Sticking to the shadows, he moved from point to point while avoiding notice from the slaves going about their business, and went to ground every time he noticed an oncoming Defiled patrol. Just as he suspected, the tribesmen weren’t doing their due diligence as they followed their set routes, hardly paying any mind to their surroundings save to torment any slave that drew too close. The callous cruelty of the Enemy was difficult to stomach from this close, for even the sickest Imperial bastard had the sense to avoid too much attention, but the Defiled were so casual with their inhumane actions it was almost second nature. One tribesman took a slave’s toe off with his spear, then beat the poor man to near death for screaming. Another forced himself upon a woman carrying two buckets of water, and the quiet way she simply put her buckets down and accepted it was far more chilling than any screams or struggles she might otherwise have put up. Slaves were prodded with spears to hurry them along, punched in passing for coming too close, slapped and mutilated for mere laughs, and no one, not even the slaves, blinked an eye. This was life under Defiled rule, the so-called Martial Peace Bai Qi envisioned, proving once and for all that he was truly a madman rather than some visionary rebel working to overthrow a corrupt government.

Suppressing the urge to set fire to the city and let the Mother sort through the ashes, Siyar reminded himself that the buildings were mostly made of clay and stone. There was next to no wood used in construction, so fire wouldn’t spread all that fast or far even with so many oil-filled lanterns scattered about. Killing a few Defiled wouldn’t change anything for the people of Pan Si Xing, so he focused on his mission which might well secure their freedom.

Or see them dead, which Siyar felt might well be an acceptable alternative. Mother knows he’d rather die than live like these people, whose spirits had long since been ground to dust beneath the cruel, iron boots of the Enemy.

It wasn’t a long walk to reach his destination, a traveller’s inn the Enemy used to house their resting slaves. Here, there was solace and respite for the poor people housed within, for once inside, they had a few hours to rest their weary heads without fear of their tormentors coming in to disturb them. Apparently even the Defiled understood that slaves needed to sleep, but they were none too generous about it. The slaves slept in five hour shifts, and the next changeover was soon to arrive, which was exactly when Siyar was meant to act, but first he had to get into position. The sky was brightening as the sun approached the horizon, not yet visible but close enough to illuminate the skies, so Siyar picked up the pace. Stealing into an alleyway and around the back of the building, he set to climbing the outer wall as quickly as he could. To him, the bricks and balconies might as well have been a staircase up to the roof, but his soldiers were not yet skilled enough to follow him, so the second he reached the top and cleared his surroundings, he found an anchor point to tie a rope which he then lowered to his people waiting in the alley below.

Siyar always thought it best to clear a building from top to bottom, because that usually limited the points of entry one needed to cover. There were no guards on the roof, only rows upon rows of tanning racks that reeked something fierce, as well as materials for making hide shields scattered about. Bai Qi’s latest countermeasure to the archers and crossbowmen of the Empire, giving every Defiled a hide shield to defend themselves with, which proved exactly why the man needed to die. Didn’t seem like much, shields to block arrows, but the sheer scale of oversight required to make it happen wasn’t so easily done. The Enemy was fearsome enough as frenzied, blood-crazed barbarians, but the Lord of Martial Peace was doing everything he could to mould the Chosen and tribesman into a disciplined fighting force.

Not all too successfully, considering what Siyar saw in the streets, but he shuddered to think what would happen if the traitorous general should succeed...

As he slipped into the building through the rooftop staircase, he let none of his vigilance relax. There was no guarantee the slaves would keep quiet if they saw him, or wouldn’t turn them over to the Defiled guards in hopes of a reward. He’d seen brothers turn on one another for far less, so he wouldn’t put it past the slaves to give in to their captors. There were no closed doors inside the former inn, with every scrap of wood, stone, and iron having been salvaged for other use, which gave Siyar and his soldiers a clear view into every room as they made their way down the hallway. The slaves were sleeping eight to ten to a room, with barely enough space to lay out flat, though few cared to even try. Most curled themselves up with arms wrapped around them, ready to defend themselves even while deep in sleep, and Siyar’s heart bled for them. He never did like slavery, and he thought he’d seen the worst of it in the Canston Trading Group’s manufacturing facilities, but this was a whole new level of cruelty. The walls stank of blood, shit, and piss, with not even a chamber pot or latrine left to them, and he saw more than one rotting corpse which had clearly been left out for some days, with slaves sleeping as far away from them as possible. A reminder of what would happen to them if they should try to resist, or at least that’s how Siyar interpreted it, but for all he knew, maybe the Defiled thought they were being kind by sprucing up the decor with a dead body or two.

Room by room and floor by floor, Siyar moved ever downwards through the inn in search of any errant Defiled, and while he managed to evade detection all the way down to the end of the second floor, his luck had to run out at some time. Had the slave been walking, he would have heard her coming and hidden away in time, but the daft fool was simply standing around a blind corner at the top of the staircase and staring at the wall in a lifeless daze. Or at least, she had been before she spied Siyar walk up right beside him, and they both froze like deer that’d come bounding out of a clearing and straight into a pack of wolves.

The smart thing to do would be to snap the slave’s neck. Would be easy as turning a hand, seeing how the poor woman was little more than skin and bones, but Siyar hesitated because he was soft. A few years back, the slave would’ve died before she even knew what was happening, but he was a different man back then. Not necessarily stronger, but more willing to do anything he could to survive, because even though he now had more to lose than ever, he didn’t want to be that old Siyar anymore, the man with no friends, no lover, and no real purpose in life besides living to see another day. Things were different now, better, and he knew that if he didn’t change, didn’t work to become better than the old him, then he’d fuck it up and things would just go right back to the way they were before.

And now, it might be too late.

The slave’s eyes widened in fear, then shock, then flashed with something Siyar couldn’t quite put a name to until she straightened up in alarm. For a moment, he thought it was all done, thought that the slave would scream, beg, plead, or otherwise alert the Defiled nearby, but to his surprise, the woman didn’t utter a peep. Instead, she raised both hands to show seven fingers, which were all she had as the rest had been sheared off, and none too cleanly at that. Then, she closed her hands into fists before showing five more fingers, again using both hands. All this was followed by a gesture pointing downstairs to indicate a total of twelve Defiled, as well as a cautionary, ‘back up’ sort of motion as if to say that the time was not yet right. Going against his every instinct, Siyar followed her prompting and backed away from the stairs, which earned him a knowing nod. As the woman limped forward to follow them deeper into the inn, Siyar winced at the noise her club-footed steps made, but the Defiled didn’t raise a fuss which meant they were still in the clear.

Following the woman’s silent directions, Siyar and his soldiers retreated to the furthest room on the third floor where they stood awkwardly around a bunch of sleeping slaves. His squad was doing something right since they had yet to wake anyone, but part of that was due to how exhausted the slaves truly were. Only once they were all settled in did the Western woman dare speak, in no more than a faint whisper. “The shift change be soon,” she croaked, her voice raspy and ruined in a way that was in no way natural. “If you wait but a few minutes more, it will be hours before anyone comes to check on the guards below.”

Something Siyar should’ve thought of himself, but then again, he wasn’t sure if the guards and slaves changed shifts at the same time. “Won’t do you a lick of good, now will it?” Siyar replied, even though he knew he shouldn’t engage.

“What is one more shift in the mines after so many?” The woman shrugged, and her ragged and bloodied wrappings slipped aside to reveal an old wound on her shoulder, a missing chunk of flesh that’d been torn out in an irregular pattern. Teeth marks, he realized, which was what happened to the woman’s fingers as well, not cut off, but eaten, which was somehow just so much worse. In spite of her horrific injuries, the woman’s gaze hardened in grim determination as she added, “And with pick and shovels in hand, perhaps we can be of service. Need you a distraction to do your work?”

“No.” That’d only see them dead all the faster, though Siyar was of the opinion that a slave rebellion might just be the distraction they needed to lure Bai Qi out of Concealment. “I just need to get to the cellar, while you need to keep quiet and go about your business. No more, no less.”

“Understood, Great One.” The woman offered her best rendition of a military salute, and Siyar couldn’t help but return one in kind. “The West still resists.”

“That you do, friend, that you do.” Meeting her eyes, Siyar went against his better judgment and said, “I’m Siyar of Sanshu. Yer name?”

“This one be Winoa, Great One.”

“No more of that now. You’re no Warrior, but you’re a fighter for sure, and that means you call me Siyar.”

“Yes... Siyar.”

A ghost of a smile flashed across her sunken features, and Siyar’s heart sank to see it. “Now listen here. You keep your head down, Winoa, you hear me?” He’d already said too much when he mentioned the cellar, but he had to be sure she would listen. “Don’t you do nothing stupid, got it? You go to the mines, you do what you normally do, nothing more, nothing less. All you need to do is survive.”

“By your will, Siyar.”

Despite her agreement, he could see she wasn’t so easily swayed, but there was nothing more he could do about it. “Just... survive. Be safe. The West has resisted long enough. Time for others to pick up the slack.” Damn it, any more and he was going to give away the entire plan, but thankfully, Winoa asked no questions. Instead, she woke the sleeping slaves in the room and ushered them out quietly before they had a chance to speak to Siyar and his soldiers, but every last one of them bowed or saluted as they passed. With nothing else to do besides stand there, Siyar returned their greetings as best he could, then waited as the Defiled started shouting and the slaves filed out of the inn to make room for the next shift to sleep.

When it came time to move out, the Defiled were none too gentle with Winoa and her ilk, and as Siyar stood and listened to the abuse they heaped upon the poor people of the West, it took every bit of self control he had not to charge down there and kill every last Defiled in sight. Instead, he counted his breaths and waited as Winoa’s people left and a new group of slaves arrived to lay their weary heads to rest. These ones took Siyar’s presence in stride as easily as Winoa, merely acknowledging them without making a scene which spoke volumes to their grit and proved the bossman right. The Father had no hold over the hearts of the valiant, and slaves and commoners though they might be, Siyar had never seen anyone more valiant than the people of the West.

“The West still resists,” he whispered, offering everyone a salute as he led his soldiers out to do what they’d come here to do. Sprinting down the stairs without so much as a creak, Siyar threw himself at the gathered Defiled and struck before they even knew their foes were upon them. His Spiritual Sword sang and his daggers flashed through the air as the world blurred around him in a haze of blood and gore. There was no burning fury, no mindless rage, only cold, violent wrath come to exact vengeance upon the Enemy. Death was too kind to them, but he delivered to his foes nonetheless, because to do less would only bring the Westerners more pain and suffering. Though he was not wholly confident the Imperial Army would succeed here today, when the last body fell and Siyar’s bloody work done, there were twelve Defiled who would never raise a hand against the West ever again, which was better than nothing.

“Fuckin’ hell... ye did all this without makin’ a peep?”

Ronga’s whispered exclamation sounded off like a cannon in Siyar’s ears as he returned to his senses once more. His soldiers were still on the stairs, watching him with wide-eyed respect and more than a little fear, but Siyar wasn’t one to preen. “Daylight’s burning,” he hissed, flicking his sword clean of blood before retrieving his thrown daggers, each one embedded in the throat or eye of a Defiled tribesman. Now that was some fine throwing, except he didn’t remember how it all went down, or how he managed to kill twelve tribesmen on his own without his soldiers hearing it. That didn’t matter though, because Siyar had a mission to complete and a burning desire to kill more Defiled. As his soldiers did what they could to clean up the carnage and keep watch on their surroundings, Siyar brought Ronga down into the cellar and started knocking on the walls and listening for a response. When one finally came, he waited to the count of three before driving his Honed sword into the wall, while Ronga did the same a few metres away. Eager as he was to get on with the bloodshed, Siyar still took it slow and steady so as not to make too much noise, and soon enough, he and the people on the other side had opened up a hole in the wall large enough for everyone to come through.

Clasping his fist in a military salute, Siyar greeted the Officer who stepped through. “Welcome to Pan Xi Sing, Major Zian,” he whispered, eager to move onto the next phase. “The building is secure and my men are watching the streets. The slaves upstairs are aware of our presence, but they have yet to give us away.”

“Not ideal, but we work with what we’re given.” Striding out in his Runic Armour and looking like a true Dragon among men, the noble young hero marched out into the cellar with his zealous soldiers behind him. “In your opinion, will the enslaved westerners prove a hindrance to our plans?”

“Depends.” Struggling to decide what to say, Siyar settled on the truth. “They’re burning for a fight, I’ll say that much. When the bloodshed starts, I wouldn’t count on them following orders and leaving through the tunnels, not if they see a chance to pay back what’s owed.”

“All we can do is offer them the choice,” Major Zian replied, sounding far more mature than his years. “If they choose to fight, then who are we to deny them the opportunity? Is that clear?”

For a moment, Siyar thought the Major was talking to him, and he had no idea why he felt the need to clarify, but then, an old man appeared out of thin air, one wearing robes bearing the Situ sigil. A Peak Expert then, but one with a foot in the grave, his face half slack as if he’d suffered a stroke and a back so hunched his shoulders were almost higher than his head. “Yes yes, I’ll refrain from heavy handed tactics to drive the slaves into the tunnels. I’ll lose no sleep over Defiled killing Defiled.”

“They ain’t Defiled.” As the old man turned his full attention upon Siyar, he suddenly didn’t seem all that old anymore, but it was too late to back down now. “They’re citizens of the Empire,” Siyar insisted, matching the old man’s glare with his blackest stare. “After all they been through, they deserve that much at least.”

For long seconds, the old man said nothing, but then the slackness in his face disappeared as he straightened his back and stretched. “Oh how far the clan has fallen,” the old man said, huffing a sad sigh as he completed his transformation that somehow left him looking exactly the same, but stronger and more vital, a Warrior through and through. “When even a damned bandit dares show such disrespect before I, Situ Chi Gan.” Drawing a longsword from the scabbard slung across his back, one Siyar hadn’t noticed until now, Chi Gan brandished it casually about in a fierce and precise pattern that came dangerously close to Siyar’s neck. “But,” the elder added, before Siyar had time to decide if he wanted to kill the old man or appease him, “I suppose you are correct. The people of the West have done well to endure this long, so perhaps their continued survival will not lead to the Empire’s doom as I feared.”

His tone was rife with sarcasm, but shouts rose up from outside the inn, before Siyar had a chance to reply. “Shame,” he said, turning to lead the way up once he realized the shouts were not directed towards them. “Seems like one of our friends slipped up and got spotted, so guess we’ll have to pick this up later.” Not the best case scenario, but not the worst either as Major Zian rattled off his orders. Theirs wasn’t the only retinue that made it into the city unchallenged, so while whichever luckless bastard was dealing with the alerted Defiled no doubt swarming to meet them in battle, the other units would have ample time to move into position.

The plan was in motion, but it was still too early to know if it would end in victory or defeat. A shame the bossman wasn’t around, because then he would feel a damn sight better about their chances, but so long as his friends and retinue were present, then Falling Rain was most certainly here in spirit.

Which Siyar supposed would have to do.

Chapter Meme 1

Chapter Meme 2