The battle for Pan Si Xing had been going on for the better part of an hour, but Song had yet to draw her new weapon.

There were valid reasons of course, chief of which was so she could keep an eye on Junior Martial Brother Fung to ensure he didn’t spend the entire campaign wallowing in self-pity, indulging in drink, or generally shirking his duties as he was so wont to do. Truth be told, Song wasn’t entirely sure why Mama took this silk-pants of a lecher as her Disciple, though she suspected it had something to do with Teacher Du turning him down only to snatch Yan away instead. Knowing Mama’s competitive nature, it was entirely possible she had intended to train Junior Martial Brother Fung into a Warrior to match or even surpass Yan as a way of showing Teacher Du she could nurture a young Talent too, but if so, then Mama made a poor choice of student.

At first glance, Junior Brother Fung seemed a promising prospect, a young talent blessed with the physique, intelligence, and general aptitude required to stand out from his peers. The issue lay in his work ethic, of which he had none whatsoever. If given the choice, he would spend his mornings in bed, his afternoons reading and writing poetry, and his evenings drinking in the company of women, then repeat it all the next day. The fact that he won the Society Contests after Sister Mila and the others were chased out was a testament to Fung’s natural genius, because Song doubted her Junior Martial Brother had ever willingly subjected himself to a full day’s worth of hard work.

Hence why Song was here watching over him, instead of fighting alongside her comrades in Rain’s retinue. Before the battle began, she already told him she and her many guards would only step in if he could no longer stand on his own, a decision she now regretted. Even though Fung had made something of a name for himself in recent years, she truly believed that most of his reputation was based on a carefully crafted facade, but he was doing better than expected. When he first arrived in Nan Ping for the Imperial Grand Conference, he made a big show of only accepting one random duel each day, then defeated his opponents so soundly that it made it seem as if he found fighting duels without reason beneath him. It helped that he fought Ryo Geom-Chi to a draw on his first day there, and later on, he proved his strength once again by fighting the traitor Mitsue Hideo and helping Da’in and Seoyoon rescue their brother from the Defiled clutches. All this meant that despite his aggravating personality, lackadaisical nature, and general laziness, Junior Martial Brother Fung actually rated quite highly in the eyes of the common people. Not quite at the forefront of the generation, but surely among the strongest of his peers, an assessment that more than anything showed why no one should ever trust public opinion.

The plain truth of the matter was that Fung lacked stamina. Not surprising for a man who spent his days lazing about and his nights indulging in lust, which was why he avoided long and drawn out fights until now. Hence Song’s decision to stand idly by while he fought again and again, not because she wasn’t concerned with his health, but because she hoped that this would be enough to show her Junior Martial Brother the error of his ways and convince him to work harder from here on out. Though he claimed to dislike war and fighting in general, she knew that if he truly didn’t want to be a part of the Western campaign, he would’ve found some way out long before Rain’s ships set sail in the first place. Say what you will about Song’s Junior Martial Brother, but if he set his mind to something, then not even Mama possessed the ability to sway him.

A characteristic he put to good use here, fighting in the streets of Pan Si Xing without complaint. It was a striking sight to behold, a young Warrior in silken robes driving back the Defiled alongside his soldiers. With spear in hand, he seemed all but unstoppable as he waded through the Enemy lines, clearing aside all who stood before him with a single sweep of his weapon. It would be more interesting if his enemies were more impressive however, because thus far, he’d only really come across chaff and fodder. With so much chaos breaking out all around the City, it was clear Bai Qi was still scrambling to regain control of his forces, especially the auxiliaries who behaved like traditional Defiled. Since the battle began, an endless stream of half-naked lunatics had come screaming down the streets, throwing themselves piecemeal upon the swords and spears of Fung’s retinue for no real reason other than to do battle. Their skills generally varied from passable to near non-existent, though there were a few standout Champions that Fung had to personally deal with, like the foe he was contending with now.

The Champion slipped aside from Fung’s thrust and blocked the ensuing strike before rushing forward to close the distance, only to come face to face with the butt of Fung’s spear. A simple, standard exchange that barely ruffled Song’s Junior Martial Brother’s robes, which somehow remained clean and spotless despite all the blood, sweat, sand, and ash swirling about. Yet another question Mama could not or would not answer, where Junior Martial Brother Fung got his Runic Robes from, because as far as Song knew, even Tyrant OuYang Yuhuan, the number one Runic Craftsman of the North, was unable to embed runes onto silk. Not that it mattered, for Song counted herself lucky to still fit into the Runic Breastplate Rain won off of Zian all those years back, and was hardly greedy for more. She was just curious about her strange Junior Martial Brother who was just so full of contradictions. A brilliant Martial genius who loathed war and conflict. A cad and lecher of a man who was also a poignant poet capable of lifting the hearts of anyone who heard his lyrical verses. A lazy, undisciplined silk-pants of a slacker, yet loyal and trustworthy to a fault, for he held many a secret that he could easily use to his advantage.

In short, Song was having difficulty deciding if she liked her Junior Martial Brother as a person.

Chest heaving and brow slick with sweat, Fung fell back from the fighting for the third time today and struggled to catch his breath. He lasted less than a handful of minutes this time, his body drained and stamina spent almost as soon as the battle was underway, but at least he wasn’t one to let pride blind himself to his limits. Seeing how quickly he emptied his water skin, Song refrained from pointing out he was supposed to conserve his water or chastising him for wasting the mouthful dribbling down his chin. Here in the West, water was more precious than gold and silver combined, but she handed him her water skin nonetheless because that was what a Senior Martial Sister was supposed to do. Luckily, the soldiers all had plenty of water since the mines had access to the aquifer underneath the city, though Song was curious how a reserve of water trapped underground could continue to supply a city for so many centuries. Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure how anyone survived here in the inhospitable Western Province, though she had heard tales of beautiful, verdant oases scattered about the desert and more tolerable living environments once you moved closer to the ocean coastline. Perhaps she would see more of the West someday as Rain’s crusade to retake the province unfolded, but the gruelling desert climate and conditions had thus far failed to win her over.

Even the bone-chilling cold of the North was better than the sweltering heat of the West, for Song couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt comfortable. Between the slick sweat, coarse sand, and blinding sun, she was exhausted from simply standing around doing nothing, so she sympathized wholeheartedly with her pitiful Junior Martial Brother who’d been fighting for some time now. “Would you like me to step in?” She asked through Sending, hoping to spare his pride in front of his soldiers, but he flashed her a look of such poignant disdain she wondered if he’d somehow misheard her. His contempt wasn’t enough to get him to speak however, as he simply shook his head and handed back her water skin, which she indicated he could keep it as she knew exactly where his mouth had been and would sooner share a bowl with Aurie. The manservant was quick to relieve his master of his burdens, and not for the first time, Song turned her mind to the third mystery surrounding her Junior Martial Brother. Why would someone as strong as Fu Zhu Li would be willing to lower himself to serve a mere silk-pants of a young Magistrate? Even Mama didn’t know, or if she did, she wouldn’t share, saying only that the half-weasel could be trusted to carry out his duties and keep his ward safe, no more, no less.

So very many questions, but in truth, Song really only wanted the answer to one. “Why do you favour the spear so much, when you are clearly superior with the sword?”

“I’ve already mastered the sword,” came Fung’s glib reply, and Song resisted the urge to smack the smug grin off his face. Mastered the sword, hmph. Even the Sword King Ryo Dae Jung would not have made such a claim, yet Fung dared joke about attaining mastery with his lacking skills? “The real answer?” Heaving a heavy sigh as if burdened by the weight of the world, he dabbed the sweat from his brow and said, “I enjoy the aesthetics. Everyone expects a handsome and refined gentleman and scholar such as myself to wield a one-handed longsword or jian, to the point where it feels too conformist to go into battle with sword in hand. The spear is a weapon for soldiers, and so long as I am fighting a war, then a soldier is what I am.”

Song only had to think about it for all of a second before replying, “You’re lying. You favour the spear in duels as well unless matched against a superior foe.”

“Can’t slip anything past you, Senior Martial Sister.” Flashing a devilish grin that she hadn’t seen from him in some months now, Fung said, “Truth is, I enjoy seeing the look on my opponent’s faces when I smack them in the face with my long, girthy polearm, since again, one would hardly expect a gentleman such as myself to possess so fearsome a weapon.”

There was more to Fung’s statement than the words themselves, some sort of wordplay Song was missing, which she only realized because Sister Tursinai knuckled Fung’s head in reproach. “Mind your tongue in front of your Senior Martial Sister,” the older woman huffed, only to quail before the glare of her stoic and intimidating Mentor, the half-gazelle Sentinel Yaruq. That wasn’t enough to still the plucky woman’s tongue however as she rubbed Fung’s forehead in unspoken apology. “You’ll have to answer to your Mentor if sweet Li-Li is led astray by your wicked ways.”

“There will come a day,” Yaruq began, and it was telling how Tursinai shot to attention alongside Tenjin beside her, “When you pay the price for your foolish antics. Perhaps it will be today, or seventy years from today, but that day will come to pass unless you correct your ways. When it does, only know that there is no cure for regret, but I fear this is a lesson you will not learn until you make the mistake yourself.”

“Sorry Mentor.”

Never before had Song seen the rambunctious, free-spirited woman so subdued, but Yaruq was not yet finished. “Do not apologize to me, child. Save them for the people who will die because you lack focus. Save them for the families of the comrades you left behind because you were too distracted to save them. You have so much talent child, but it has made you arrogant beyond belief, so I only hope the Heavens are kinder to you than they were to me.”

Cold and aloof as Yaruq might seem, Song knew the formidable woman was still mourning the death of her husband Khagati, who fell in Sinuji a little over a year ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed since Song stood guard over the sleeping Rain as the reinforcements arrived to relieve the fortress from the Enemy Army knocking at its gates. Though victory was theirs, it’d come at no small price, and Khagati was but one life among many lost in that fateful battle. Song couldn’t even imagine losing a friend of sixty or seventy years, much less a lover and husband, but it was clear Yaruq was still reeling from the loss. The poor woman reminded Song of Mama without all the warm and happy parts, a cold, unyielding authoritarian who demanded only the best and nothing less, but to big sister Tursinai, that clearly wasn’t the case. Sidling over to clasp her Mentor’s hand, she rested her head on the lithe, statuesque woman’s shoulder even as she was chided for ‘showing weakness’ and ‘lowering her guard in battle’, though Song noticed Yaruq made no move to pull away.

A touching moment on the battlefield, one that made Song miss Mama and Papa both. If everything had gone according to plan, they should have razed Tian Zangli to the ground last night and be well on their way to another target, but even though she knew how strong Mama was and been told Papa was not too far behind, no one was ever truly safe on the battlefield. Doubly so when their target was to lure out the fearsome half-Demon Mataram Patriarch, a man who killed the Sword King Ryo Dae Jung in single combat. What’s more, Papa had seemed out of sorts before they parted ways, so proactive about spending time together and maudlin when it came time to go, though she assumed it was because Sister Mila stole Papa’s glory and crafted Song’s new weapon herself. Normally, Papa would have been proud as a peacock to watch Sister Mila work, but he spent his days with Song trying to convince her to allow him to craft her a second Spiritual Weapon as well. She turned him down because she wasn’t confident she could bind a new weapon so quickly, much less two, but now she wondered if Papa had other reasons for wanting to craft her a weapon besides the obvious.

She would ask him when she saw him again, just to be sure. Perhaps she missed out on some father-daughter bonding experience that Papa wanted to share.

“Half-Demons to the south-east.” The statement set everyone’s head to turning towards where Yaruq was staring, her cold, piercing gaze promising pain and death aplenty. “Major Chu XinYue requires our assistance.”

Quickly patting Fung on the head, Song said, “Be careful little Junior Martial Brother. I will return as soon as possible.” In response, her Junior Martial Brother pouted while his manservant glowered, which Tursinai said was because Fung valued face, but he would still appreciate the gesture. Song had long since determined this to be one of Tursinai’s pranks, but even if it irked him, Song rather enjoyed patting Fung’s head since it made her feel like more of a Senior Martial Sister than anything else. Besides, he never tried to dodge and simply accepted the pat with poor grace, so it’s possible he truly appreciated the attention. Though unlearned in the ways of amorous affection, Song knew that Fung, like Yaruq, was mourning a lost love, even though the object of his desire still lived yet. While they had yet to formalize any arrangement beforehand, it was clear Fung had intended to take Ryo Seoyoon as his wife, but the frosty firebrand of a young girl was now engaged to Yong-Jin. Not a turn of events anyone expected, and Song was hurt and offended by how easily the Ryo’s betrayed them. She’d only just warmed up to little Seoyoon and it was difficult to dislike a Warrior as charming and talented as Da’in, but the Ryo family had chosen to side with Commander General Shuai Jiao and cut all ties with Rain’s allies in the process.

These were matters for the likes of Luo-Luo and Rain to worry about however, so Song turned her mind back to more pertinent matters, like surviving the coming clash. Doing her best not to move as Tusinai and Yaruq grabbed one arm each, Song fought to keep her eyes open as they Cloud-Stepped her over the buildings and off to another conflict, but the sand, smoke, and sun rendered her good as blind. Blinking to get the tears and detritus out of her eyes, she found firm ground beneath her feet once again and chaos all around her. Metal screeched and horses screamed as Major XinYue’s cavalry fended off their Half-Demon foes, but despite vastly outnumbering their Enemy, Song could see things were not going well for the Imperials. The Major himself was trading blows with one Half-Demon, driving his hammer again and again to smash his unholy foe, but mounted and stationary as he was, he lacked the raw strength to crush his foe. The same scene more or less repeated itself wherever a Half-Demon appeared, while crazed, reckless Defiled swarmed in from all sides. These ones wore the titular human-skin face-coverings favoured by the West’s historical adversaries, but to Song’s horror, she noted that they lacked the greyish, inhuman complexion that denoted them as outsiders to the Empire. Instead, these Defiled bore the beige, honeyed tones of Western citizens one and all, meaning they’d most likely been Defiled for less than three years in total.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Disheartening to see these once loyal citizens turn against the Mother’s light, but Song did not fault them for their weakness. They were only human, and it was the Warriors of the Empire who failed these poor souls, failed to shelter them from trials and tribulations they were in no way, shape, or form equipped to deal with. If Rain were awake, then perhaps some of them could be saved, but Song could offer them not salvation or absolution, only the cold comfort of a quick death and an end to all their suffering.

Condensing her Aura to emanate courage and determination in counter to any terror or despair the Half-Demons might throw out, Song took her stance and rested her hand upon her hilt. Even after binding her new Spiritual Weapon and practising with it for the better part of a week, the weapon always felt wrong in her hand at first. The new hilt was longer and wider than on her old weapon, a necessary change for the sake of balance, but an unfamiliar one that always threw her off. Only for the briefest of moments, less than the time it took to blink an eye, but a moment nonetheless, which could one day prove to be the difference between life and death. Then, everything fell into place as she drew her new sabre from its sheath, and it felt as if she’d been born with this weapon in hand, every bit a part of her as her fingers, knees, and toes. The blade sang as it cut through the air and cleaved her target through the neck, not far enough to decapitate the Defiled, but enough to kill him where he stood.

Tiger Swipes the Rushes, but a measured strike, for precision was key because her foe had his spear cocked and ready to plunge through the chest of an Imperial horseman. That’s why Song targeted him first, leaving herself open to the Defiled Warrior currently charging her from the left with a wild look in his eyes. Instead of following through with her strike, she loosened her grip on the weapon, slid her hand up to the haft, and reversed her momentum to strike at her charging foe with a wild, forehand strike. Bear’s Standing Fury, a move she would never have tried with her old sabre because it was too light to effectively bash with.

Not that this weapon was all that much heavier, weighing less than a half-kilogram more in total, but it was more a matter of leverage. Her old weapon was a slim, straight backed, curved bladed, single-edge saber that could not be considered long or short, a weapon forged by a master of his craft who focused on speed and agility above all else. Such was Teacher Du’s style, and he made up for his weapon’s lacking heft with his powerful physique and deadly Wind Blades. In contrast, Song compensated for the weapon’s lacking power with quick-draw and two-handed strikes, but overall, she was sorely limited in terms of raw, physical strength. Her new weapon had changed that, as it was heavier and denser with a longer, thicker hilt more suited for Song’s current physique, unlike her old hilt which had been made with a younger Li Song in mind. While she’d not grown much in size since, that wasn’t the same as not growing at all, not to mention how she was physically stronger now than ever before. Thanks to Sister Mila’s careful attention to detail, Song’s new weapon had taken everything into account to offer her the best speed, strength, and control possible.

At first glance, Song’s new sabre looked almost identical to her old one, with the most noticeable addition of a slight curve to the back edge in order to match the front. That suited her perfectly, for it was like seeing an old friend after many years apart. The greatest changes in her weapon were not visible to the eye however, the most significant one for her being the distribution of weight. Her new weapon was point heavy as opposed to hilt heavy, meaning its centre of balance was further from the pommel than one would expect. Most of the weight was in the hawk-billed point, an almost rounded tip that ended in a sharp, backwards hook like the upper beak of a bird of prey. This made it less than ideal for thrusting with pinpoint accuracy, but optimal at carving through flesh and steel since the curved tip offered less resistance than a pointed one. What’s more, by shifting the point of balance more to the tip of the sabre, this forced her to adjust her grip to sit further up the thicker hilt most of the time, which in turn enabled her to hit even harder than before while utilizing the same amount of strength.

Sister Mila mentioned all of this at one point or another, and it sounded nice and all, but the only thing Song really knew was that her new weapon offered her the ability to utilize more power without affecting her control. In fact, the longer hilt offered her even more control as it meant she could easily change up the angle and speed of her attacks by simply moving her hands higher or lower up on the grip. High on the grip offered her the most control, low, the most power, and with two hands, she possessed the best of both worlds and could utilize a near countless number of grip combinations to keep her opponents thinking.

Releasing her scabbard, Song took her new sabre in both hands and set off with the steely determination to explore her new limits and how far she could push them. Her weapon was one crafted with her skills in mind, a custom-made Spiritual Sabre meant for Song and Song alone, so how could she bear to not display its full potential? Moving to meet her next foe, she feinted an overhead slash and drew back for a thrust instead. Gripping the Turtle into Darting Fang, her thrust caught the Defiled clean through the heart and surprised even her, for he was dead before she retracted her blade and raised it to block an attack that would never come. In retrospect, she could have killed her foe with the forward slash after all, as the tribesman would not have been able to block it, but it was better to overestimate her foes than underestimate them. Withdrawing her sabre with a twirl and a flourish, she danced aside to avoid a riderless horse and cut down the Defiled who’d spooked the poor creature with an effortless Gliding Wing. Beautiful creatures, horses, but too anxious and fearful for her tastes, especially for a beast of battle. Give her a quin any day of the week, for Song would much rather have a mount that fought alongside her than fought against her while engaged with the Enemy, like many of the horses were doing here and now. Granted, the beasts had good reason to be spooked with all the blood, ashes, and Aura swirling about, not to mention how sweet Erdene wasn’t one for fighting, which was why Song left the quin in the mine shafts outside the city proper.

A decision she mildly regretted as she picked her way through her mounted allies on foot, as their towering figures blocked her lines of sight and made it difficult to see more than a few paces in any direction. It also didn’t help that she couldn’t stand shoulder to shoulder or back to back with any of her allies, which left her feeling open and vulnerable to say the least. The only thing she could do was keep moving to avoid getting bogged down and surrounded, for Yaruq, Tursinai, Tenjin, and the others were all busy fending off the Half-Demons. Formidable foes, these humans clad in Demonic armour, though their strength seemed to vary greatly just like any regular Demon. It wasn’t their raw strength that made them so dangerous though, but rather the combination of a human’s cunning and a Demon’s durability. Generally, a Demon way of thinking was more akin to a beast than an actual Warrior, so now these Half-Demons, like Song’s new sabre, enjoyed the best of both worlds and had proven themselves a force to be reckoned with even without their non-standard Auras.

Aside from countering their Emotional Aura however, Song had no place battling a Half-Demon, as she could barely hold her own against a regular Demon and stood no chance of winning even if she could. Domain Development continued to elude her, and none of Rain’s redacted notes that Mama shared had been of any use. Never one to give up without even trying, Song set her mind to exploring this next milestone even as she cut a swathe through the Defiled in the streets of Pan Si Xing. In Rain’s notes, he described a Martial Warrior’s Domain as an area of authority in which said Martial Warrior’s Chi would remain Chi instead of turning back into the Energy of the Heavens. That was the ‘what’, but there was little to be gleaned in the way of ‘how’, though for once, it wasn’t Rain’s fault. Mama had taken it upon herself to remove a large portion of Rain’s notes regarding Domain Development because he went about it in an atypical manner, which was less than helpful for anyone reading his notes, but this sort of sharing was new to them all and Mama was still adjusting.

Driving her sword clean through a Defiled calf in passing, she left her blade embedded in her foe’s flesh as she stepped past, then carved a path clean through their leg, hip, and torso as she executed an overhand slash at her next target. Oriole Raises the Winds, but executed in a manner she’d never practised before. A simple tap of the sabre was all she dealt, like snapping a folding fan shut for dramatic effect, her blade hacking a third of the way through her opponent’s skull before sliding out with ease, though she’d initially intended to cleave the Defiled in twain. She hadn’t because efficiency was the key here, a fact her body realized even if her mind had yet to catch on. Though she had stamina aplenty and could fight for much longer than Fung, there were far more Defiled than Imperials in Pan Si Xing even if you counted all the slaves, which was why she reined in her glee and switched to more restrained and deliberate attacks.

There was plenty of killing still yet to be done, and plenty of dying to boot.

The slaves. Oh how her heart ached with grief at the thought of those poor souls, and she wasn’t sure which ones to pity more; the ones who died fighting in hopes of freedom, or the ones who would survive only to learn the soldiers did not intend to escort them away to safety. The plan was to help the Imperial citizens escape, but once they were out of the city, they would have to survive on their own, for Brother Baatar’s army would need to make a quick departure if they hoped to evade pursuit and return to Meng Sha alive. Pan Si Xing was deep in Enemy territory, and even if Mama’s assault on Tian Zangli had gone perfectly to plan, she would still not be in any position to come support Brother Baatar, whose army lacked the manpower needed to scour Pan Si Xing clean of the Defiled invaders.

At least the slaves would die free. Not much of a consolation, but Song remembered how often she dreamed of doing just that all those years ago.

There was a rhythm to the fighting that Song soon fell into, one she didn’t even notice until the cadence had already taken root in her body and mind. The stomping boots, clashing weapons, yelling combatants, and whinnying horses, all of it came together in a way she could not describe. Battles were always chaos and anarchy, and this one even more so without formations to maintain or lines to stand in, yet there was an order to the disorder that Song could just barely perceive, a logical progression she didn’t so much follow as was drawn along by. Two Defiled approached from opposite directions, both having independently fixated on her as their target. The ‘correct’ choice would be to engage the closer one on her right, yet she moved to kill the foe on her left first. As she did, a horse barrelled through the empty space she’d just vacated, passing less than an arm’s length away as the rider dispatched her other foe while remaining wholly unaware of her presence. A pleasant surprise, but upon reflection, not actually a surprise. The horse’s head had blocked Song from the rider’s view, but she’d moved to avoid them even before she registered the sound of the hoof-beats behind her, a mystery she had no time to ponder the implications as she moved on to her next foe.

Once might be a coincidence, but then it happened immediately again as Song twirled to intercept a previously unseen Wraith emerging from Concealment. With its black dagger raised to plunge into her back, it was caught wholly unprepared as her sabre cleaved through its waist from hip to hip in a spray of foul blood. How she knew it was there, she couldn’t say, the same way she didn’t know how she knew she could no longer afford to conserve her strength. Moving to the rhythm of the flow, she pushed past the still standing legs of her bisected foe and dove forward into a roll. Steel hissed behind her as it cut through empty air, and she pivoted about as she landed to deliver a slash to the Wraith’s ankles. Pouncing over her toppling foe, she darted through two more Wraiths on either side who thought they were converging upon a helpless target, a notion she disabused them of as she brought her sabre back along the same course and carved through the ribs of the right Wraith, and the ribs of the left.

From start to finish, her movements made no logical sense whatsoever. She moved forward, then turned around to dive in the other direction before reversing her momentum once again, a confusing progression that left her foes unable to predict her next move, yet Song had done it so naturally it felt as if it were the only logical course of action in the world. What’s more, she had trouble discerning which Movements from which Forms she’d used in the process, because she simply did whatever felt right. This was it, the strength that came from mastery of the Forms Da’in had mentioned, the ability to dominate your foes through sheer skill alone. Her enhanced perception was still a mystery, but Song was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth as she whirled to meet her next foe. Putting the full weight and momentum of her body behind the attack, she delivered a diagonal slash to cleave her target from shoulder to hip -

Only to rebound off what felt like a solid mountain of steel.

Reeling to recover from the recoil, Song backpedalled away as her opponent came into focus. Dark pools of midnight oil stared out from behind a metallic mask of blackness, and Song marvelled at how the Half-Demon’s rage and fury could be so palpable despite its complete and utter lack of expression. The spear that blocked her sabre shifted, and Song twisted about, trusting her instincts more than her eyes to avoid a blow she could not track. The thrust drove the air from her lungs as it glanced off her Runic Armour, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that it would have pierced her throat if she hadn’t moved. Giving herself over to the momentum as she sailed through the air, her stomach dropped as she noticed her foe was still hot in pursuit, dashing forward spear first to finish the job. The Half-Demon still had yet to blink, which she found fiercely intimidating, but as the daughter of Akanai and Husolt, Song would not allow herself to back down.

As the Half-Demon drew close, she lashed out with her sabre in a wild attack aimed at knocking the spear aside, which it easily avoided by drawing its weapon back. This was only expected as she was still hurtling through the air and limited in speed and power, which was why her foot was already waiting in place when the Half-Demon tried to lower its spear again. The angle wasn’t quite right, but she pushed off the haft anyways, using it as a foothold to flip up and around in mid-air. Had she tried this without pushing off her foe, it would have caught up and killed her before she landed, but it was still a close call as things stood. Rather than attempting to match its strength or arrest its charge, Song landed lightly and immediately dropped into a crouch. Then, she turned her shoulder and bounced back onto her feet, twisting about as the Half-Demon crashed into her and using her shoulder to guide its body overhead. A shoulder throw, yet another unrecognizable Movement she’d never utilized in this manner, but it felt right in the moment and worked wonders as the Half-Demon sailed head over heels over her. The impact still left her shaken, bruised, and reeling in pain, but most importantly, it left her alive.

This was Domain. It had to be, or at least the beginnings of one. She sensed what was happening around her without having to see them, for she was intrinsically linked to the area around her. Rain called it Spiritual Sense, but Song believed this sensation was merely part and parcel of Domain. Then again, maybe Spiritual Sense was the next step up, extending that extra perception beyond one’s Domain, but regardless of the details, she knew she stood on the cusp of success. Staggering forward as the spear hammered home against her hip, she used the momentum to turn and face her foe while dodging yet another follow up in the process. The Half-Demon was already back on its feet and more furious than ever, but Song danced to the beat of her own music to stand firm before a flurry of blows. A sweep dodged, a thrust parried, a charge side-stepped altogether, she continued to avoid death by the skin of her teeth while bringing the Half-Demon about on a merry chase. In the moment, it felt like it lasted for an eternity, but in reality, it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds and a dozen exchanges, ones that left her mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted.

Then, just as Song feared she could no longer keep this up, Yaruq’s nine-sectioned staff slammed down into the Half-Demon with a hollow ring and splattered it across the sands, its deformed, pulped remains a most welcome sight to be sure. “You did well to stay alive,” the half-gazelle said, so calm and collected despite her ragged, bloodstained leathers telling the tale of a rough and hard-won engagement. “With a few more years, perhaps it will be you guarding my foolish Disciple, rather than the other way around.”

“I still have a long way to go before catching up to Big Sister Tursinai.”

“This will not do.” Song was only being honest, but Yaruq responded with muted pique and indignity. “Big Sister Tursinai? Is that what the brat asked you to call her? No, no, no. As Baatar’s younger sister, it would be more appropriate for you to call me ‘Big Sister’, which means Tursinai only warrants ‘Little Niece’ at best.” Though delivered in an utterly genuine and deadpan manner, there was a glimmer in Yaruq’s eye that clued Song in to the joke, while simultaneously warning her against ever calling the formidable woman ‘Big Sister’. “Come,” Yaruq continued, gesturing Song over to her side. “The Enemy has placed great value on your head, more than I expected. Stay close, and they will not touch another hair on your head.”

Though gratified by her concern, Song hesitated briefly before replying, “I am close to a breakthrough, and so I would ask that you allow me to keep fighting.”

Tilting her head in wordless question, Yaruq’s lips quirked ever so slightly in a way that Song believed meant she was hiding a smile. “As you were then. I will step in only to save your life, and not a moment before.”

Which was exactly what Song wanted. Giving herself over to the rhythm of war, she set herself back upon her Path towards understanding Domain Development and felt herself drawing closer and closer with each passing step. Failure or success was not important any longer, because at the very least, she was making progress, which, by any measure, made today a good day.

Chapter Meme