Fame, fortune, honour, and glory.

For as long as he could remember, those were Jia Yang’s motives for seeking strength. The Martial Peak was merely a stepping stone on the way to his real goal, to stand at the pinnacle of high society where he truly belonged. While no one would ever accuse him of being a bleeding heart saint, no one could denounce him for not doing his fair part either, for he was a career soldier who never shied from battle over the course of his career, a Warrior who led from the front and took on every challenge that presented itself.

Not out of love of duty or the people, nor was his enthusiasm solely for the sake of advancement in his career or Martial Path. This was simply how he was raised, to do his part as a Warrior of Heaven and a Noble of the Empire. Other families with power and influence looked the other way when their spoiled, silk-pants scions threw their weight around using their family name, but Yang’s grandfather on his father’s side would’ve had him publicly flogged if he tried to do the same. Grandfather’s own grandfather had been Clan Patriarch and was largely responsible for their branch family’s rise to prominence in Clan and Society. Thanks to his efforts, five generations now, the Situ Clan held the reins of the Society, and while other leading parties had come and gone, Yang’s grandfather was unwilling to see the Situ Clan fall from grace in his time, to say nothing of his dream of seeing another Patriarch emerge from the family.

Because even though they all shared the family name Situ, not all Situ’s were equal, and Situ Jia Yang’s pedigree was unmatched, making him a true dragon among men.

Or at least that’s what Grandfather said when he told Yang about his dream, a dream that young boy took to heart and dedicated his life in pursuit of. The possibility of failure never entered Yang’s mind over the years as he made steady progress in his career and Martial Path both, but his sister was another story. While he was groomed as a Warrior and Officer, she was taught how to dance and recite poetry. When their parents dispatched him to join the Army and chase down bandits and rebels in Central, they sent her out into the Northern province to hunt for a husband who could help raise their family’s status. When he became a Major, his parents spared no expense celebrating the occasion, yet when Ying became Magistrate of Shen Yun, they’d already died believing they’d raised an unfilial failure of a daughter who brought home a largely useless son-in-law for them to support, rather than the other way around.

All his life, Yang had stood by his sister’s side, because in truth, he himself thought it was unfair how much his parents focused on him at her expense. He lived a blessed life in which he was given anything he ever asked for, while she had to kick and scream before their parents would even consider one of her requests. It never seemed fair really, because she was older, wiser, and always there to help him whenever he needed it, but Grandfather was a ‘traditional’ man who believed Ying’s greatest asset was her womb. That’s why Yang tried his best to stand up for her in whatever way he could, but as much as he loved her, he loved his parents and Grandparents too, so he could never bring himself to take a stand and defend her to the last. Instead, he became the mediator who repeatedly convinced his big sister to take a step back and surrender just a bit more of the limited freedom she had, a role he wholeheartedly regretted once he realized the part he played in his sister’s misery.

She never blamed him for it, never resented him for how their parents favoured him, and even did everything she could to help him along. The only time he ever stood firmly on her side was regarding her marriage to Lu An Jing, and only because he’d thought the rice was cooked so he might as well secure a little happiness for her. He never liked Lu An Jing, because he was a pompous, arrogant ass who lacked social grace and tact, but he made Ying laugh like no one else ever could, so he defended her actions to their parents and tolerated the man as best he could even after Ying’s lie became apparent. Then the idiot went and died, right after actually getting his wife pregnant to boot, a truly unfortunate turn of events, for their parents had passed away less than a year prior, meaning Ying never even had a chance to really enjoy her free and happy married life.

Oh how surprised Yang had been when he showed up for An Jing’s funeral and saw his sister’s bulging belly for the first time, something she failed to mention it in any of her letters. Truly an unfortunate woman, Situ Jia Ying, for she’d sacrificed so much and burned so many bridges in pursuit of her happiness, and all she had to show for it was a widow’s veil and a child yet to be born. There were even rumours abound of how she was a black star that cursed anyone and everyone she came in contact with, with whispers of how she’d driven her parents to death with her ‘intolerable’ actions. Not true at all since Mother died of an aneurysm that could have happened to anyone, while Father fell into a depression and followed her to the grave soon after, as if his spirit had just given up and his body took a few months to catch on. When he first heard of these rumours, Yang flew into a rage and fought no less than seven duels to uphold his sister’s honour, because he knew that in spite of all their arguments and differences, his parents loved their daughter, and the same was true in reverse.

So, in order to prove the rumours wrong and look after his sister, Yang put his career on hold and stayed with her to ensure she was safe and well cared for. It wasn’t all that difficult considering he’d inherited almost everything from his parents, not because they loved him more than her, but because they were worried Ying would give everything to her husband’s ‘greedy merchant family’, their words, not his. In fact, father had spoken very sternly to Yang about ensuring his sister did not want for anything, mostly because she was still a Situ princess and could not be left to wallow in poverty, as they assumed she would without his aide. Of course, Yang always knew that his sister was far more clever than their parents believed, which was why he’d given her complete control of his finances the day after he inherited everything, because he trusted her more than anyone else. It didn’t matter how much coin he spent on fine wine, rich foods, priceless art, or pleasurable company, for he would always find more in his purse the next day thanks to Ying’s brilliant investments, so him sticking around to ensure she was well cared for really only meant guarding her from any assassination attempts.

Of which there were none, since back then, there was really no reason to fear Situ Jia Ying just yet.

For the better part of two years, Yang played the part of a domestic, and much as he loved his sister and nephew both, those long, arduous months had been enough to convince him to remain unmarried and childless for life. Ying had always been temperamental, but pregnancy made it so much worse, as one minute she would be all laughter and smiles, and the next, a seething mess of anger and tears. As for Zian, he was quite possibly the most beautiful baby ever born to the Empire, but only when his mother held him in her arms. The rest of the time, he was a screaming terror of snot and tears with a wail that could wake the dead and a stubborn will to keep it up for hours without end. No one else could keep baby Zian calm, not his wet-nurse, nanny, or beloved uncle who was trying so hard to be fatherly but just didn’t know what he was doing wrong. A nightmare to be sure, so as soon as he felt they’d weathered the storm and emerged unscathed, Yang ran back to Central to resume his career and continue on his quest to become Clan Patriarch.

The years passed quickly, and though it took longer and more work than he ever imagined, Yang eventually became a Peak Expert and Lieutenant General. This meant he was the highest ranking Situ Clansman aside from Nian Zu, an accomplishment he took great pride in. While he never admitted it out loud, he always assumed his nephew’s appointment as young Patriarch was done to appease him. It only made sense after all, for Yang was now a close contender for the title of Patriarch, so Rang Min wanted to bind their families together by making Zian his successor. It was clear now that this wasn’t the case, for Ying was far more of a threat than he ever was, for she used the family fortune to buy herself a Magisterial Office, an investment that paid out hand over fist. Even having heard the entire story from start to finish, Yang still wasn’t entirely sure how his sister managed to depose Rang Min and take his place. Somehow, she won over the elders, including the fearsome Elder Chi Gan who’d served as the enforcer and executioner for Patriarch Shi Min and transferred his loyalty over to young Rang Min, and with their support, became Matriarch. Ying made it sound so simple, claiming she didn’t even want the title and tried to give it to him, but the Elders refused because of his recent fall from grace and newfangled ties to the Bekhai.

Truth be told, he might have resented his sister’s talents if he didn’t admire her so much. Even though he was the only son of the family and given all the resources and assistance his parents could spare, in the end, all of that effort would have been better spent on Ying, because then she might have become Matriarch a few decades earlier. Grandfather would’ve been proud of Ying, because despite their differences in opinion, he trained her to fight all the same and was often heard praising her skills and lamenting over how she hadn’t been born a man. As for Yang, even though he’d suddenly had his lifelong dream stolen away, he wasn’t even the slightest bit upset about his circumstances because his talented older sister was finally recognized for the dragon she truly was.

Such an odd turn of events, especially considering the sinking sensation Yang had experienced when he thought his career was over and done with in the wake of his disastrous actions during the defence of the Northern Wall. He’d countermanded his Commanding Officer’s orders in the midst of battle, a grave offence he could easily be court-martialed for, then foolishly called for a full retreat from the Wall mere seconds before the Enemy fled. If that wasn’t a blunder, then Yang didn’t know what was, and at the time, he had no idea what to do with himself now that his dreams of becoming Patriarch were over and done with. For days, he sat in his office waiting for the hammer to drop, for all his years of meritorious service would amount to nothing once the higher-ups of Central read the Bekhai reports. They’d strip his rank for sure, and order him to pay a fortune in fines, at which point all the enemies he’d made would come for his head. To ensure his sister and nephew weren’t caught in the fighting, he intended to be well away from them when he died, but even though he’d come to terms with his inevitable death, the knowledge that he, Situ Jia Yang, had failed so convincingly had eaten away at him until there was almost nothing left.

Nothing came of his blunder in the end because the Bekhai reports made no mention of it. They even commended him for his service, which was a strange stance to take considering their adversarial relationship thus far, but it won them his gratitude and more. Though there was still a price to be paid since his actions didn’t go entirely unnoticed, Yang was still the second highest ranking Officer of the Clan and on track to become Patriarch one day, so it was all more or less swept under the rug. Now that Ying was Matriarch, Yang had still failed to live up to expectations, but it didn’t matter because his failure was not really through any fault of his own, but rather because his older sister fulfilled his obligations first. How could he be blamed for being born too late? The true talent of the family had been his sister all along, and no one was less surprised than he, for he’d sparred with her far too many times and seen how much she loved the Martial Path to ever believe she would ever stop pursuing the Peak. Though others might think differently, he was not ashamed to admit he was inferior to his sister, and in truth, was rather happy to scream and shout it for the world to hear. It was high time she was afforded the respect she deserved, the respect she should have been given from the start. Their parents, grandparents, Elders, and friends, everyone overlooked Ying’s prospects simply because she was a woman destined to be married out, but now, they would know the error of their ways.

After the initial shock passed, Yang discovered he was quite pleased with this unexpected turn of events, because he only ever wanted to be Patriarch for the fame, fortune, honour, and glory, as well as fulfilling his grandfather and father’s ambitions. Now that his sister had accomplished everything in his stead, Yang still had everything his heart desired while also retaining his freedom to do whatever he pleased. The only difference was that he relied on his sister’s backing to throw his weight around and look down on his peers, so matters really couldn’t have gone better. He was the Matriarch’s brother, an Elder on the Council, uncle to a genius young talent, grand-uncle to two screaming little babies who were somehow even more vocal than their father, and a blissful bachelor to boot. When he met his fellow Clansmen and Society adherents now, he was reminded of the time when he was six years old and got to hold his head up high for an entire week after his sister pummelled their cousins for daring to bully him during their games. Others whispered of how Situ Jia Yang was a failure riding on the coat-tails of a woman, but they were just jealous they couldn’t do the same, for their sisters were nowhere near as impressive as his. Most importantly of all, now that Yang’s dream of becoming Patriarch could no longer be fulfilled, he felt like a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he was free to be himself again, rather than the person his grandfather and parents had always wanted him to be. Who that was, Yang wasn’t entirely sure just yet, but he found that he enjoyed military service far more when he wasn’t endlessly chasing advancement for the sake of clout and reputation. Now, he served because it was what he’d been born to do, to fight the Enemy and drive them back from the Empire’s borders once and for all.

Which was why he found it so irksome to sit around doing nothing while citizens and Warriors fought and died in the streets of Pan Si Xing.

Matters were all going according to plan, a fact he had to remind himself every time he saw an Imperial citizen fall before the blades of the Enemy. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing to fight, but rather that his strength would be needed in the conflict to come, so others would have to shoulder the burden of battle for now. No one above the rank of Lieutenant Colonel had taken the field just yet, for aside from Brigadier Hongji giving orders from the safety of the mines, the rest of the Field and General Officers were lurking in wait for the true target of this attack. That was the important thing to focus on, not the liberation of the city and the people inhabiting it, but rather their goal to take Bai Qi’s head and deny the Enemy a pivotal piece on the board. A bold move, but a necessary one, for as fearsome as the Enemy might be, they were far more dangerous with a man like Bai Qi in command. Since the fall of the Western province, Yang had watched as the Enemy tactics improved with each passing day, going from disjointed waves of tribal aggressors rushing headlong towards their death, to whole armies of Defiled marching in cohesive fashion and engaging in strategic warfare.

To lay this all at Bai Qi’s footsteps would be overestimating his value, but to say he had no part in it would be disingenuous at best. What’s more, if the Enemy were truly to come together as a disciplined fighting force comparable to the Imperial Army, then the Empire was doomed. Killing Bai Qi, Mataram YuGan, and Mao Jianghong would hopefully buy the Empire some time, but they still had to deal with the mysterious Uniter who brought this plague to their doorstep in the first place. A matter for another day however, and for craftier minds than his, as Yang focused his efforts on ignoring the death and suffering taking place all around him.

The good news was that the battle was thus far going better than expected, which was a testament to the strength and grit of the soldiers Baatar hand-picked for this mission. A hundred-thousand soldiers against an entire City of Defiled, and not only were the Imperial forces holding firm, they did so while scattered haphazardly about the city. Well, not exactly scattered so much as strategically divided, but it was a bold gambit to split into smaller groups when they were already readily outnumbered. After seeing this tactic in action however, he wholeheartedly believed it was the right move and wholeheartedly acknowledged Baatar and Hongji’s superior tactical qualifications. Out in the sandy desert where there were no defences to speak of, their paltry, hundred-thousand strong army would have been engulfed and overrun within the hour, but the fighting in Pan Si Xing played out far differently. Yang still wasn’t used to treating the Defiled as a logical and rational foe, for it was difficult to overcome a long lifetime of bias. Five years ago, anyone who brought up the possibility of a disciplined force of Defiled would be laughed out of the streets, for ‘disciplined Defiled’ was quite possibly the most easily recognized oxymoron in existence. One would have more success selling ‘dry water’ or ‘hard air’ than convincing anyone the Enemy could exhibit any semblance of control or restraint, for it was a well-known fact that the Defiled were all gibbering madmen driven by hatred and lies.

Which turns out wasn’t a fact at all, just a common misconception Warriors told the world because the truth was far more frightening. The Defiled were a crazed and demented bunch, but they were far from stupid, or at least the Chieftains that led them were. They lived lives embroiled in bitter conflict, with the Imperials and other Defiled both, so not a single one of them ever made it to adulthood without first surviving through countless bloody conflicts. That was the most important lesson Yang learned during his time at the Northern Wall, to respect the Enemy as a cunning and capable foe rather than the mindless slaves of the Father common knowledge took them to be.

The second most important lesson he learned up North was that he’d been a fool to seek advancement in Central. Granted, the decision hadn’t been his to make, but he’d gone along with his father’s arrangements because he believed it was the right choice at the time. Serving in Central meant rubbing elbows with the ‘true’ nobles of the Empire, who were only considered the ‘true nobility’ because they lived in the safest and most prosperous province of them all, and therefore were the wealthiest and most influential. Now that the war had come to their doorstep however, they were mostly useless save for a few stand out Officers, and Yang was almost equally as bad. Had he served in the North however, he would have come into contact with the Defiled that much sooner and been better equipped to fight them now, instead of bumbling about like a fool and learning as he went. Of course, serving in the North was only the ‘better’ decision in hindsight, for Father had other reasons for sending Yang to Central, namely to keep him away from Nian Zu and Rang Min both. Back then, everyone knew that the new Clan Patriarch would not tolerate any threats to his position, as evidenced by the great lengths he went to in order to have Nian Zu killed. Alas, the black sheep of the Situ Clan survived time and time again, winning the admiration of an entire generation of youths in the process, Yang included. It wasn’t surprising, as youths were rebellious by nature and who better to idolize than a rebel who repeatedly spat in the eye of the Clan’s greatest authority figure? It didn’t help that Rang Min was never one to endear himself to anyone unwilling to lick his boots first, as if he were entitled to their love and admiration by sheer virtue of his position alone. In his mind, you were either with him or against him, which made for tense times among clansmen, all of which Yang neatly avoided by focusing on his career in Central.

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A shame that, for if he’d served up North, perhaps he would have come under Nian Zu’s wing and become close friends with Baatar, though that seemed unlikely. Even now, they weren’t on the friendliest of terms, but mostly because the half-wolf was a notoriously difficult person to get along with. There was an unnerving quality about him that had nothing to do with his exotic appearance or dangerous mannerisms, one that Yang only identified after working alongside the man for the better part of a year. Baatar possessed an inhuman amount of focus, able to fixate on a person or problem in a manner that was unsettling to behold, like... well, a wolf fixating on prey. He had this piercing gaze that made it seem as if he could read your every thought and uncover all your deepest, darkest secrets and was quietly judging the weight of sin staining your soul. It was all in Yang’s imagination of course, because Baatar could no more read thoughts than a bird could understand the written word. That didn’t make his gaze any less unnerving however, and most responded to his focused attention poorly, for reasons that should be obvious. No one liked to feel exposed or judged, but it would be easier to teach a stone to sprout wings and fly than teach Baatar to ease back and relax.

Even drunk, the man was more intense than most, a naturally brooding and pensive looking soul, so Yang accepted they would never be the best of friends and settled for mutually respected comrades. Here they stood with three other Peak Experts, Gao Liang and the wedded Exarches Bralton and Erienne. All five of them stood cloaked in Concealment atop a granary silo while watching the battle for Pan Si Xing unfold, but while the rest of them sweated, squirmed, and otherwise showed signs of fraying nerves, Baatar stood at full attention with shoulders loose and weapons at the ready, wholly prepared to leap into the fray at a moment’s notice. This was a part of in the inhuman focus Yang noted earlier, an almost superhuman ability to concentrate on the task at hand, and though Baatar’s head turned this way and that to take in the entire city, he never tightened his grip around the shaft of his pole-axe or reached for the hilt of his sword, never shifted his weight from one foot to the other or reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. It was uncanny really, and made Yang uncomfortable just to see it in action, for there were times when Baatar seemed less than human and not in a half-beast sort of way. It was almost like he was carved from stone and given life by the Mother above, a Warrior in the likeness of a human but wasn’t entirely one just yet.

As such, his inhuman focus made it even more difficult for the other four Peak Experts with him to relax. Well, maybe not the wedded Exarches, who stood arm in arm taking turns fanning one another in an effort to beat the heat, and Gao Liang seemed almost as focused, for the obviously Western native was ready to fight and die for his province, so really, it was only Yang squirming in the face of Baatar’s actions, which irked him to no end. If the others could ignore it, then so could he, though he had no earthly idea how they could stand so still whilst baking in the Western sun. Nothing short of Runic armour would help Warriors of their calibre, which was why Yang was out here in light silk robes to help beat the heat, alongside a wide-brimmed hat with a silk veil to keep the sand out of his eyes and mouth. In contrast, Baatar had only added a simple hat to his regular Bekhai leathers, while the wedded Exarches didn’t even bother with that much because they refused to remove their feathered tribal headdresses. As for Gao Liang, he was covered from head to toe in loose western garb, having made the transformation sometime after they set out since there was no longer any need to hide his origins, and he looked more comfortable now than ever.

Physically at least. Mentally and emotionally, the man was a wreck, though Yang could hardly blame him considering the circumstances. Some fool of a Warrior had gone ahead and spurred the people of the West to action and doomed them in the process. Even if they were hale and healthy enough to march through the desert, which they most assuredly weren’t, there was no way for the army to evacuate so many of them to safety. Most of these poor people had survived this long, but now they would either die in battle here today or suffer a long and excruciating death at the hands of the Enemy. It would be a mercy to put every Western citizen to the sword before leaving Pan Si Xing, but Baatar would not order it and Gao Liang would not stand for it. Hell, Yang himself would hesitate to give such an order, and he had no idea what he would do if commanded to kill so many innocents. The purge was one thing, but wanton slaughter another, and truth be told, he no longer believed that extended contact with the Enemy was enough to doom one’s soul.

Because if that were true, then these fine men and women of the West would not be so eager to spill Defiled blood. If they were truly tainted by the Father’s lies, then they would happily inflict pain and suffering on anyone in their path, but despite the chaos and pandemonium breaking out all across the city, the people of the West only attacked the Enemy, and in a few rare instances, other prisoners. Sympathizers most likely, or traitors who turned on their own people to support the Enemy without turning Defiled, a scenario which offended Yang’s sensibilities. At least those who succumbed to the Father’s wiles at least had the excuse of being gullible and weak-willed, but someone who willingly worked with the Enemy without believing their lies was a black-hearted scoundrel who deserved death.

The people of the West fought with enthusiasm, but they were sorely lacking in strength, stamina, and effectiveness. By the time the battle was truly underway, they were mostly a spent force who could only delay the Defiled for all the time it took to swing their weapons before clogging the streets with their bodies, a wholly predictable outcome anyone could have seen coming, except for the fool who spurred them to action. Everywhere he looked, he saw Westerners dying in droves, and though he had no love for this province, it pained him to see them throw their lives away without cause. Better if they’d kept their heads down and away from the fighting, because at least then they would have a chance to see tomorrow, but now, they were all dead men walking and nothing short of direct intervention from the Mother Above would save them.

Heavens knows Hongji tried, dispatching soldiers this way and that to guide the citizens to safety, but to no avail. Even if they all listened to orders without question, there was simply no place to hide so many slaves at once. There were whole crowds making their way to the market district and out the tunnels running underneath, but they were merely a drop in the bucket compared to those dying in the streets. The biggest problem was that most citizens didn’t care to escape or even try to survive. Instead, whenever they saw Imperial soldiers, they’d cheer and charge the Enemy in hopes of holding them in place for their heroes to strike down. It didn’t matter if they died in the process, and in fact, most seemed happy to do so, for more than one westerner had gone into the arms of the Mother with a smile etched across their sunken cheeks.

Strength of spirit and conviction aplenty, but Yang’s conscience would have much preferred if they’d lived. These commoners were weak and insignificant, yet foolish enough to try and make a difference, while he stood here watching and waiting in complete silence.

“How much longer?” The question slipped out before he even realized he’d spoken, barely more than a whisper but the words echoed in the silence atop the silo. Four sets of eyes turned towards him, but Yang rose up to meet Baatar’s icy-blue orbs and did away with caution. “How much longer will we stand idle and wait?”

Baatar showed no anger over being questioned or frustration at current events, his stony expression as cold and unreadable as ever. “And what,” he began, speaking slowly and enunciating every word with the utmost care, “Would you have me do?”

Yang was wrong. The man was furious, enraged even, but he held fast to Balance to keep it from showing. Not always the best solution, because sometimes the best way to find Balance was to let yourself feel your emotions in full before centring yourself once again. “Send us to fight,” Yang replied, waving about the city at the Peak Experts hidden all about. “We’ve set the trap, but it’s clear he won’t take the bait.” Having seen the full extent of their forces, Bai Qi had to know the Imperials had no intention of taking the city, else they would have sent more soldiers. Their plan to lure him out failed the second he dispatched his Peak Experts and Demons instead of revealing himself to take control, so there was a good chance he knew they were here for his head. If so, what was the point of lying in wait any longer? Better to strike now and kill as many Defiled as they could before retreating to fight again another day.

Another day the people of the Pan Si Xing wouldn’t have, but there was nothing Yang or Baatar could do for them.

“He has yet to take the bait,” Baatar replied, “Not because he fears our trap, but because he sees the bait is not worth it. The man is prideful to the extreme, and he feels it beneath him to take direct action himself. A mistake, I admit, not bringing someone worthy of his attention, for even if I reveal myself now, he might not think me deserving of his personal attention and send someone else to deal with me in his stead.”

“Then what are we still waiting for?” Yang asked, and he could tell the others were equally curious.

“For the tides to turn.” Turning to point out into the city, he gestured at a group of cavalry fighting in the distance. “Yaruq and Major Chu XinYue have almost completed the slaughter of the Half-Demons sent to fight them, largely thanks to my younger sister’s ability to block their Dread Aura.” Shifting to point further south, he continued, “Your Elder Chi Gan is slaughtering Demons like chickens, a formidable hidden dragon if I have ever seen one. In the meantime, Siyar and your nephew have fortified the forging district with help from the miners, and even as we speak are slaughtering the Enemy forces in droves by leading them into bloody killing grounds. As for the Enemy cavalry, my Khishigs have brought them out on a merry chase, luring them to a dead end square where the bows and crossbows of my son’s retinue rain death down upon them.”

After listing out no less than five more examples, Baatar turned back to Yang and said, “Surprising as it might seem, I believe we are winning, but more importantly, so too does Hongji. The Enemy forces are too disjointed in their response, but more importantly, they are too eager to do battle with the people of the West who they believed were broken and defeated. They think themselves wolves, but they are mere lambs being led to the slaughter, all because they think so little of the slaves they’ve lorded over and abused for so long.”

“...So you think Bai Qi will be forced to come out?”

Baatar nodded. “It is the only way he can regain control of the situation, by showing himself to assume direct control. Giving orders through Sending does not have the same effect, and doubly so when commanding Defiled, I imagine.” Huffing a small sigh of regret, Baatar added, “Whoever spurred the people of Pan Si Xing to action was right to do so, for without them, we might well have long since been overrun by a more cautious and coordinated foe. Imperial forces in the city must be respected, but rebel slaves? They see no reason to fear the people they’ve whipped and terrorized for two years, and now, the Enemy is paying a steep price for their hubris.” Glancing at Yang, Baatar stopped to consider something before nodding sagely as if someone had said something brilliant. “But perhaps you are right. Perhaps we should add fuel to the fire and give our quarry more reason to come out. Signal the first group to action. Hongji will know what to do.”

Even as he said it, Gao Liang was delivering a message using a polished silver hand mirror, a Western trick similar to the smoke signals used up North. Glancing to the east, Yang spotted four former Society Adherents step out of Concealment and Cloud-Step their way over to join the conflict. Sang Hyoon, First Elder of the Seven Star Sect, Enforcer Teng Hong Chuan of the Baiji Sect, and Ng Yue Fei, Head Nun of the White Lotus Sect, all following in the wake of their defacto leader, former Patriarch of the Situ Clan, Rang Min. Even without the Clan’s support, those three factions followed Rang Min into exile, which meant he either had some devastating blackmail forcing them to obey, or he had more charisma than Yang gave him credit. Likely the former, which meant Ying was hard at work trying to uncover what Rang Min had on those three faction leaders of the Society, because then she could use it against them as well. For now, Yang had a chance to watch his lifelong foe in action, for few had ever seen Rang Min fight. Not many people even know he was a Peak Expert, but while most assumed as much, that wasn’t the same as knowing.

And as soon as Rang Min drew his longsword, Yang could tell his foe was not just a mere Peak Expert, but one standing head and shoulders above his peers.

Though his movements did not appear fast at first, Rang Min’s sword carved through an armoured Half-Demon before it even noticed his arrival. Yang didn’t even see how it died, only that it collapsed as Rang Min glided past with his sword in hand. He wasn’t even swinging the weapon, merely holding it out like a child dragging his stick through the sand, yet the results spoke for themselves. Defiled died with his every step as he glided towards his next target, his stride light and easy as if prancing on stage to the sound of a slow and steady beat. A Defiled Chieftain roared in challenge, only to die as easily as his kin, and Rang Min hardly seemed to notice the dead Peak Expert as he dispatched a second Half-Demon as easily as the first.

All this happened in the blink of an eye, and despite watching it from start to finish, Yang never once saw Rang Min swing his sword. Defiled attacked him from all sides, yet they died without even touching the corner of his robes, seemingly carved apart by an invisible barrier of blades that cut down anyone who approached him. There was a time when Yang thought himself the match of anyone in the Clan save for Nian Zu and Chi Gan, but Rang Min was showing how he held onto the role of Patriarch for so long despite so many Clansmen expressing their discontent.

Much as it pained him to admit it, Rang Min was far more dangerous than Yang ever gave him credit for. Even after watching for several minutes longer, he still could not figure out Rang Min’s trick, though the former Patriarch resorted to fighting normally soon after. His conventional sword skills were far less impressive, but still at a level where Yang was not entirely confident he could overcome. Without that ineffable skill of killing without swinging, Rang Min would have difficulty winning against Yang, but he wasn’t so naive as to believe the snake had shown everything he could do. Right now, it appeared as if they were evenly matched, but that might well be because Rang Min wanted him to believe as much and was still hiding the true depths of his skill.

At Baatar’s urging, two more groups of Peak Experts revealed themselves, one group of Bekhai and one comprised of Central Warriors including Won Gwang, the Lawgiver. Now that Yang knew what to look for, he saw the scales of balance tipping in favour of the Imperials as the Enemy came at them piecemeal only to die a dog’s death, and he felt a glimmer of hope for the people of Pan Si Xing. Perhaps a miracle would happen here today, and the Imperials could snatch victory -

One moment Yang stood atop the silo watching the battle unfold, and the next he found himself hurtling through the air to safety as the stone granary exploded in a cloud of stone, sand, and dust. There was no wheat in the granary, since the West had no ability to grow grain themselves, but even empty, for a Warrior to destroy it in one blow was no simple feat. Not so difficult for the Lord of Martial Peace however, who stood high in the sky with his nine-ringed Green Dragon Crescent Blade in hand like a living god standing in judgment over a group of ants. “It be good to see a familiar face after all this time,” Bai Qi drawled, speaking in that slow, lyrical intonation that he was well known for. “Gao Changgong. How many years has it been since we last spoke like this?”

“Not long enough, traitor.” Ripping the headscarf covering his face, Gao Liang – no, Siegebreaker Gao Changgong, Major General of the West, threw himself at Bai Qi and traded blows with the man in mid-air, but it was clear Changgong was outmatched. Though no blood had been drawn, the Siegebreaker’s attacks were wild and erratic as he flung himself this way and that in an attempt to strike the traitor down, but Bai Qi never moved from his perch in the air. A frightening display of control and precision, to Cloud-Step without moving, and to do so while fighting another Peak Expert was almost unheard of.

It was so easy for Bai Qi to defend himself, he even had time to spare to study the rest. “You two must be the Wedded Exarches of the North.” Turning to eye Yang, he continued, “And you... of no consequence.” That burned something fierce, but Yang knew he was sorely outmatched and could only swallow the insult as Bai Qi turned to study Baatar, all the while fending off Gao Changgong’s wild attacks. “You however... Be you Major General Baatar, son of Lieutenant General Akanai?”

“Lieutenant General Baatar now,” the half wolf replied, his icy focus burning red hot as he grinned in what could only be described as bloody anticipation. “Here to claim your head.”

“I thought as much.” Nodding sagely as he locked eyes with Baatar, he countered Gao Changgong with an almost casual sweep of his glaive and sent the Siegebreaker crashing to the ground, beaten but not bloodied as he regained his footing. “Though I suspected I be mistaken, since you stood idle for so long.”

With no longer a need for stealth, Yang contacted his aide in Hongji’s command cadre for an update on the situation, and as far as he could tell, Bai Qi had fended off Gao Changgong and carried out this conversation while simultaneously taking control of his forces in the city and creating an impromptu lull in the fighting as both sides separated to sort themselves out. Not a good sign for the Imperials, as now their momentum was stalled and their advantage of surprise lost, meaning the fighting would be bloody once hostilities resumed. Hongji was using this time to get as many slaves into the tunnels as possible, but even if they had an entire day, there was no way to evacuate everyone.

Which meant that if they wanted any chance of success, they had to kill Bai Qi here and now.

A shot rang out, but Bai Qi disappeared from sight, only to reappear and swing at MuYang’s hidden location. The spymaster’s fate was sealed, or so Yang thought, only for Bai Qi to abandon his attack mid-swing to retreat with all haste. A clap of thunder echoed across the city as Baatar’s short sword smashed through the roof MuYang had taken cover on and into the sand and stone below, and it wouldn’t have surprised Yang to learn the sword had embedded itself deep underground before stopping. Then, Baatar appeared next to Bai Qi with a feral grin of childish glee. Glaive met pole-axe with a second resounding crash, and for once, it was Bai Qi on the losing end as he was sent sliding back over fifteen metres to crash back first into a stone wall.

Silence settled over the city as the audience watched on in disbelief, for though Bai Qi was unharmed when he emerged from the cloud of dust, he no longer looked so striking or remarkable. His air of indomitable invulnerability had been broken by a single swing of Baatar’s pole-axe, and from the looks of things, the fierce half-wolf wasn’t even warmed up yet. “Good, good, good,” Bai Qi declared, his lips curled in a smile but his eyes smouldering with fury. “Finally, a true challenge. Come, half-beast, show this prince your best so that you can die without regrets.”

The world shook as their weapons clashed again and again, but Yang turned away from the spectacle to carry out his duty. The battle for Pan Si Xing sat firmly in Baatar’s hands now, so Yang only needed to ensure no one interfered with his duel. Taking up his Howling Dragon Sabre, he threw himself at the closest Wraiths and slaughtered them without mercy before engaging Demons and Half-Demons alike, for though he lacked the qualifications to stand at the very peak of the Martial Path, he was still Situ Jia Yang, a Dragon among men.

Chapter Meme 1

Chapter Meme 2