Much as Jorani would’ve loved to sit back and watch a battle between two Peak Experts at the pinnacle of their craft, the Enemy was not so obliging.

“Experts to the front!” he bellowed, still reeling from the thunderous clash between Mataram Yuchun and Immovable Binesi, one that had thrown him off his feet and shook him down to the bone. “We got company incoming.”

Not the most inspirational of rallying calls, but it would have to do, because there was a storm of shit about to fall their way and Jorani alone couldn’t block it all. Mataram Yu Kong was the Clan’s top young talent of his generation, a position that was up for grabs now that he’d died to a bullet from Old Bulat’s rifle. Every young and hungry Clansman was coming this way to prove themselves superior to their former rival, and no doubt also ‘avenge’ Yu Kong and receive whatever reward his furious father would bestow upon them.

There was a time when Jorani would’ve thought it a strange thing to see, a Defiled traitor mourning for the loss of his son, but his time with Asmani and her tribe taught him that the Defiled were not inhuman or unfeeling, just different enough that it often appeared that way. This wasn’t helped by the fact that it was easier to pretend they were monsters in human skin when it came to killing them in droves, but in Jorani’s defence, he’d never killed a Defiled who wasn’t trying to kill him first. As for these particular Defiled here today, a good number of them hailed from the Mataram Clan and passed for law-abiding Imperials until around three years ago. This made them both easier to empathize with and difficult to understand, for Jorani could not fathom how any sane and rational individual could justify allying with the likes of Demons and Defiled.

Then again, Asmani was plenty smart and sensible too, she just operated on a whole different type of logic. In the Empire, the strong thrive and the weak endure, but to the Defiled, the weak died so the strong could survive. Would the Defiled behave differently in a land of plenty? Even the Arid Wastes were full of life and succour compared to the frozen badlands Asmani hailed from, an unforgiving and inhospitable region where even the sun refused to visit for three-quarters of the year. Upon arriving at the Brotherhood monastery however, Asmani’s tribesmen quickly realized there was no longer any need to compete for limited resources and adapted to their new lifestyle with remarkable ease. What’s more, Jorani noted that their tribe was surprisingly harmonious in how they lived together, rarely ever competing over the best materials or locations. Probably because it was socially acceptable to settle minor disputes with duels to the death, which made for a surprisingly disciplined lifestyle overall.

You know, save for the constant threat of death and struggle for survival, but once you took that away, the Defiled were actually not too hard to get along with.

Now was not the time for philosophical musings however, as the first wave of Mataram Yu Kong’s would-be avengers were already upon him. What Jorani wouldn’t give for a wave of unarmoured tribals to sweep away with his Spiritual Rope, but the Mataram Clansmen were armed and armoured for bear with steel spears and durable brigandine, both Runic and otherwise. This of course sorely limited Jorani’s effectiveness since he could no longer reliably carve through the Enemy ranks with ease, but they weren’t the only ones clad in Runic armour. Wrapping a section of Rope around each fist, he darted in with head tucked and guard raised to engage the foremost Clansman leaping onto the battlements, idly wishing he had Old Bulat’s strength and mass to simply shove his foe off. Lacking that, Jorani had to resort to craftier means, namely blocking a bone-shaking thrust with his rope-wrapped fists before Deflecting the weapon aside and getting in nice and close with his foe.

It would’ve been better to Deflect the thrust before it hit, but the attack came faster than expected. The Mataram Clan’s reputation as the strongest spearmen of the West wasn’t for nothing, but Jorani’s foe was sorely lacking compared to Lang Yi and Lang Er. A one-two combination caught the Clansman clean in the jaw and killed him outright, but Jorani wasn’t entirely satisfied with his performance. The face was one of the few places left exposed by the Enemy’s bulky brigadine armour and plumed conical helmet, which quite frankly looked ridiculous up close. That didn’t make it any less effective however, so he needed to be faster and more precise than ever. Moving away from his first foe before the body hit the ground, Jorani side-stepped a second thrust that he didn’t even see coming, but sensed nonetheless, and his counter was already lined up and waiting for the man to deliver his chin straight at it. Blood sprayed and bones broke as his second opponent dropped to the stone floor like a sack of rice, but Jorani had no time to appreciate his working, already moving onto his next target and unleashing a flurry of unending blows that served as more of a distraction than anything else.

Because dire as the situation might be, he wasn’t fighting alone.

Dastan’s axe caught the distracted Defiled in the back of the neck. At the same time, Jorani’s Rope looped around the wrist of the Clansman aiming his spear at Dastan’s exposed flank, neatly carving through the mundane steel to render the weapon worthless. Neither man had communicated their intent to work together, but Dastan trusted Jorani to do what was needed even as he trusted Dastan to help. This wasn’t a rare event either, nor one limited to Jorani and Dastan, for Wang Bao was right there in the thick of things with them, alongside various stand-out Warriors from each of their crews. So many of their crew hailed from Sanshu, which meant they’d been fighting together for almost four years now, so they knew each other better than some of them knew their families. This was a camaraderie born in the heat of battle, and while Jorani would never invite Wang Bao or some of the others over for dinner, he knew he’d go running the second he heard any of them were in trouble, even if a hundred years had passed since they last met.

Chey, Ral, and Lang Yi were also here, holding back in reserve, ready and waiting to step up should anyone from the first line falter, while Ulfsaar and Neera were down on the ground below, sitting in their cattle-drawn chariots and ready to greet the first unfortunate foes who made their way over or around the walls. Much as Jorani would have liked to have their reassuring presence here on the wall beside him, the wedded half-bears pretty much operated like a separate retinue now, and the same could be said of Sai Chou and her bow-wielding Protectorate. A mixed unit was damned useful when operating individually out in the field, but it was better to break off into specialized groups when taking part in a large battle.

Mostly due to Jorani’s personal limitations, truth be told. If the bossman were here, or any other commander worth their salt, they’d be able to coordinate the various units more effectively, but Jorani lacked the ability to multi-task. To make up for this, he encouraged his under-commanders to exercise more initiative during battle and do as they saw fit, so long as they didn’t interfere with the overall unit cohesion. It proved wildly effective in Pan Si Xing, as they fought their way through the winding city streets, engaging the Defiled as they emerged from every crevice and shadow imaginable, and again once they made their way into the plaza which Jorani picked to make what he thought would be their last stand. Oh what a fight that’d been, so chaotic and confusing that he could barely tell his left from his right, but the bossman trained his people well, and they all stepped up to get the job done in Pan Si Xing with minimal direction or oversight. They blocked the doors and alleys while leaving a few easy paths for the Enemy to take, and then systematically slaughtered them on the way in. The roofs were seized and guarded without contest, and so too were the upper levels of each building, as the close confines of room-to-room fighting did not favour the Defiled who relied on overwhelming numbers to get the job done. It’d been some damn desperate and bloody work, but they pulled through in the end, and Jorani was confident they would do the same here in Meng Sha.

But even then, it might not be enough.

Fighting shirtless Defiled was no walk in the park, but it was a damn sight easier than tackling fully armoured Chosen. They weren’t just harder to kill, but they were also deadlier and more coordinated than what most soldiers were used to dealing with, fighting in groups of twos and threes instead of all by their lonesome within the crowd. Luckily, Jorani wasn’t one to slack off when it came to matters of command, no matter how much he wanted to in the days leading up to today. One of the first things he did upon being appointed commander of the Legate’s retinue was set up a standing appointment to not only spar with the more talented Warriors under his command, but also stage mock battles with Mister Rustram on the practice fields, and he made sure to never miss a single one.

The Mataram Clan taught their Warriors well, but the bossman was a better teacher who held his soldiers to higher standards to boot.

As the Peak Experts clashed overhead, Jorani calmly took control of the battlements below and fended off the unending Enemy offensive. Wave after wave crashed into his ranks, only to be cut apart by the staggered lines of his defensive checker-board formation, one only made possible here atop the battlements thanks to the forward-thinking architects of Meng Sha. Traditional battlements were built as narrow as possible, mostly to save on time and resources, but also to minimize the impact of the Enemy overrunning any one section of wall. Quartermaster General Cao Cuo and Grandmason Gawngjon changed all that here in Meng Sha and turned sections of the walls into whole fortified buildings, complete with wide, spacious battlements to fight atop of and narrow, easily defended staircases and corridors to fall back to should the worst come to pass. So what if the Enemy overran one section of wall? That didn’t mean the Imperials had to just give it up like that. No, if the Enemy gained a foothold here on the battlements, that wasn’t an end to the struggle, but merely a new beginning.

But until such a time, the checker-board formation held strong, and why should it not? This was yet another piece of tactical brilliance which sprung from the bossman’s mind after all. The premise was simple enough, to leave gaps in the defensive line for the Enemy to charge into before bringing them down through combined weight of attacks. Not only were they forced to deal with attacks from three sides, their overall offensive impact was blunted since the target of their aggression could safely focus solely on defence knowing they had allies to handle the offence on their behalf. What’s more, the checker-board formation also allowed the Imperial Elites to truly shine since fighting a series of small, relatively contained engagements was easier than engaging in one endless slog across the battlefield. It was a matter of pacing mostly, allowing them to step back and take a breath whenever needed as opposed to trying to conserve as much energy as possible in case a fearsome foe appeared. This proved most effective against the endless hordes of crazed, tribal Defiled, but while it still yielded satisfactory results against the Mataram Clansmen, they still took a fair bit more killing than your average Defiled tribesman or even Imperial soldier.

To say nothing of the fact that the Enemy had Elites of their own.

It didn’t take long for the first Champion to arrive, making his way over the wall with an escort of traitor Clansmen willing to die to keep him safe. The armour made this one stand out, the same black brigandine armour as always but accented in blue as opposed to the standard black and red, denoting this young man as an Officer of some sort. Experts at the very least, one with a Natal Palace and a Spiritual Spear which he pointed directly at Jorani. The entourage charged headlong towards him and he had only a moment to react, which he did by stepping back and releasing one end of his Spiritual Rope and setting it to twirl overhead. Picking up speed as he went, he built up strength and momentum before unleashing a wide, sweeping attack at his foes. The rightmost Clansmen raised their spears to defend, and the Spiritual Rope harmlessly smacked into their guarded stance to no effect. They were not his target however, for a rope was no spear or staff to sweep armoured opponents aside, but a flexible weapon which required a flexible mind to make use of. Wrapping around the raised spears of his foe, the rope travelled in a wide arc around the back of the Clansmen and veered unerringly towards its target, with just enough length to loop a single time around the blue-armoured Officer’s neck. It was oh so satisfying to see the arrogant sneer transition into wide-eyed alarm and apprehension, and Jorani allowed himself a small smile and a nod goodbye as he pulled hard. With the spears of his Enemies serving as a fulcrum, he launched the Officer directly backwards and off the wall from whence he came, and he’d never heard so satisfying a scream.

Mildly hurtful statement that was, he realized in retrospect, but given his record with women, not entirely unjustified...

Difficult to tell through the rope if Jorani snapped the man’s neck, stopping his forward momentum so suddenly like that, but if the quick stop didn’t kill him, then the long drop most certainly would. Bereft of the immediate commander, the charging elites slowed their charge and looked back as if wondering if they should retreat to check on their ward, but Jorani’s soldiers gave them no choice or quarter. The Enemy fought well and died hard, but he barely had a moment to bask in his success before spotting a second blue-armoured Officer arriving on scene.

Dastan dealt with that one in quick order, making short work of those elites with help from the surviving members of his former retinue. Where Jorani had to fight smart and sneaky, the former Warrant Officer turned slave only had to fight, and nine times out of ten, he’d come out on top without breaking a sweat. Now there was a Living Legend in the making, one worthy to stand alongside the bossman, the golden boy of the Golden Highland’s Coalition, Dastan Zhandos. He should be leading this retinue, not half-rat Hangman Jorani of Sanshu.

Shaking off this uncharacteristic bout of self-contempt, Jorani gave his all to the battle while keeping a clear eye on his surroundings. A third Officer arrived soon after, but Wang Bao dealt with him quickly enough, albeit in less domineering fashion than Dastan had. Theirs was a hard-fought battle, leaving the former Butcher bleeding from three wounds including one thrust that almost pierced clean through his eye, but he still won and kept the eye to boot. There might have been more Officers killed by Old Bulat, since Jorani remembered hearing shots ring out every now and then, but only three of those blue accented Champions had made their way onto the wall thus far. Even then, it wasn’t easy holding the walls, as the standard, black-and-red armoured Clansmen had more than their fair share of crouching tigers and hidden dragons scattered amongst their ranks. Jorani had long since lost count of the times he narrowly avoided death, and he’d feel a lot better about it if he could confidently say that he’d meant to do just that. Most of the time, it was sheer coincidence that kept his head attached to his neck, like the time he almost slipped and dropped down to one knee to stabilize and ended up avoiding a thrust he hadn’t seen coming. Or when that one Clansman let go of his spear to grapple Jorani instead, and ended up moving his shoulder into the path of his ally’s killing smash which would have cracked Jorani’s head open like a raw egg.

Proof positive that dear Mum above was looking out for him. Sure, She cared most about Her Chosen Son Falling Rain, but this was proof positive that She loved Her little Jorani too.

That being said, he wasn’t too prideful to know when to step back, so as soon as he felt it necessary, he ordered Dastan and Wang Bao to fall back and left Chey, Ral, and Lang Yi to hold the line. Ral cleared whole sections of the wall with every swing of his staff, while the buxom beauty Chey made for a deadly and enchanting sight, but it was the farmer turned Warrior who turned heads as he initiated a Movement Jorani had never before seen. It bore some similarities to the bossman’s favoured charge, yet was almost completely different in every way that mattered. Domineering was the only way to describe it, a thrust that started at one end of the battlements and ended at the other, with Lang Yi covering the distance in the blink of an eye and arriving with three corpses skewered along his Spiritual Weapon.

He’d come a long way from his humble origins as a fisherman and slave, and in another ten years, Jorani suspected Lang Yi might well become a Peak Expert himself.

Alas, that was ten years none of them might ever have if they all died here in Meng Sha, but Jorani shrugged it all off and focused on the positives, like the limitless access to freshwater from the Azure Sea. Here, he could drink to his heart’s content and dump the rest over his head to cool off, for even though winter was fully upon them, the days were still sweltering hot and damn near unbearable. From the back of the formation, he left Old Bulat to handle things for a moment while turning his attention to the sidelines, where clouds of dark arrows and bolts buzzed overhead before crashing into the massed Defiled encroaching upon either flank. The walls of Meng Sha went straight out into the water, meaning technically, the Enemy could just swim around the sides, but that was easier said than done. Not only were there powerful currents and unseen riptides to contend with, the blood in the water was drawing all manner of undesirable beasties to the shores, with more than one Defiled flailing about before disappearing down into the dark, murky depths.

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At least Commander OuYang Min Jun knew enough not to waste limited ammunition on the armoured Clansmen, even the ones clad in basic steel. Bekkies and Protectorate longbows might be able to pierce mundane brigandine armour with a lucky shot, but the repeating crossbows of the Irregulars needed far more than just luck. Effective as they might be against your garden variety Defiled, the Mataram Clansmen were made of sterner stuff and were unlikely to be too put off by a storm of ineffective bolts and arrows. No, today’s battle would not be decided by the Irregulars, as the Enemy had come upon them too quickly to make the best use of their catapults, nor was the fate of Meng Sha in the hands of the common Imperial soldier. No, the outcome of today’s might well depend on Immovable Binesi and Mataram YuChun alone, for theirs was a battle for the ages.

Back and forth the two Peak Experts went, running and leaping across the parapets in a deadly back and forth dance. Their duel went along the whole outer edge of the wall, both moving faster than Jorani could truly follow, but even then, he desperately yearned to step back and commit the entire exchange to memory. It was so aggravating to be this close to a struggle of epic proportions and lack the time to take it all in, for regardless of the outcome, every man, woman, and child of the Empire will have heard of this duel by next week. Jorani was right here, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of who had the upper hand, meaning he’d have to wait to read someone’s stylized depiction of events to learn about the details himself. All he could see was their darting forms moving to and fro to the beat of their chiming spears, the ringing impacts so loud and constant it almost sounded like applause from a crowd wearing armoured gauntlets.

It seemed silly to put so much stock in a single match between Peak Experts, but morale was one hell of a double-edged sword. Should Binesi emerge victorious, then the Imperial soldiers would be emboldened by his achievements and fight that much harder to hold, while the same would hold true for the Mataram Clansmen opposing them. That was just how people worked, whether they be Imperial or Defiled, so there was a lot riding on the duel between these two famed Warriors. Of course, there were still stronger Warriors above them, namely the Half-Demon Mataram Patriarch YuGan standing in the crowd, though Jorani wasn’t sure if the Imperials had someone to match him. Commander OuYang Min Jun was even weaker than Immovable Binesi, so there was little hope from that end. Situ Jia Yang maybe, if he’d recovered from the wounds taken in Pan Si Xing, which wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility considering the Medical Saint was here in Meng Sha as well, but try as he might, Jorani couldn’t come up with a second name, as most notable Warriors were currently in Shi Bei.

One of the bossman’s hidden protectors maybe? Or his wives’ protectors hopefully, but keep in mind Mataram YuGan killed the Sword King Ryo Dae Jung in single combat, making it a tall order to expect a mere guard to match him. The veiled Guard Leader who punched her way out of a shark might be a candidate, but considering her general attitude and the fact that she had yet to take part in the fighting at all, she was more likely to take Lady Mei Lin away from the fighting should the worst come to pass. The only real contender Jorani could come up with was Monk Happy, who exhibited so much strength the Old Healer almost mistook him for a Divinity. Surely the portly monk was more than a match for Mataram YuGan, but despite disagreeing with their somewhat selfish views, Jorani couldn’t bring himself to ask them to fight.

They helped a lot in Pan Si Xing, not directly of course, but indirectly by pulling soldiers and citizens out of the fray and saving their lives in the process, which was already more than he ever expected considering the Brotherhood’s stance on non-action. Even now, there were monks still questioning whether they did the right thing and the unforeseen consequences of what might be, so Jorani was damned if he would demand more from them. They were healers and artists, not soldiers and killers, and no amount of strength in the world would ever change that.

A crash shook the wall and jolted Jorani out of his thoughts, only for his stomach to drop down into a bottomless pit as he gazed upon his worst fears. Broken and bleeding, the Immovable Binesi picked himself up off the ground only to fall back on his ass in defeat. Not without good reason however, as both hands were clamped over a gaping wound in his stomach, which were the only things keeping his guts from spilling out over his legs. Spurts of blood spewed out from between his fingers as the fierce spearman stared up at his foe, defeated in body but unbroken in spirit, yet courage alone was not enough to change his fate here today. The battle came to a crashing halt all around them as Imperial and Defiled alike parted aside so that Mataram YuChun could approach, separating so naturally it was as if they’d been compelled to move by natural law. Perhaps it was, for what lesser Warrior would dare stand in the path of the Ten Thousand Spears now, when even the Immovable had been forced to make way?

Throat dry and limbs trembling, Jorani desperately wanted to run over to Binesi’s side and drag him away to safety, but try as he might, his body refused to obey. It wasn’t Aura which kept him frozen in place, normal or otherwise, but just plain old fashioned fear, fear of death and fear for the future now that there was no one else to hold up the Heavens today. Though Mataram YuChun’s victory didn’t come without cost, the Defiled traitor’s wounds were minor in comparison. His left arm hung limply at his side and a thin trail of blood trickled slowly down the side of his face, but that was all aside from a few scrapes and bruises. In the span of a few steps however, YuChun’s bleeding wound scabbed over and his arm regained some small amount of function, though broken bones would take a little longer to set even with Panacea to help speed things along. And Panacea it most certainly was, for traditional Healing would progress more quickly without the natural signs of healing like scabbing or pus, and instead skip right over those intermediary steps to go right back to unmarked flesh.

First crossbow wielding Wraiths, and now Panacea using Peak Experts. It was almost comical how the Enemy was more willing to accept the bossman’s methods than the Empire itself. Downright laughable even, if it wasn’t so sad and frustrating as well.

““So this be the limit of Immovable Binesi, the supposed strongest spear of the North,” Mataram YuChun boomed, finally willing to have his words heard by all now that he held the upper hand. “Hmph. I once thought the North rife with talents, for how else could one Nian Zu collect fifty famed Warriors to his cause? I see now that it is only because the North’s definition of talent is far more lenient that the West’s. How disappointing.”

Binesi said nothing in reply, made no excuses or pleas for his life, for he was still struggling to stand and fight. Not because he saw a chance to turn things around, but because he refused to die on his back. A sight which was both inspiring and heartbreaking at the same time, but it was enough to spur Jorani to action. As Mataram YuChun drew his spear back for the killing blow, Jorani’s Spiritual Rope shot out, not to pull Binesi away to safety, but to restrain the traitor general’s weapon in hopes of buying even a moment for a miracle to take place. That’s all he had, a hope and a prayer, but even as he watched it all happen in real time, he knew his efforts were far from enough to change a single thing.

Thankfully, once again, he wasn’t acting alone.

Howling bloody murder like one of the Defiled themselves, Wang Bao leapt into the air with axe raised high, ready to bring it down atop Mataram YuChun’s head. Wearing a grin that made him look even younger than his years, Dastan circled around to the left with shield raised to threaten YuChun’s flank, his eyes filled with glee and bloodlust. Ral and Chey moved to intercept any oncoming Defiled Clansmen, though from the looks of things, Chey’s actions were a feint and she was looking for an opportunity to turn and strike YuChun from behind. While the rest of them were still moving in to position, Lang Yi’s attack had already arrived, his deceptively quick thrust missing YuChun’s neck by mere millimetres as the Peak Expert shifted aside at the last moment with eyes wide with anger and disbelief over how a mere unranked soldier could come so close to killing the Ten Thousand Spears.

Alas, close was not good enough, not in matters of life and death. Jorani’s Spiritual Rope wrapped around the spear as intended, but even after pulling with all his might, he was unable hold the weapon in place as it moved to simultaneously take out Wang Bao, Lang Yi, and Dastan in one fell swoop. All three men took the impact head on, the haft cracking more than a few of the half-bandit’s ribs and knocking the other two Warriors senseless. Backhanding Chey’s staff as he turned in place, YuChun loosened his grip on his spear for all of a second, catching Jorani off guard as his Rope went slack without warning, only to fall victim to the hard tug that followed and pulled him off of his feet.

And there it was, six promising young talents who stood at the forefront of their peers, handily demolished by a Peak Expert in his prime with nary so much as an effort. Lang Yi came damned close though, and Jorani had to admit that it was satisfying to see, even as he tried to block out the image of the spear tip lancing towards his throat.

The world heaved under him before spinning end over end, and when he found his bearings again, he discovered himself being carried in Ral’s arms like a child too tired to walk home after a long and exciting festival. “You okay Jor?” the big guy asked, peering out from under his helmet with his wide, expressive eyes. “I would’ve caught you more gently, but I didn’t know he was gonna throw you this way.”

Which explained why Jorani’s head felt like he’d been out drinking the last three nights. Blinking the stars out of his eyes, he sat up and looked about, or tried to at least, and managed to utter a single, “Wha’?” before the urge to throw up almost overwhelmed him. Thankfully, he managed to keep the contents of his belly safely inside, and Ral understood what he was trying to ask. “Yer brother,” the half-dog unhelpfully supplied, before turning Jorani so he could look without moving his head. “You think he can win?”

None of what Ral said was whispered or even quiet, and Jorani saw the hint of a smirk come across Mataram Yuchun’s pointed features. “Your courage be commendable,” the traitor general began, looking down at Daxian whose spear was raised and readied in defence, standing halfway between Binesi and Jorani while preparing to defend them both. “But courage alone is not enough. You are no match for me, nameless half-rat, and I will not dirty my spear killing one as lowly as you.”

“I’m not your match, that much is true,” Daxian replied, and it was the most humble thing Jorani had ever heard the man say. “But you’re wrong about one thing.” Flashing his pearly whites in a grin that was damned near predatory, Daxian explained, “He’s not the strongest spearman of the North.”

“Never claimed to be,” came Binesi’s begrudging rebuttal, and only then did Jorani notice Wugang and Yelu Chi helping the mountain Warrior back to his feet.

“Oh?” Keeping a wary eye on the Warriors fanning out around him, it was clear that Mataram YuChun was no longer so confident in his chances here today, but his sneer lost none of its arrogance. “And who might hold that honour? I have heard tales of a legendary amber-eyed Warrior whose spear can pierce the Heavens, but I remain skeptical to say the least. What say you, Naaran of the Bekhai? Do you dare emerge from hiding to trade blows with YuChun of the Ten Thousand Spears?”

A neat little reversal there, throwing out a personal challenge to keep the Ascendants from joining hands to kill him. Keep in mind, the two most dangerous of the bunch were still hidden in Concealment, for few could match the Lord of Thunder Lei Gong and Tyrant OuYang YuHuan when it came to sheer killing power. Silence hung heavily over the battlefield for all of a second before a booming voice snorted in disdain. “Trade blows with you?” Naaran scoffed, as if someone just offered to feed him a giant bowl of steaming shit. “Against the Ten Thousand Spears, one of mine would be too many.”

Damn. The Bekkies were a quiet bunch who kept to themselves, which made it easy to forget how arrogant they could be. If Baatar or Akanai were the ones saying as much, no one would blink twice, but as far as Jorani could tell, Naaran was just a kindly old grandfather in charge of the bossman’s guard detail. A few chuckles broke out among the Imperials, for most had never heard of Naaran before in their life, and YuChun’s tanned cheeks turned an unsightly shade of deep red that Jorani had never before seen. The strained silence lasted for a few seconds longer before Daxian coughed and grinned, shaking his head as if to say YuChun had brought this on himself.

The grin disappeared as the Tyrant emerged from Concealment, her supple, voluptuous form still a sight to behold despite being maybe three times Jorani’s age. Mature was the word to describe her, gracefully aged to perfection some might say, and while he wasn’t exactly the type to lust after older women, there were few men who could resist the Tyrant’s allure. With spear in hand and sporting jewellery aplenty, the sensuous beauty shot Daxian a petulant look before turning to face YuChun. “I, OuYang Yuhuan, believe Little Virtue intended to set the stage for myself, though I dare not call myself the number one spearman of the North.”

Too furious to think straight, YuChun had no clever rebuttal to give and launched straight into an attack, and the two Peak Experts disappeared from Jorani’s sight. Just as he was about to heave a sigh of relief however, the world lit up in dazzling illumination that left him blind and blinking, only to recoil in fright as an explosion of thunder echoed immediately overhead. When the dark spots cleared and the world came back into view, Jorani’s stomach dropped out a second time as he found a second Mataram Spearman standing in the space YuChun had only just vacated. The new arrival bore a striking similarity to the Ten Thousand Spears, as well he should considering their relationship as father and son, for who could it be but the Mataram Patriarch himself?

Standing tall with his spear grounded and one hand behind his back, Mataram YuGan held his head up high and directed his gaze towards the Azure Sea. There was little known about him, for he was neither famed Warrior nor respected merchant, merely the head of a notable family in a province ruled by the Lord of Martial Peace. At least, that’s what everyone believed until he slew Ryo Dae Jung in the Central Citadel only a few months back, a single victory that took him from the depths of obscurity to the height of notoriety. Now, he reinforced his reputation as one of the fiercest Warriors of his generation by sweeping the field clean of all opposition, injuring Daxian, Lei Gong, Wugang, and Yelu Chi all in the blink of an eye and leaving them bleeding on the ground before him. It happened so quickly Jorani barely even had time to register the abrupt shift in momentum even after long seconds of silence, for all he could do was stare at the man’s unsightly black and gold armour. It wasn’t the jagged points or the lifelike veins protruding from the armours surface that was so disconcerting, or the almost inhuman and definitely Demonic form the overall armour presented, but rather something less distinct and definite. There was a fluidity to the darkness that didn’t seem wholly real, as if you could see it shifting and writing about just out of the corner of your eye, but when you focused on the movement itself, there was only immobile steel to be seen. The Empire called these abominations Half-Demons, for it seemed as if they were humans clad in a Demon taking on the form of armour, but Jorani was almost certain that wasn’t true anymore.

This was not two separate entities working in tandem. No, this was an unholy merging of man and Demon, a combination that went against the natural order of the world in defiance of the Heavens and the Dao.

The Mataram Patriarch offered no challenge, nor did he need to, for his actions spoke volumes of his intent. Naaran claimed Mataram YuChun unworthy, but could he say the same about the Mataram Patriarch? No one would believe him if he did, so there was no need for words between them. Appearing out of thin air, Naaran arrived with spear in hand and a scowl etched across his wrinkled features, seemingly more annoyed by the fact that he had to come out and fight than worried about the fighting itself. Now that was some confidence, and Jorani prayed it was well deserved, though after seeing how Baatar almost took Bai Qi’s head, the chances of a third possible Living Legend emerging from the Bekkies ranks were slim to none.

Seriously, how many talents could one faction nurture? Hell, the bossman alone was already too much, so what right did the Bekkies have to raise so many on their own?

Departing as suddenly as they arrived, YuGan and Naaran disappeared from sight, though the din from their exchanges soon drowned out the clash between Tyrant and Ten Thousand Spears. Gesturing for Ral to put him down, Jorani thought he’d finally found a moment to breathe when he discovered yet another new face across the battlements, a young, bald monk he’d never met before today, standing shoulder to shoulder with the gangly Monk Eyebrows and a handful of other monks who defected with the Old Healer. “Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo,” Monk Eyebrows intoned, pressing his palms together as he lowered his head in a bow directly at Jorani. “There is the one you seek, Junior Brother Yuanyin.”

“Hangman Jorani,” the younger monk proclaimed, his face twisted in disappointment. “He’s much... smaller than I expected.”

“As this monk already said, his value lies not in his strength of body, but in his strength of mind and spirit.” Offering a half-hearted shrug, Monk Eyebrows explained, “Not many are willing to listen to the Brotherhood’s teachings without already having been convinced, but he keeps an open mind and offers a valuable unbiased perspective, so as to better refine our Right View.”

That explained the strength of mind bit, but what’s this about strength of soul? Was that how Jorani resisted Kukku’s Dream Call, because he had a strong soul? Or maybe it was the trance he went into when the monks started chanting. Regardless of the reasons, Yuanyin did not seem impressed. “I misunderstood then,” he said, shaking his head in regret, “But I might as well kill him so long as I am here. It perturbs me to hear the Wisdom lavish praise on one so undeserving.”

...Well fuck.

Resisting the urge to look around for Monk Happy in a panic, Jorani steeled his nerves as Monk Eyebrows offered him an almost apologetic smile before bowing his head yet again. “So be it, Junior Brother. One cannot know the true burden of sacrifice without first knowing the joys of sin, so far be it for this monk to bar you from your Path. Go and do what you feel is necessary, and this monk will ensure none of the traitor Brotherhood will stand in your way.”

...Double fuck.

“Jor,” Ral rumbled, his tone low and filled with tension in a way Jorani had never heard from him before. “This monk is strong.”

“Yea, he would be, wouldn’t he?” Sending orders to Bulat, Ravil, Siyar, and everyone else with a Spiritual Rifle to take the shot as soon as they could, Jorani readied to fight dearly for his life. This was some real bullshit, just one super strong Warrior coming after another. Jorani was barely even a legitimate Expert of the Empire, having only Developed his Natal Palace thanks to his encounter with Kukku, but somehow, his area of the Wall attracted three generations of Mataram talents, and now he had to fight some rising dragon of a young Monk. Luckily, Jorani wasn’t one to fight honourably, so he flashed a smile and looked Yuanyin dead in the eye. “Well? Ye comin’ or not?”

The young monk drew his sword and prowled forward like a tiger stalking his prey, but after three steps, his movement stilled as five loud cracks sounded out as a barrage of bullets thudded into bare flesh. Reeling in place with an inhuman screech of pain, Jorani wholly expected the young monk to fall where he stood, but alas the Heavens were not so kind. Ruined features twisted with pain and hatred, Yuanyin lowered his head to reveal a face bleeding from five separate wounds, ugly grape-sized craters spurting out blood and bits of bone. The fact that he was still alive was already a miracle, with one eye and three quarters of his face rendered nigh unrecognizable, a pulpy mash of bleeding flesh and shattered bones that would haunt Jorani until the end of his days.

Then the young monk’s sword was upon him, and the true nightmare began, for Jorani realized that he was sorely outmatched in the first exchange, and there was no one around to save him.

Such was life, trials and tribulations, but now it seemed like it was Jorani's time to discover what came next.

Chapter Meme 1

Chapter Meme 2