Savage Divinity

With the forge banked and her tools put away, Mila hung up her apron, kicked off her long, leather boots, and sauntered out into the smithy’s courtyard where Papa sat poring over the details of her latest work. Leaving him to his studies, Mila stretched her arms over her head and worked the kinks out of her shoulders and back. The cool evening breeze felt good on her skin, but it was still warmer than she liked, and she looked forward to a long, refreshing bath to wash away the sweat and grime. Summer had only just begun, but already she found the days uncomfortably hot, a dry, blistering heat which left her sticky and irritable. Though she had no issues working next to a burning forge, it wasn’t the same as a stifling summer haze. The flickering incandescence of a lit flame filled her with fevered vigour and exuberance, while the sweltering summer sun made her want to go back to bed and sleep through the worst, two wholly different types of heat despite what most would believe.

Merely the thought of baking beneath the summer sun was enough to make Mila tired and vexed, so she laid down on the cool, comfortable grass and stared up at the Heavens. The large moon and twinkling stars looked a little different from the view she was used to, though if asked to explain how she’d be hard pressed to say. An apt summary of what life in Central was like, where things seemed familiar enough at first glance, yet dissimilar enough to be mildly unsettling. The food, the clothes, the customs, and even the language were all slightly off and Mila yearned for the familiar trappings of home. She missed traipsing through verdant forests and climbing over majestic mountains, swimming in roaring rivers and exploring twisting tunnels. There were so many unique vistas to take in back home, a scenic view no matter where she turned, but here in Central, there was only clear, shimmering water and tall, swaying grass in every direction as far as the eye could see.

“This be good work.” Jolting Mila out of her melancholic daze, Papa flicked her latest creation with his fingernail. The heavy flail rang with an audible hum and he nodded in approval, giving it a few more flicks along its length and producing a new sound each time. “Daresay it’s some of your best, lass. You’re a rare talent, one not seen in a hundred millennia, and it won’t be long before you surpass this old man. Might be time you put me out to pasture and took over me duties.”

Beaming from his glowing praise, Mila sat up and hugged her Papa tight, her arms unable to wrap all the way around his prodigious belly. “Don’t be silly Papa. I would’ve never gotten this far without your guidance and I’m still a long ways from matching your skills. I spent half the week working out the measurements and two more days to craft it, while you made at least two dozen weapons in the same time frame.”

“Bah.” Snorting in feigned anger, Papa swatted her head lightly and stroked her hair, his palm so large it covered half her skull. “Neat trick you got there lass. You open your mouth and horse farts come out, ain’t ever seen anything like it. Been learning diplomacy, have you? No need to worry, this old man’s ego won’t shatter so easily. I been churning out nothing but standard spears with nothing fancy about ‘em, but every time I look over, you’re working on something new and exciting, like this here flail. Don’t think there’s a blacksmith out there who could do what you do, and I know blacksmiths. This braided cord here, you get the idea from Jorani’s weapon?”

“Yup. I wanted to see if I could make a better version after Rain wrote about how instrumental Jorani was during their first patrol. The hardest part was figuring out how everything would look when laid out on the anvil, but once I had that plotted out, things fell into place. It was more difficult to assemble than I thought and I almost bungled it a few times, but everything worked out. It’s a flail with an adjustable chain length, measuring three meters at its longest and doubling as a mace when wholly retracted.” Taking the weapon in hand, Mila twisted the base of the haft to show him while narrating the complicated crafting process.

Papa could joke about horse farts all he liked, but his centuries of experience were nothing to sneeze at. If there was a mistake or deficiency in her methods, then Papa would see it, and as usual, he didn’t disappoint. “A masterpiece to be sure, but you’ll want to choose its wielder carefully. It don’t look too heavy for a mace, but they’ll need a strong arm to wield it with all that chain tucked inside. Your candidate can’t be too big either, the weapon's too small for someone my size to use in any of its forms, not to mention I’d be liable to brain myself with it, so you want someone cautious and precise, someone who thinks twenty steps ahead and plans for ten. Then...”

These were all things Mila never considered when crafting the flail, more concerned about whether she could do it rather than if she should. Ever since Rain introduced the concept of multi-function weapons, she’d been obsessed with the idea and devoted every free moment to designing the ultimate, all-purpose Spiritual Weapon. Rain’s glaive Unity lacked an extreme close combat option, and by utter fluke, she’d come close with her third Spiritual Weapon, Paragon, but due to its unique requirements, there weren’t many Martial Warriors capable of unlocking its full potential.

The latter which delighted Mila to no end. Paragon was her weapon, and there might never be another like it.

After committing his critique and suggestions to memory, Mila and Papa headed home for a bath, a meal, and a long night’s rest. Such was life here in sleepy SuiHua, though the lack of excitement could be seen as a blessing in disguise. Nine months had passed since the West was lost and three months since the Imperial Grand Conference, but the Defiled had yet to gather for a concentrated push into Central. While this gave the Empire more time to prepare for the impending invasion, Mila’s heart ached for the people of the West, no doubt suffering beneath the heel of Defiled subjugation. Many of those poor souls would likely embrace the Father’s lies and take up arms against the Empire, and she couldn’t blame them. The Emperor failed his sacred duty to protect them and abandoned untold numbers of the Mother’s faithful children, leaving them with no hope of rescue or reprieve. To make matters worse, even more souls gave their lives constructing the walls, towers, and border forts which were supposed to protect them, a sad state of affairs if there ever was one. A multitude of new faces arrived in port each day, poor, frightened slaves and labourers press-ganged into service, their lives ready to be consumed by the war efforts of the Empire. Add in widespread food shortages, the death toll on the front lines, and the occasional Purge of dissidents, radicals, or traitors, and the Empire’s losses no doubt numbered in the hundreds of millions.

A staggering cost in lives and the war had yet to truly begin. What would their losses be like when the Defiled grew bored of subjugation and turned their attentions east? Could the Empire even survive against a united army of Defiled? What could be done to improve their odds? All this and more left Mila with a pounding head and heavy heart. These were matters beyond her comprehension, issues for the likes of the Marshals and Generals of the Empire to contemplate and deliberate over. The problem was, now that Mama was one of those vaunted Generals, Mila wanted to help but didn’t know where to start. She couldn’t even offer emotional support, what with Mama stationed two-hundred kilometres away to oversee the construction of the citadel. One of three massive superstructures, the citadels would form the backbone of Central’s defences, a headquarters, troop training ground, rest area, workshop, and supply depot all in one place, which meant steep construction costs in both gold and blood. Though she carried herself with cold disdain, Mama was a kind and compassionate woman who likely shared all of Mila’s woes, except hers would be compounded by her part in all of it.

Mila prayed they would be reunited soon, else she feared Mama’s heart would break from all her guilt and misery.

Kicking open the double doors in his haste to enter, Papa’s booming laugh echoed through their borrowed courtyard manor. “Come little ones,” he called, falling to one knee in front of the twins. “Give your great-grandpappy a hug.”

Their cheery laughs lifted Mila’s spirits and she took a moment to appreciate the good things in life, like seeing her hulking grizzly-bear of a father in the middle of a massive group hug with Tali, Tate, Baloo, and Banjo. The bears especially loved Papa, perhaps because he was the only person around large enough to carry them comfortably in one arm. Though they still had plenty to grow before reaching adulthood, the goofy yearling cubs had almost doubled in size since Rain left for the front lines, and she feared he’d no longer be able to carry them around on his back. Starved of affection as always, Aurie greeted Mila with a plaintive cry and flopped at her feet, entangling her legs so she couldn’t leave until she provided the requisite belly rubs. Happy to oblige, Mila crouched down and cooed at the needy wildcat, having long since grown accustomed to the ever present Death Corps guards around them. “Hello kitten. Yes, I missed you too. Did grumpy Lin forget to brush you again? I suppose she was too busy moping around. It’s okay, I’ll brush you sweetling. Again. Not like I’m tired from hammering all day or anything.”

As much as she loved Lin, Mila’s tolerance for the spoiled grouch was reaching its end. The love-struck girl was insufferable without Rain around to spoil her, a sullen, petulant little princess who complained without end. Lin-Lin is bored, Lin-Lin wants fresh noodles, Lin-Lin misses hubby, Lin-Lin hates Pong Pong, Mila was this close to shipping Lin off to the front lines just so they wouldn’t have to listen to her complaints anymore. Rain created this monster with his overindulgent behaviour, so he should be the one to deal with it.

“Sorry Mi-Mi.” Sounding anything but, Lin bounded over and tackled Mila in a hug, her charming, toothy grin in full-effect. “I only forgot because Yan-Yan came back.”

“Don’t push the blame on me, I only arrived a few hours ago.” Striding over with her rolling gait, Yan’s warm smile washed away Mila’s peevish melancholy. Running over with a squeal of delight, Mila lifted Yan in the air and spun her about, a tradition of theirs ever since their disastrous journey to the Society Headquarters. Back then, Yan would always crinkle her nose and grudgingly accept the display of affection, a cold and aloof loner who spent every second in training. Now, she laughed her throaty laugh and hugged Mila back, having grown into a warmer, cuddlier person after their long separation.

Loathe as she was to admit it, Mila had that old fart Du Min Gyu to thank for this. After stealing her away to adopt her, that standoffish tom-boy had blossomed into a loving and affectionate woman, one who better appreciated the bonds of friendship and family.

“It’s about time you came back to visit,” Mila gasped, dizzy from spinning too much. “After the second time you sent for reinforcements without leaving the front lines, I thought you meant to challenge Rain’s ongoing record for longest tour on the front lines.” Even though she missed him dearly and prayed for his safe return, Mila took great pride in his gruelling accomplishments. Only two others, Mitsue Hideo and Quyen Dienne, could come close matching to Rain’s record of fifty-six consecutive days on the front lines, and neither could ever dream of topping his astonishing results. Rain’s retinue killed more Defiled with fewer losses than any other unit in the Empire, putting his so-called rivals to shame as their elite retinues of heavy cavalry and armoured rhinos failed to match up with Rain’s brilliant tactics and miraculous Healing methods.

Rolling her eyes, Yan huffed and blew her silky bangs to one side. “As if. It’s our misfortune and poor judgment to be betrothed to an idiot like him.”

Inwardly bristling at the derision, Mila held her tongue and hugged a little harder, not enough to hurt Yan but just enough to make things a little uncomfortable. Yan’s results were fairly typical and landed her in the middle of the pack, but it wasn’t a competition. They were all one family, so Mila didn’t understand why Yan felt the need to put down their betrothed?

Mila’s indignation lasted only for a moment as Lin explained Rain’s gaffe between fits of giggles. Mila thought Rain had just been making excuses so he could remain on the front lines and amass glory for the People, but as per usual, this was merely Rain being Rain and misinterpreting the situation. Mother forbid he ask someone for clarification, no, her betrothed was much too arrogant for that.

Swallowing her irritation, Mila shook her head and said, “Come, join me in the bath and we’ll continue our conversation there.”

While Yan and Lin readily agreed, Zheng Luo tried to slip away without notice, an oddly prudish woman considering she walked around in public with her cleavage on full display. Stifling a sigh, Mila grabbed Zheng Luo and pulled her along, adamant to integrate the fussy Imperial into their household before Rain’s return. It’s not that Mila particularly liked the woman or even enjoyed her company, but she was Rain’s concubine and they were stuck with her, so it would be best if everyone got along. Already Mila could see fractures forming in Rain’s extended absence, with Lin’s brattiness driving them apart and a budding rivalry forming between Yan and Zheng Luo.

Why Mila cared about keeping Rain’s harem conflict free, she couldn’t say. Mila was utterly outmatched by the others, so she would only benefit if the harem fell apart. First and foremost, there was sweet, adorable Lin, whom Rain doted upon the most. In all his letters, Lin’s name would always come first and its contents largely addressed to her, while the others were spoken of in passing if he remembered them. With her large eyes and round cheeks, Lin’s youthful features had yet to mature, but that didn’t detract from her charm and allure. With her supple, honeyed skin and long, silken hair, Lin was undoubtedly on track to blossom into a kingdom-toppling beauty once her baby fat melted away and her... womanly assets bloomed.

Then there was sultry, seductive Yan. With her defined, sculpted features, pale, jade-like skin, and plump, cherry-pink lips, her appearance was reminiscent of the fairies of myth, the Mother’s true daughters crafted in Her own image who descended from the Heavens to aid Her Chosen Sons. Granted, those were made up stories to elevate the wives and concubines of those legendary heroes, but were one to paint Yan as a hornless, long-haired maiden, it would undoubtedly become a textbook portrait of classical beauty. Not only this, but she was closest to Rain’s heart, his best friend and most trusted confidant. Even without her insurmountable beauty or wide, provocative hips, Mila was no match for Yan’s raunchy humour or her throaty, captivating laugh.

Speaking of classical beauties, one couldn’t forget Zheng Luo. While Yan fit the profile of a fairy from Heaven, Zheng Luo might well be one, her features flawless and physique unmatched, a slim, buxom goddess with long, slender legs and shapely, elegant feet. As if physical perfection weren’t enough, the Imperial Servant possessed a brilliant mind and admirable work ethic, labouring tirelessly day and night in her office on the second floor to grow Rain’s budding merchant undertaking into a veritable enterprise. Under her brilliant management, Rain’s income had finally surpassed his expenditures, no mean feat for a profligate squanderer and bleeding heart philanthropist like him. What’s more, no matter what they needed, Zheng Luo could procure it. Whether it be outrageous quantities of preserved shrimp for Rain, first rate binding materials for Papa and Mila, or Runic Inscription supplies for Taduk, if it took longer than a few days to arrive, Zheng Luo would all but kowtow in apologies for the lengthy delay.

Last and least of all was Mila, a dour, jealous, harridan of a woman who nagged and threatened her betrothed about every minor detail. With hair which tangled like a rat’s nest and pale skin dotted in ugly freckles, she couldn’t compare in attitude nor beauty. Small wonder why Rain would praise Lin, sleep with Yan, goggle at Zheng Luo, but only tell Mila to not be jealous. Such was her lot in life, to be the shrew and bully in Rain’s otherwise perfect marriage.

Even wary and watchful Li Song wasn’t immune to his charms, willingly delivering herself to his power so she could fight at his side...

Stupid Rain and his stupid, licentious ways. Why couldn’t he be more like Junior Martial Brother Fung? They weren’t even betrothed, yet he wrote a poem or sonnet everyday for that ice queen, Ryo Seoyoon...

Discouraged and disheartened by her bath-time revelations, Mila stewed in silence until it was time for dinner. To welcome Yan, Charok cooked a sumptuous feast and Papa, Taduk, and even Yan’s bodyguard Kyung joined them, but Mila was in no mood to celebrate. Perhaps noticing her low spirits, Lin sat down beside her with a pot of fruit wine, smiling her toothy smile as she poured Mila a cup. Warmed by the rare show of consideration, Mila drank it down and inwardly scolded herself for her catty and hateful thoughts, further proof she had the worst personality among her future sister-wives. Barely able to taste Charok’s delicious food, her foul mood continued to plummet as the night wore on, drinking every time she found more proof of her failings. Maternal Yan making sure Tali and Tate ate all their vegetables, Zheng Luo dining with perfect poise and impeccable manners, or Lin repeatedly refilling Mila’s cup no matter how quickly she downed the fruity alcohol. They were all so beautiful and perfect. How was Mila supposed to compare?

Something cold and wet pressed against Mila’s lower back and she yelped in surprise, spilling her cup in the process. Frightened by her reaction, Banjo shrank away and took his cold, wet nose with him, his gaze lowered and eyes sad because he knew he’d done something bad, but wasn’t sure what. Feeling remorseful about scaring Banjo, it disappeared when Mila saw Papa feeding Baloo on the other side and she snapped, “Stop feeding the animals table-scraps! It’s not good for them and it encourages them to beg.” With the floodgates opened, her ire burst out as she flew off the handle, venting her frustrations on the people around her. “Taduk, you’re a grown man. Stop pushing your vegetables around and eat them. Zheng Luo, this is a family dinner not a formal event. No one will be offended if your eating area isn’t spotless. Tate, don’t think I didn’t see you throwing your eggplant to Jimjam. He’s a cat, he won’t eat it, and it could make him sick if he does. And you.” Turning to Kyung, the only person at the table still eating, Mila scowled and asked, “Were you raised by wolves?”

Rather than answer, Kyung responded with a throaty growl, pulling his bowl close as if ready to fight to defend it. None of this kept him from stuffing his mouth, inhaling rice, meat, and vegetables as quickly as his chopsticks delivered it. Incensed by his shameless reaction, Mila slammed her chopsticks down and stood to beat him senseless. “Outside, you manner-less cur, lets see if a guard trained by ‘Great Teacher’ Du Min Gyu fights as well as he eats.”

“Mila please.” Intercepting her on the way over, Yan grabbed Mila by the waist and pleaded, “He means no offence, he’s never tasted Charok’s cooking before and got a little too excited. Kyung, there’s plenty to go around so please behave yourself. Come sister, sit down, there’s not need for violence at the dinner table.”

Papa and Charok chimed in to smooth things over, so Mila shot Kyung a glare and returned to her seat, her cheeks burning from the alcohol and embarrassment. The spilled wine had been wiped dry and her cup filled once more, so Mila downed another cup and glowered at the unrepentant Kyung, wishing she could Send and tell him how lucky he was Yan had stopped her from trouncing him. So what if he proved himself Alsantset’s match two years ago? Even though Mila had been cooped up in the forge for the better part of a year, that didn’t mean she’d neglected her Martial Path. In fact, creating so many Spiritual Weapons had honed her senses to the extreme and helped her make great strides along the Martial Dao, specifically with regards to controlling her Blessing. Though she Awakened at a young age, Mila had yet to reveal it to the world at large, but when she did, her name would rise to the Heavens as she claimed her place as Number One Talent in the Empire.

Whatever, so what if Mila wasn’t the best wife? She had plenty of other admirable qualities and Rain loved her so he would have to accept her flaws. Even if he placed her last in his heart, if he dared treat her poorly, then Mila would beat him to a pulp and complain to Mama and Papa so they’d beat him too.

Might makes right, in war and in love.

Chapter Meme