Savage Divinity

A good slave is like a good dog: loyal and without shame.

When Dastan was still a member of the Golden Highlands Coalition, he would often hear the nobles of Sanshu uttering this quote, which they attributed to the First Chief Councilman of the Coalition. No one could ever remember what his name was off-hand, but many nobles took his words of ‘wisdom’ to heart when training their slaves, as did Dastan during the first few hours after he’d taken his restrictive Oaths. The Imperial Clan took things one step further with the Death Corps, instilling their slave soldiers with fanatical devotion for their masters and utter disdain for death, qualities which both awed and appalled him. At times, he envied their dedication to their master and wished he could do the same, but he knew his failings well. So too did the boss, for in recent times, whenever Dastan caught his gaze, it would always be filled with melancholy and disappointment. And why shouldn’t it? Dastan had done nothing worthy of praise during their two month foray on the front lines, his performance so poor the boss was forced to remove him from command. He had no one to blame but himself, for he’d taken a drunken slip of the tongue for Divine Inspiration and run headlong down a false fork in the Martial Path, creating a Natal Soul which was ultimately responsible for his downfall as a leader of men and valuable asset to the boss.

Still too ashamed to meet Falling Rain’s eyes, Dastan scurried away from their meeting with unseemly haste and followed along behind BoShui’s guards while working up the courage to speak. Why he’d even been asked to join the meeting on how to deal with the threat of the Society, he couldn’t say, for the boss had everything well under control with no need for Dastan to speak up. This was a matter for politicians and commanders rather than front line grunts like himself, so he put the Society out of mind and instead focused on improving his own strength to better handle whatever the boss’s enemies threw at them.

Warned by his guards, BoShui glanced over his shoulder at Dastan trailing behind and said, “No need to worry MuYang, he’s a friend. You should know this by now. Let him through.” The guard in question shot a dark look at Dastan before grudgingly moving aside, but he cared nothing for the scorn of a man named ‘Shepherd’. What were his parents thinking? Even if it were his occupation, a shepherd named Shepherd was far too on the nose and utterly lacking in good taste. At least he had the good fortune to go against his parent’s desires and rise to the forefront of humanity as a Martial Warrior, an Expert at that considering he was bodyguard to the Young Patriarch of the Han Clan, so perhaps the name wasn’t wasted after all.

Clapping Dastan on the shoulder, BoShui pulled him close for a one-armed hug and flashed his boyish grin. “If you’re looking for a sparring partner, then you’ll have to wait. I’ve letters to write to prospective wives if I’m to sell myself to the highest bidder in return for protection. How cruel of Falling Rain to treat his friends like goods to be auctioned off, truly a dark day for an eligible young bachelor like myself.”

Unable to repress his smile, Dastan rolled his eyes at BoShui’s jest. “Ha. As if any father in their right mind would want a scoundrel like you as his son-in-law, much less take you into his family. If anything, Rain expects they’ll promise anything so long as you stay away from their daughters.”

“Bah. You’re just jealous of my majestic facial hair,” BoShui retorted, stroking his (admittedly magnificent) goatee. “So, if it’s not for a spar, why were you skulking behind long enough to irritate my guards?”

“I was hoping to talk in private.” Eyeing said guards who seemed to be far too interested in their conversation, Dastan Sent, “I’ve stumbled across an issue regarding Rain’s... advice on forming Natal Palaces, and I don’t know who else I can speak to. It’s a personal matter and I wanted to wait and ask Vichear about it first, since he’s an established Martial Warrior and I need not worry about affecting his progress, but I don’t think I can afford to wait any longer and I have no one else to turn to.”

Though taken aback by the request, BoShui signalled there was no need to explain and brought Dastan into the privacy of his command tent without further question. Dispensing with formalities, BoShui dismissed his guards and Sent, “So what’s the problem?”

Warmed by his friend’s willingness to help, Dastan placed his hand on BoShui's forearm and Sent, “I first noticed a problem after arriving on the front lines...” BoShui was a good man who never put on airs or let Dastan’s slave status affect their friendship, but he still found it difficult to talk about something so personal and worried it would be seen as an excuse for his poor leadership and control. Regardless, he shared his findings about Natal Souls and how his differed from Sahb’s, alongside worrying his Natal Palace had been built upon a misunderstanding and thus, was fatally flawed. “... so what do you think? Were we wrong to craft a Natal Soul? Should I start over and try to form a Natal Palace the normal way? We fought together for weeks on the front line, and while the boss sometimes goes into a battle frenzy, the effect is nowhere near as pronounced as what happens to me.”

“Hmm...” Chin resting on his free hand, BoShui studied Dastan in pensive thought, his neutral expression giving no indication of his innermost thoughts. “I think,” he Sent, his tone measured and cautious, “You may be correct in saying you’ve stumbled down an incorrect path, but not in the way you believe.” Furrowing his brow, BoShui asked, “Why do you consider your Natal Soul a separate entity?”

“...Because it is one?”

“Is it?” Seeing Dastan struggle to explain himself, BoShui shrugged and Sent, “Let me tell you about my Natal Soul, though I beseech you to keep it to yourself.” Without waiting for Dastan to agree, he continued, “We were both there when Rain slipped up and mentioned splitting focus using two minds, and we both benefited in a similar fashion, but as you recall, it took me a week longer to form my Natal Soul and Palace. Do you know why?” Dastan shook his head, and BoShui sighed. “Because, at the time, I saw myself as an abject failure.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re -”

Holding a hand up to forestall Dastan’s arguments, BoShui gave a self-deprecating smile and Sent, “No need to coddle me. I’ve gotten over my self-esteem issues, but you still cling tightly to yours. Don’t deny it, because we both know it to be true.”

Dastan wanted to argue the fact, but instead he capitulated and Sent, “How did you know?”

“You told me, just now.” Wearing a knowing smile, BoShui explained, “Your Natal Soul. You said you were unable to form one which was a perfect mirror image of yourself. I had the same problem, but we solved it in vastly differing manners. Where you created a diminished, oddly proportioned version of yourself who represented all your perceived flaws, I went in the opposite direction and created a Natal Soul I could aspire to, a Han BoShui greater than the one I was at the time. Bold and daring, valiant and loyal, my Natal Soul is me, but better in every way, while your Natal Soul is you, except worse. Thus, when you merge...”

Realization hit Dastan like a hammer to the gut. “Mother in Heaven,” he whispered, knowing exactly where he went wrong. “I’m a fool.”

“We all are at times,” BoShui Sent, gripping Dastan’s shoulder in encouragement. “The Coalition betrayed you, my friend, used your righteousness and virtue against you. This led directly to your current circumstances as a slave, and though you are treated well, you still resent it and I do not blame you. The issue is, you see yourself as less of a person now and yearn for better times, dreaming of years past when you were an honest and forthright young man who championed the cause of your people. You called your Natal Soul a childish, simple-minded creature, which is how you now see your past self, concerned only with battle and training without taking the grand scheme of things into consideration. This is why your Natal Soul appears and behaves as it does, because it is influenced by how you perceive it. It’s also why you treat it as a separate entity, because rather than a reflection of yourself, it represents everything you lost and wish you could take back, your freedom and innocence. It lessens you because you think less of yourself. Remember the old adage, my friend: I am the sword, and the sword is me. You are the Natal Soul, and the Natal Soul is you, and you, Dastan Zhandos, are a good man, and a great warrior.”

With one last reassuring squeeze of his shoulder, BoShui stepped away to give Dastan time to think. After long minutes of silence, he wiped away his tears, took a deep, shuddering breath, and swallowed his pain, though the ache in his chest still remained. There was nothing wrong with his path, only the steps he took to get here, and so long as he could remedy his mindset, then Dastan could reclaim his former prowess. Except... he thought he’d come to terms with his enslavement, but he’d only been fooling himself, so how was he to proceed from here?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I saw you in camp today, Yimu. Congratulations on your full recovery. Meet me after sunset with the token and all will be forgiven.”

Crouching down to bury his face in his hands, Junior closed his eyes and ignored the rest of MuYang’s Sending while doing everything in his power not to cry. It didn’t matter that he was standing on the training field where everyone could see his plight, because with his life balanced on a razor’s edge, he was long past caring about silly things like face or reputation. Not just his life either, but the lives of his entire family, because Nine Familial Extermination was the punishment for the attempted murder of an Imperial Scion.

This wasn’t the first time the assassin contacted Junior through Sending, though messages came intermittently and sporadically, but even if MuYang pestered him non-stop at all hours of the day and offered all sorts of perks and assurances, Junior had no intention of ever going out to meet him lest he find himself shorter by a head. Promises of safe passage meant nothing from the Defiled, which MuYang had to be. Why else would Wraiths attack at the exact same time as his assassins? Junior wasn’t a complete fool, there was no way the timing was coincidental, not to mention the one Wraith targeting him specifically. At the very least, MuYang was working with the Defiled, which made things so much worse. At least with Nine Familial Extermination, death was quick and painless; colluding with the Defiled meant Junior’s gruesome end would be slow and painful, tortured before a cheering crowd for days in the hopes he’d turn into a Demon and give them a good show.

Mother in Heaven, what had he gotten himself into? He just wanted to go home, but even that was lost to him now...

“Wha-t. Are you doing?!” Wang Bao snapped, over enunciating as he so often did when yelling. “Did I say we were finished? Quit your cringing and take your stance, sol-dier!”

Choking back a whimper, Junior came to his feet cradling his truncheon like a favoured pet. Head too heavy to lift, he panted as one did when bawling one’s eyes out and did his best to forge an approximation of a battle ready stance, his feet spread shoulder width apart and weapon more or less at the ready. Why Wang Bao had taken an interest in Junior was difficult to say, but following his recovery from the wraith attack, the former Butcher Bay Bandit took him under his wing and worked him like a draft-horse from sunrise to sunset. While the intense training kept Junior’s mind off his impending doom, it also left him too tired to search for the hidden assassins and give them more specific orders. When the boss came to visit the morning after the attack, Junior had tried to make it clear the slave-assassins were to continue protecting Falling Rain, but it was difficult ordering slaves without people in the vicinity realizing you were giving orders to unseen experts, but luckily, the assassins were content to remain hidden and protect the boss from the shadows.

Junior’s paltry efforts earned him a smack across the head from the brutal former bandit, and he briefly considered launching a suicidal attack at the infamous Jester Wang, but Junior was nothing if not a survivor. Taking a deep breath, he readjusted his stance until Wang Bao grunted in approval, at which point the true suffering began. “Rea-dy yourself.”

And Junior did, for all the good it did him. His meagre defence did nothing to stop the flurry of blows from landing, Wang Bao’s padded practice weapon adding new bruises over top the old until Junior’s skin was more purple than white. Then, when he could no longer hold his weapon, Wang Bao would give him two minutes to rest, as if it were enough time to recover from such a vicious beating. When his break was over, Junior was expected to already be on his feet with truncheon in hand lest he be dragged on a run around camp, a terrifying affair thanks to the multitude of imagined and possibly real Wraiths or assassins lurking in wait to take his head, a detail which Wang Bao noted and abused.

“Come on,” Wang Bao yelled, as if he could turn Junior into a warrior through sheer volume. “Move yer arms, ye worthless sack o’ shit!” Oftentimes, the former bandit’s accent slipped back into the clipped tones of Sanshu’s lower class, but Junior wasn’t going to be the one to point it out. “Ye might as well run home to mommy, because the Defiled ain’t gonna be usin’ no padded clubs, ye hear?!”

Oh how Junior wished he could run home, but circumstances had changed. When the boss offered to send him back to SuiHua, it physically hurt to refuse, but he had no choice because he knew MuYang’s Defiled associates would come looking for him if he left. Now, the only way he could ensure his head remained attached to his neck was to stay as close as possible to Falling Rain and never leave the safety of camp.

Ironic, but the Mother did love to test her children so.

Finally intercepting one of Wang Bao’s attacks, Junior’s joy was short-lived because his arms were too weak to block it and he was sent flying away. Laid out in the dirt, he closed his eyes to rest and lamented how these miserable days might very well be his last. It didn’t matter though, because even if his chances to emerge unscathed were slim to none, he would struggle right up until his dying breath. Sure, he wasn’t allowed to live out his last days in peace and his sleep was plagued by horrific nightmares, but even as terrible as life was right now, at least he still drew breath, which meant there was still hope.

Precious little hope, but still better than nothing...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seated within his Natal Palace, Rang Min repeated replayed his memory of Falling Rain’s meeting with Zian, BoShui, and Yuhuan, watching a new face every time so as not to miss a single detail. With barriers against Listening, he only had visual clues to go by, but no matter if it was Lei Gong’s guarded vigilance or the slave girl’s apparent disinterest, Rang Min analyzed every action and reaction which took place over the short meeting. He hoped to learn something of their plans, but thus far, he had nothing to show for it. They sat and talked in an unremarkable fashion, though in all likelihood, anything they said out loud was merely a cover meant to throw off anyone trying to read their lips. An inexact skill at best, lip-reading was unable to convey tone which meant the reader would be guessing more often than not.

Thus, it was not a skill Rang Min had mastered, so most of his attention was devoted to Falling Rain. Even after all this time, the sight of the piss-eyed runt filled his chest with ire, doubly so after the Tyrant ruined their chances of killing such a promising youngster with no one the wiser. If only Rain had the decency to die after the Contests, or had fallen to any one of his four opponents in the duels at the Wall, then the Situ Clan would have long since been rid of this pest. How dare he trick Gulong into removing his own tongue? If he had his way, Rang Min would make the little bastard pay dearly for his crimes...

It was disturbing how far Falling Rain had come in so little time, his meteoric growth nothing short of miraculous. Though still weak enough to crush underfoot, Rang Min would have to tread lightly in order to deal with him, for only a fool would openly strike while knowing the runt had not one, but two Ancestral Beasts lurking in his camp, with a third hiding nearby in Wu Gam’s camp. Perhaps the Defiled sensed as much too, else why would they sacrifice so many Wraiths and Demons to kill two young boys? A shame they’d failed, because if Rang Min wanted to kill the publicly acclaimed Number One Talent, then he would have to take great care not bring disaster down upon Clan or Society. The Emperor put tremendous value in young talents, and while he turned a blind eye to burgeoning youngsters dying in duels with their peers, woe betide the old cow caught eating young grass.

There was precious little to learn from Scrying the runt’s meeting, and it only fanned the flames of Rang Min’s rage. Though he had Scryed the proceedings from almost a kilometre away, at times it seemed like the runt would turn about and stare directly into Rang Min’s eyes, a most infuriating coincidence which angered him to no end. During the meeting, he even went as far as changing the angle from when he Scryed from, but somehow, the runt’s eyes would always find his own. Even though he knew it had to be a coincidence, as the tiny turtle also met his gaze at times, Rain’s defiant eyes and calm demeanour seemed like a calculated move designed to provoke Rang Min’s rage, much like Zian’s casual disregard and wanton reputation.

Damned little bastard, immediately running to Falling Rain to warn him like a good little dog. Zian was a disgrace to the Society, one Rang Min should have strangled in his infancy, but his hands were tied. He’d sworn an Oath to make no moves against Zian so long as he and his family remained loyal to the Society, an Oath Jia Ying made certain Rang Min’s enemies knew about, thus forestalling all his efforts to see Zian excommunicated from Clan and Society. A crafty and devious woman, Situ Jia Ying had masterfully kept Rang Min at bay and spent the last quarter century building her strength, but all she’d done was delay the inevitable. A Magistrate’s posting meant nothing in the face of the Society’s strength, and now her son was treading dangerously close to acting against Clan interests, an act which would free Rang Min from his Oath and allow him to legitimately order Zian’s death.

Hmph. The boy thought himself so clever and talented, but he was nothing compared to his father, and all the talent in the world still wasn’t enough to save Lu An Jing’s life when Rang Min wanted him dead.

Glaring at the Bekhai runt one last time, Rang Min gave up trying to glean information from the memory and returned to the waking world. After contacting his hidden guards to make certain things were safe, he Sent messages to BoDing and YuSheng indicating he was ready to meet in person. After the meeting came to an abrupt end when the Tyrant stormed out with Zian and BoShui, they’d all gone their separate ways to Scry and plot. Though working together with a common goal, Rang Min would be a fool to lower his defences in BoDing’s presence, for their rivalry had been decades in the making and this alliance not even a month old. YuSheng also presented something of a threat now that he was an accomplished Runic Craftsman, undoubtedly hoping to elevate his OuYang Clan to supplant the Harmonious Unity Sect and take his place as one of three most influential leaders in the Society.

No matter. YuSheng would be much easier to deal with than those three ancient half-beasts in control of the Harmonious Unity Sect. Heaven was truly blind for giving such worthless creatures long lives. Those three decrepit half-beasts were over four hundred years old, yet not a single one was Rang Min’s match. Worthless creatures, strong of body but weak of mind, of course a Divinity would reject them.

As he set off for the meeting, one of Rang Min’s spies contacted him with new information regarding Zian’s actions. Clever to contact the abstaining factions with the interest of forging an alliance through marriage, but all this had been accounted for. For now, Rang Min had assurances from his Imperial backer and the majority of the Society on his side, so even if Zian married Jin ZhiLan and became the future sect leader of the Harmonious Unity Sect, he would still be a fish upon the chopping block alongside the rest of the dissenters who supported the Bekhai. Once Falling Rain was dead, Rang Min would claim his reward and announce Gulong’s marriage to an Imperial Scion, a woman distantly related to the Emperor himself. Once the world knew of this connection, then everything would change in an instant. So what if Falling Rain was an Imperial Consort? An Imperial Scion was about to marry into Rang Min’s family which meant his grandchildren would have Imperial Blood, and thus, the entire Situ Clan would leap through the dragon gate to soar into the Heavens.

Situ Gulong, written ‘Ancient Dragon’, would soon rise and become a dragon in truth. What more could a loving father ask for?

Chapter Meme 1

Chapter Meme 2

Chapter Meme 3