Savage Divinity

With his maps laid out before him, Chen Hongji reviewed his plans for the umpteenth time, going over the possibilities and planning for every contingency he could think of no matter how far-fetched it may seem. When it came to armies numbering in the ten-thousands, battles could be won or lost based on preparation alone, a never-ending struggle in which a commander raced to stay ahead of future complications. “Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer,” as Papa liked to say, often while double and triple-checking his work. A worn sole, fraying rope, chipped axe, or squeaky door seemed like minor issues at first glance, but any one of them could lead to disaster. Blisters could keep a man from working for days or longer if it turned infected, and poorly secured cargo might slide off the wagon and break. Strike the right tree at the wrong angle and your axe-head could shatter, while a squeaky door was a surefire way to wake your wife upon returning from the tavern or your mistress’s arms, a scenario which played out often in small town villages like the one Hongji grew up in.

Almost fifty years later, he could still remember that fateful argument when farmer Xiu finally admitted to his infidelity after months of bickering and interrogations. “Yea, I was with my mistress,” he shouted, loud enough for every soul in the village to hear. “What’re you gonna do about it? Leave me? Ha!”

Madam Xiu did leave him, along with a wooden hairpin jammed into his shoulder. Why farmer Xiu didn’t simply grease his hinges after the first argument, Hongji would never understand.

He attributed much of his success as a soldier and commander to his father’s words of wisdom. ‘The right tool for the right job’ was another of Papa’s adages, and Hongji took the lesson to heart. Most commanders looked at an army and divided them into three categories: infantry, cavalry, and Experts, but things were not so simple. Two units of a hundred men could differ greatly based on their training, equipment, experience, and temperament, and a good commander would see these differences and deploy their troops accordingly. Southern-born infantry were unparalleled at holding a defensive position, but Northern savagery excelled in sprawling, uncoordinated melees. Central soldiers worked well when fighting in formation, but more often than not, they were unable to adapt to shifting circumstances, which meant they required more of Hongji’s attention, but would carry out whatever he required of them.

Much of this was broad generalization, but it held true more often than not. The greatest flaw in his motley army of assorted junior officers was its lack of harmony. Sinuji was rife with bitter rivalries and heated conflicts taking place between hot-blooded young men and women, and the factions behind them were encouraging it in the hopes that their junior officers would stand out from the rest. Cordial contentions like the one between Han BoShui and Tam Taewoong were few and far between, and without the Defiled to turn their frustrations on, dissension threatened to boil over and throw Hongji’s army into chaos.

Were it up to him, every career soldier would spend a few years toiling at a farm, for the gruelling labour instilled discipline and humility in a man, two qualities sorely lacking in noble-born Martial Warriors. Hell, a bit of honest work might even teach those brats to appreciate the food on their tables, but that would be a far stretch. A shame his opinion would see him laughed out of ‘proper’ society, but even though he kept his mouth shut, he often dreamed of sending some pompous young noble off to till the fields for a season or two, if only to get them out of his hair. These days, he dreamt of doing the same to seasoned men and women who ought to know better than to fan the flames of discord during wartime, but alas, he lacked the rank and status to ‘speak out of turn’.

A pox on the Society for turning Sinuji into their political playground, as if sacrificing good soldiers hadn’t been bad enough. If word got out Situ Ji Jing had abandoned three-quarters of his retinue in hopes that the Defiled would kill his sister, what soldier in their right mind would ever obey the commands of a Society officer? These actions damaged the implicit trust between a soldier and his commander, and if Hongji had his way, the boy would have been publicly executed as a traitor to the Empire, for his actions were akin to lending the Enemy a dagger. A shame Hongji found no proof of Ji Jing’s intentions. Had Ji Yeon trusted him with her safety and provided him with her testimony, he would have fought to have Ji Jing executed for his crimes. Even if he failed and Ji Jing escaped alive, a public trial would have destroyed the Situ Clan’s reputation and freed Hongji from this plague of Society adherents, which was probably why Ji Yeon refused to speak.

A strange lot, these Society folk, willing to keep quiet about assassination attempts so their faction could save face.

Though his actions had already pitted him against the Society, Hongji would have supported Falling Rain against them regardless, because there was no place for politics in war. Contrary to this simple truth, he woke every morning to find more letters had arrived from Society representatives, allies, cats-paws, and sympathizers, each one calling for his removal unless Falling Rain was punished for his infractions, though what those infractions might be, no one would ever write. A worthless bunch, wagging their tongues and criticizing Rain’s efforts from their wine-house chairs or whore-house divans, though they had precious little to say regarding the boy’s phenomenal exploits and consistent victories. Two months on the front lines without a single defeat was quickly forgotten in light of his recent ‘failure’, as if every other officer who served had never suffered a setback on patrol. Then there was the tongue incident, and while Rain could have handled things better, he was technically without fault in the eyes of the law, but that didn’t stop public opinion from turning against him.

Hmph. As if words written on paper or spoken by fools were enough to make Chen Hongji kowtow before their whims.

When letters and character assassination failed to gain traction, the Society increased pressure by dispatching three Patriarchs to Sinuji, Peak Experts one and all along with their sizable honour guard. Though none had ever served or held military rank, they arrived five days ago without warning and declared they were here to protect their heirs, though their real intention was to cow Hongji into submission. Going on record to protest their unruly arrival, his request to have them placed under his command, or at least subject them to military law for the duration of their stay in Sinuji, had been rejected without consideration.

Luckily, the Society’s heavy-handed actions angered more than just Rain’s allies. While the various clans and sects clamoured for Hongji’s removal, he found himself supported by the greatest powers in the Empire. Various Marshals and Magistrates sent word of their desire to meet if he were removed from service, and no less than three Colonel Generals spoke up in his defence to insist he remain where he was. Each one was a towering figure who stood high above Hongji, names he looked up to for much of his career. Nian Zu, Ryo Dae Jung, and Shuai Jiao, these giants of the military referred to him not as a lowly officer of humble origin, but as a peer and comrade in the war against the Enemy. Great Teacher Du Min Gyu even called Hongji a ‘brilliant tactical mind’, citing the suggestions and improvements he’d made regarding the defence of the front lines, though it shamed Hongji to take credit since many of those ideas had been Rain’s. Now, the name ‘Chen Hongji’ was synonymous with the war against the Enemy, a commander willing to risk his life to hold back the tide of Defiled and buy time for the Wall to finish building, a hero of the Empire known across the land.

At fifty-five years of age, Hongji had long since abandoned his dreams of glory, but it seemed like glory had finally found him.

Though he did his best not to let all the politics distract him, he found it strange how the Legate made no move to lend aid. That said, even without assistance from his most powerful backer, Falling Rain weathered the mounting pressure well. Truth be told, when Hongji first learned the Number One Talent in the Empire would be coming under his command, he prepared himself for the headaches and frustrations to come, but the boy was far less trouble than expected. A model officer and capable soldier, the boy was polite, respectful, and eager to do his part, sharing his thoughts and ideas without care for credit or recognition. If the other officers were to learn from Rain’s example, Hongji was confident he would hold Sinuji against twenty times their number in Defiled, provided there were enough Experts to deal with the elites and Demons of the Enemy.

Since returning to Sinuji after his first-ever unsuccessful patrol, Rain rarely set foot outside his camp and kept to a strict schedule. First he read his reports and hate-mail over breakfast, then moved on to spar with his troops and peers, followed a bath to clean up before spending the rest of the day working on External Chi skills, focusing primarily on his Blessing of Water. Hongji checked in on him every now and then, but thus far, there had been little to no progress as his iron striking post was only slightly rusted and still in one piece. Undeterred, Rain continued working at it without batting an eye, stopping only to replenish his Chi by meditating in a tub of water. This look into the dedication required to earn his place as Number One Talent in the Empire was eye opening indeed, though why Rain felt it necessary to meditate in a tub or why the Divine Turtle chose to drink from said tub, Hongji couldn’t say. Then again, everyone had heard the story of Falling Rain’s Awakening in Nan Ping Bay, so perhaps he just felt more comfortable in water, and Divine or not, a turtle was still a turtle.

Only two things were ever allowed to break his monotonous schedule: when Hongji called him in for a meeting and the intermittent attempts on Rain’s life. There had been three Defiled attacks in total thus far, with each one escalating in scope, though the boy remained largely unharmed. Fifty-six Wraiths killed in return for less than a handful of deaths, the results were as spectacular as ever. According to his reports, he had a knack for sensing the presence of Wraiths, though Hongji assumed Rain’s protectors were especially vigilant. Even the standard soldiers were a cut above the ordinary, and two in particular caught Hongji’s eye, one a dark-skinned, dark-eyed sergeant named Ravil, and the other a lean, nondescript soldier named Siyar. Though physically, they looked nothing alike, both men were cut from the same cloth, experienced killers steeped in the blood of their enemies and none the worse for it. Both were only a few years older than Rain himself, yet they were reported to have killed multiple Wraiths over the course of the attacks, with neither one suffering so much as a scratch in return. Once or twice, Hongji might attribute to luck, but three times made a pattern, and he wondered just what sort of training the Bekhai went through to forge such dangerous warriors.

Even more impressive were the hidden guards even Hongji wasn’t privy to, with three Experts Concealed about Rain’s person at all times, though he suspected there were more. Other commanders might be irked by the lack of trust, he didn’t mind if the boy kept his secrets and even thought him too trusting. Even though he ate the same food as his soldiers to guard against being poisoned, whenever he came by Hongji’s command tent, Rain never hesitated to help himself to whatever tea and snacks were offered and even received them with an innocent boyish smile. While this show of trust might be a calculated move to cultivate trust and goodwill, Hongji had no choice but to succumb to the trap and plant himself firmly in Falling Rain’s camp for the foreseeable future.

Considering how hard the Defiled were working to see Rain dead, Hongji almost suspected them of being in league with the Society, but the Enemy required no prompting to go after the Number One Talent in the Empire. Far from the mindless, barbaric foe he’d envisioned, the mysterious Enemy commander had clearly marked Falling Rain as a target for removal, sending more Wraiths after him than they sent after anyone else in Sinuji, even Hongji himself, though perhaps this was simply because Rain was an easier target. Hongji’s command tent was tightly guarded with multiple checks and measures to defend against assassins, and he never travelled without Concealment or slept in the same room twice. In contrast, Rain might as well be a sitting duck, one stationed outside the fort walls and away from his fellow soldiers to keep him safe from his own allies.

This shamed Hongji more than he cared to admit. Even the Enemy could see Falling Rain’s death would be a blow to the Empire, yet these short-sighted Patriarchs and nobles were too blind to look beyond their own interests.

This wasn’t to say Rain had been left wholly undefended. Five thousand of Hongji’s personal soldiers were also camped on the plains, under the command of his most trusted Major, Sun Qiang. Over the last few days, they fortified their campground into a defensible encampment, ringed by spiked pits and earthen barricades to hinder the Defiled from encircling Sinuji and trapping them in a long, protracted siege. What’s more, through some miracle of diplomacy, Rain convinced several clans and sects of the Society to move camps and support his cause alongside a handful of other seemingly unremarkable factions, though Hongji doubted these fringe elements would make for reliable allies if push came to shove.

No matter. Out there, Rain’s hodgepodge of soldiers would make for the perfect hammer to Fort Sinuji’s anvil, not to mention the Bekhai were excellent scouts if the need arose. More interesting were the bows and crossbows, because even though Hongji personally found such weapons distasteful, he couldn’t argue against the advantages they presented. The cattle chariots were a different story altogether, and he worried the Defiled would spook the herd and send the stupid ornery beasts into an uncontrolled stampede, but Rain insisted he had them under control and could direct their anger towards the Defiled.

If so, Hongji would count it a miracle, but the boy deserved a chance...

Satisfied with his preparations, Hongji called for a pot of passionflower tea to calm his nerves, for he was about to deal with the most aggravating part of his day: going through the daily reports. Another reason to admire Rain, for his poise and concentration were admirable especially for a man not twenty years of age, wholly indifferent to the rumours flying through camp and caring nothing for their taunts and derision. While waiting for his tea, Hongji focused his will to Scry on Rain, and the boy didn’t disappoint, sitting in plain view at his breakfast table and reading letters meant to incite him with little more than wry amusement. Yet another calculated move, showing he would not be goaded into acting. Most men twice Rain’s age lacked his level-headed demeanour, and knowing when to retreat was a skill few commanders cared to master.

As he put down his letters to stretch, Rain almost looked Hongji directly in the eyes, though his gaze quickly shifted, peering about in search of danger as he so often did. Talent and luck played a large part in growing Rain’s reputation, but as evidenced by his constant vigilance, it was built on a foundation of hard work and dedication.

Having put his work off long enough, Hongji left off Scrying the boy and returned to his reports. The Society officers and allies continued to complain about this or that, oftentimes contradicting one another in their efforts to find fault with him. This officer believed him wasting valuable man-power digging pits beyond a certain depth, while another criticized him for not digging them deep enough. This nameless fop believed he would be of more use inside the fort, and this armchair general found fault with his deployment. The barrage of paperwork was meant to get under Hongji’s skin, but also distract him from what they were really doing and lay the groundwork for future attacks. The Defiled were active all around Sinuji, so this peaceful lull would not last, and when they came, his political opponents would no doubt find fault in his efforts and dredge up some idiotic letter to prove they had already brought the matter up, thereby forcing him to defend his actions and explain why he hadn’t acted despite having been warned in advance.

A tiresome matter to attend to, since it forced him to do his due-diligence and politely respond to each complaint and suggestion with logic and rationale, though he would much rather retort with a scathing condemnation before inquiring if the officer’s lacking intelligence was due to brain damage or dubious parentage.

Nestled in all the complaints, insults, and transfer requests was the information that truly mattered, such as quartermaster accounts, progress reports, roster statements, and other such things required to run an army. They were running dangerously low on Mandrel Stalk, always in short supply when dining on field rations for weeks without end, but the Lieutenant Marshal was unable to meet their demands. The horses needed more room to exercise if they were to sit idle for so long, which meant opening the fort up to risk of infiltration with so many soldiers coming and going at all times. There was no helping it for now, heavy cavalry would be crucial to evening the odds against massed numbers of Defiled.

After an hour of shuffling through reports, he came upon a report of a farrier who failed to report for duty and was last seen the night before. One missing camp worker was hardly cause for concern, for many of them chose to abandon their work contracts to flee for safety, but this was the second farrier in as many months. Rummaging through his memories, he realized the first farrier had never been found, even though his presence should have been discovered by the multitude of soldiers between Sinuji and the rest of Central. With a second farrier gone missing and the first yet to be found, Hongji believed the matter was worth looking into. A possible murderer in his ranks was nothing to scoff at, for it could be a sign of the Enemy’s taint upon his people and a danger he could not ignore.

Draining his teacup with a sigh, Hongji called for his guards and set out to investigate. In all likelihood, he was overreacting, but like his Papa always said, better to be safe than sorry. However, as he stepped out of his tent, he noticed his elites escorting a ragged scout towards his tent, his eyes wild and breath short. Sensing something amiss, Hongji dropped his Concealment and strode forth to meet the scout. After weaving a barrier against sound around them, he commanded, “Report.”

“The Defiled,” the scout gasped, his mind in such disarray he forgot all protocol. “They march on Sinuji, three days out and in numbers greater than we’ve ever seen before.”

With a mixture of dread and excitement rising in his chest, Hongji strode back to his maps and commanded, “Ready the camp, battle alert. Get him some water and bring him inside. I need details.” Finally, after two weeks of inactivity, the war was finally returning to Sinuji, and Hongji was ready. Even if they brought an invincible army of millions of Defiled and thousands of Demons, Hongji would break their teeth on the earthen walls of Sinuji before his last breath, for this was the task given to him by the Legate himself.

Hongji was here to defend the Empire, and as Papa always said, anything worth doing was worth doing right.

Chapter Meme