Savage Divinity

Brimming with disgust and disappointment, Mila stood over her defeated sparring partner with her spear at his throat. “Yield?”

“I yield, Senior Sister.” Laid out flat on the stage, Fung flashed what he thought was a charming smile and held his hands up in submission, conceding far too easily in her eyes. Losing wasn’t the issue which irked her so, but rather the way he just accepted his losses as if they were a foregone conclusion. A defeatist outlook which would see his progress suffer and skills stagnate, he wasn’t even trying to win anymore when he still had so much room for improvement. Mila telegraphed her initial thrust and Fung saw it coming, but instead of side-stepping out of the way, he tried to match her in raw strength, so of course he lost. How many times must he lose the same way before adjusting his tactics? Weakness was one thing, but stupidity another, and Mila would not stand for a stupid Junior Brother.

She already had an idiot betrothed, she didn’t need more mule-headed fools in her life.

Having secured her victory, Mila stepped back and scowled when Fung extended a hand for help. Batting it aside with the rim of her shield, she prodded his ribs with her boot and said, “Again.”

“Mercy Senior Sister.” Though not exactly whiny or petulent, Fung’s tone held hints of both as he pushed himself to his feet. “We’ve been at this for at least half an hour and I don’t know how many matches. How many more before your thirst for victory is quenched? Or perhaps you could pick a different partner, like BoShui or Dastan, someone who offers more of a challenge for your superlative skills.”

Ungrateful little... Upon hearing Fung’s suggestion, the two named idiots pretended to fight even harder while drawing out their match, no doubt hoping to silently avoid her ire. Even Zian and Sahb backed off from their opponents, Yan and Wu Gam respectively, as if worried Mila might call them over if they ended their matches prematurely. Annoyed by all these cowardly men, Mila focused her frustrations on her junior brother, who was far and away the most lackluster of the bunch. “This isn’t about victory or challenge, idiot,” she snapped, resisting the urge to club him for good measure. “I’m not sparring with you to feel better about myself, I’m here to help you improve.” Shoving him none too gently with her shield, she glared until he skulked off to retrieve his spear from across the room, which was where it landed after she sent it flying thanks to his poorly thought out response. “Honestly, I don’t know what Mama was thinking when she took you in as a Disciple. You’ve talent a plenty, but lacking ambition. If you worked half as hard as Song, then...”

Berating him in hopes of lighting a fire in his chest, Mila’s scathing criticism fell on deaf ears as Fung smiled and nodded along with a hateful and conceited expression. This was the worst thing about him, how satisfied he was with his mediocre strength when he could easily stand alongside her at the forefront of their peers if he put in more effort. Instead, he treated combat as another means to show off and impress women, the same way he liked to dress pretty or flaunt his poetry and calligraphy. Mama was too busy these days to correct him, but even if she had the time, how was she supposed to train her Disciple if he was off in another Citadel? Were it not for Seoyoon coming to visit alongside her sister Da’in and Yan, then Fung might’ve spent the rest of the new year festivities chasing skirts instead of being filial and paying his respects to his family, friends, and Mentor.

An utter disgrace...

They sparred for another half-hour before she finally gave up, even going as far as doing nothing but defend for three minutes per match to let him set the pace, but sadly, he showed no signs of improvement. Even after several years with the weapon in hand, Fung still had yet to wholly adapt to the spear, his slim and lanky build unsuited for a weapon as heavy as his. This wasn’t entirely his fault, because the weapon’s balance was all off, weighted too heavily towards the tip for a spear its size. A hundred and eighty centimetres from base to tip, the weapon was shorter than Fung was tall and awkward for his long limbs to wield, a situation exacerbated by the stylized, double-axehead cross guard which limited his grip to the lower two-thirds of the weapon.

A pretty weapon which was all form and no substance, if Mila crafted such a worthless Spiritual Weapon, Papa would’ve disowned her and melted it down for scrap.

“Stick to the sword,” Mila advised, and not for the first time. Fung was passable with the longsword, not as talented as Zian, but close to it, which meant he was better than most. “Better to use your spear as a cavalry lance and nothing else until you either grow as big as BoShui or Develop your Domain.” At that point, he should be strong enough to properly control his spear, but not without cost. If you had to Reinforce to use your weapon, then you were better off using a lighter weapon, and the same held true for the Domain equivalent.

“Thank you for your advice, Senior Sister,” Fung replied with a bow, always the gentleman in the presence of witnesses, “but Junior Brother feels he has more potential with the spear.”

Typical men, always fixated on bigger is better. Smacking the spear out of his hands for the umpteenth time, Mila ignored his surprise and said, “Draw your sword.”

“Wh –”

Leaving him no time to think, Mila launched a controlled offensive to force him into action, presenting enough threat to break his bones while leaving enough leeway for him to draw his sword. Once he had his weapon in hand, she stepped back and paused for a full second to let him take his stance before resuming her attacks, and this time, he reacted appropriately. Instead of trying to match her blow for blow, Fung finally moved his feet to avoid a head on clash, which was exactly what he should’ve been doing all along. Fighting on your opponent’s terms would at best yield half the results for twice the effort, and even though his spear was ten times heavier than hers, it still wasn’t enough to make up for the difference in raw strength.

Not only that, but since his longsword didn’t require both hands to wield, he was both faster and more agile in attack and defence, his feints and counters on point as he blunted her offensive. Round and round they went atop the stage, Mila moving ever forward while Fung gave ground with every step, yet he lasted a full five minutes before exposing a critical weakness and allowing her to disarm him. Standing over him with spear to his throat once more, Mila grinned and asked, “Yield?”

“Yes, yes, yield.” Rolling his eyes, Fung stood up and brushed himself off, his chest heaving and brow dripping with sweat. “You’ve made your point, but I still stand by my previous statement. I am standing on the precipice of Insight with regards to the spear, and once I figure it out, then perhaps next time, it’ll be me standing over you asking if you yield, Senior Sister.”

“Careful there.” Grinning like a fool from the audience seats, Rain threw a knotted face-cloth at Fung and said, “That’s my betrothed you’re talking to. You keep making statements like that and I might get jealous.”

Catching the cotton projectile after it bounced off his cheek, Fung faked a glower and glared. “And you call yourself a friend, impugning my honour like so. I’m wounded by your lack of trust. My Senior Sister and I share a platonic relationship and nothing more.”

“I trust you,” Rain replied, tossing another cloth projectile at Fung, but this time Mila snatched it out of mid-air and dabbed away her non-existent sweat, noting Seoyoon’s all too real hostility directed towards Rain. Fung could easily have caught the towel, but he put banter with Rain over his dignity, which wouldn’t matter in normal circumstances, but to do so in front of his lady love was just asking for trouble. At least they weren’t in public, having reserved the arena for the entire afternoon for all their friends and guests, but Mila didn’t understand friendships between men. Though Rain and Fung seemed to get along fine, they did so without real conversation, sharing, or even being nice to one another. All they did was drink and banter, and somehow this was enough. It mattered little to Mila, but if Rain expected Seoyoon to overlook his slights the same way Fung would, then he was in for a rude awakening.

Wholly ignorant of Mila’s silent warning, Rain cackled and continued with his joke. “I trust you to be true to your nature, which means I’d be a fool to leave you alone with my beloved.”

Idiot. As if she’d ever fall for Fung’s sickening sonnets or bawdy poetry. What Seoyoon saw in him besides a pretty face, Mila couldn’t say, though the same could be said of the reverse, for the youngest Ryo daughter was a prickly, quiet sort who was slow to warm up and quick to anger. Worried Rain’s words might hold a grain of truth, Seoyoon fixed Mila with a warning glare while Rain and Fung continued trading insults, but the frigid maiden was no threat and Mila treated her as such. Instead, she saluted the older Ryo sister and smiled, one every bit as cold as Seoyoon’s glare. “This one has long heard of Ryo Da’in’s skills, and invites her to the stage for a demonstration.”

Unlike her icy younger sister, Da’in possessed a warm and almost bubbly personality, her eyes burning with joy and teeth bared in a cute and predatory smile. “Wonderful,” she said, her clasped hands pressed against her cheek in girlish delight. “Yan told me you were strong and domineering, but I never imagined you’d be so... ferociously adorable!”

As much as Mila hated being called adorable, she couldn’t help but blush at the praise from the formidable Expert. Feminine, yet militant in bearing, Da’in was a warrior woman in every sense of the term, a combination of grace, elegance, and danger. A slender, sinuous woman with silken, shoulder-length hair and enough curves to be noticed, yet not so much as to ooze sexuality, she was a beauty to behold with her arched posture to her refined, sashaying gait. Making no effort to hide her womanly charms, she wore skin-tight leggings and a fashionably serviceable tunic which clung to her skin and left little to the imagination, but rather than give the appearance of a sultry vixen, the outfit only made her look all the more dangerous, like a venomous serpent ready to strike, both deadly and beautiful.

In short, Da’in gave off the exact impression Mila wished she could pull off, but sadly couldn’t.

Leaping up from her seated position, Da’in made the movement look so effortless it gave off the illusion that she’d been scooped up in a giant, invisible hand and placed gently on stage. Strutting over with her gliding grace, she shooed Fung away and said, “I agree with your Senior Sister, but not for the same reasons. Perhaps you will find Insight and grow by leaps and bounds with the spear, but the sword will always hold more potential. The spear is king of the battlefield, but the sword, divine.”

A lofty statement, but if any one could back those words, it would be the famed daughter of the Sword King, a woman so strong she was expected to become a Peak Expert before forty like her father.

Relishing this chance to face such a formidable opponent, Mila raised her shield, lowered her stance, and watched her dangerous foe with wary eyes. Standing with hands folded before her, Da’in sighed in contentment before reaching for her sword, and while little else changed, Mila’s instincts screamed at her to flee. This wasn’t Aura or killing intent, but merely the suppression one felt when placed in grave danger, for Da’in’s relaxed posture was full of menace and threat.

Odd how the mind wanders when thrust into peril, for only now did Mila notice that Da’in wore no jewelry or accessories, not even a ribbon in her hair or a decorated sheathe, though her sword’s hilt was wrapped in a purple diamond pattern, so similar to how Mila wrapped Rain’s. The only difference was the colour and the base of Da’in’s hilt bore a bright red tassel which doubled as a wrist strap. Ornamental, most likely, or possibly even religious, a talisman blessed by monks or woven from the hair of some Divine Beast or another.

“Ready?” Da’in’s sickly sweet tone brought Mila back to the moment, and she realized she could’ve lost to a single move thanks to her distraction. Cognizant of the cold sweat dripping down her neck, she took a moment to compose herself before nodding in answer. Still smiling her predatory smile, Da’in nodded back and said, “Good. Here I come then.”

Despite the warning, Mila didn’t even see her opponent move before being rocked aside by the blow. Domain, that had to be it, because Reinforcement wasn’t enough to explain the overwhelming power contained within Da’in’s slender arms. Her sword couldn’t even be considered heavy, a double-edged jian with a thin, flexible blade less than two fingers wide, yet still she put enough power into her attack to sting Mila through the shield. Reeling in place, she grit her teeth and hunkered down for the next strike, only to find Da’in still standing in place with her hand on the hilt of her re-sheathed sword. “Wonderful,” the fearsome woman said, her eyes glowing in admiration. “You’re still standing. It’s been ages since I faced someone my age who could defend against a full-strength attack, but you’re almost a decade younger. An outstanding talent.”

Irked by the undeserved praised, Mila snarled, “Why did you aim for my shield? This match would be over if you’d gone for my head.”

Her predatory smile darkening without having changed, Da’in replied, “It’s not about victory or challenge, sweet Mila. I’m here to help you improve.” Having thrown Mila’s words back at her, Da’in cocked her head and asked, “It’s clear from your disdain of Fung’s attacks that you’ve never faced an opponent physically stronger than you, or if you have, they held back too much. I will not be so kind, sweet Mila, so if you’re ready, then I will attack again.”

Mila had just enough time to settle into her stance before the powerful blow landed, and though she still didn’t see the attack, or the next one, or the one after that, by the fifth attack, she’d puzzled out why. The attack was an easily recognizable movement from the Forms, Deer Parts the Underbrush, a basic sweep of the weapon even Tali and Tate could demonstrate, but in Da’in’s hands, this basic sweep turned into a deadly killing blow. From the moment she drew her sword until she slammed it back in its sheath once more, Da’in’s upper body remained perfectly, utterly still, so still that if one were to only look at her shoulders and up, as Mila did due to her limited field of view from behind her shield, then there was no indication of movement from start to finish. A monstrous feat which had nothing to do with talent and everything to do with skill, how many times did Da’in draw and sheathe her sword before reaching this level of perfection? By eliminating every extraneous movement and telltale twitch from her attack, she only shaved a tenth of a second off her opponent’s reaction time, but that was all she needed to force Mila into dire straits.

As time wore on and Mila got used to the powerful attacks, she realized Da’in wasn’t particularly fast, but the optical illusion left her unable to actively parry or Deflect the attacks because she couldn’t see them coming or react fast enough. Hoping to create distance between them, Mila feinted a thrust and backed away, but Da’in’s image never wavered in her sights. Mother in Heaven, the formidable woman could even move around without wavering, and the next attack almost knocked Mila clean off her feet. Shifting with the impact, she kept her shield up and spear ready, but her opponent was ready and waiting, smashing into Mila’s shield again and again until her forearm went numb and senseless. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t pull out Paragon to use here, because not only was it a poor stage to reveal her greatest work, but she lacked the fine control to use it in a friendly spar.

Clang. Clang. Clang. The blows rang out against Mila’s shield in a steady rhythm, the tempo so constant she could set a watch by them, but still she had no recourse to defend. All she could do was turtle behind her shield while this sadistic monster tormented her on stage. Jaw clenched so tight she worried she might crack a tooth, Mila considered surrendering but her pride would not allow it. Defeat was nothing, but to give up before she even tried to attack? Never.

Mustering every bit of strength she had left, Mila didn’t use it to resist Da’in’s next attack, but to escape it. Leaping back with all her might, she heard the telltale hiss of air and shriek of metal as the sword glanced across her shield instead of striking it directly. Blood surging with glee, Mila slammed her feet down and reversed her momentum with Bull Traverses the Mountain, charging forward shield first to bash into –

Nothing.

Without the expected impact to greet her, Mila tripped over her own two feet and went head over heels off the stage. Landing with a heavy crash, she jumped back to her feet with cheeks burning in embarrassment, but luckily no one was laughing. Seoyoon wore the tiniest of smiles, but it disappeared once she met Mila’s gaze, and the icy maiden quickly looked away. Good. Taking a deep breath to calm her anger, Mila hopped back onto stage where Da’in stood waiting, her sword sheathed and hands folded once more. “I’d like to see you attack without my shield blocking my view,” Mila said, leaving out the obvious part where she’d also like to keep her body in one piece.

Cocking her head to one side, Da’in asked, “Why?” Eyes lighting up before Mila could respond, she continued, “Oh, you think it wouldn’t be an issue if your shield wasn’t obstructing your view.” Cold metal touched Mila’s burning cheeks, and she flinched at the unexpected sensation, only to freeze in place as she realized Da’in sword was already at her face. “Even without the shield,” Da’in purred as she withdrew her sword, “there are other ways to interfere with your opponent’s perception. You think it merely a single movement, Deer Parts the Underbrush, yes? It’s more than that, a combination of three movements, in fact.”

“Snake Shakes the Branch and Oriole Raises the Winds.” Surprised to hear Rain chime in, everyone turned to stare, Da’in and Mila included, but he shrugged and said, “Why you all look so surprised? She wasn’t moving very fast and used the same move like twenty times. It’s not hard to figure out the trick once you know what to look for, especially from the audience.” Raising his head with pride, he added, “It’s not like I forgot all my Martial skills you know. I’m still frigging brilliant.”

“Brilliant indeed.” Lacking even a hint of sarcasm, Da’in studied Rain with far too much interest before turning back to Mila. “Your betrothed is correct. It is easier to discern from the audience, though few have eyes as keen as his. Regardless, my father is called the Sword King not because he is stronger than all other sword-wielding Martial Warriors, but because with all else being equal, his victory would be assured through mastery of the Forms alone. The Forms are a tool we are all familiar with, but few care to study them to the extreme. What I displayed today was not learned through Insight, but mundane comprehension and dedicated practice, a feat any Martial Warrior is capable of.”

Patting her sword’s hilt, Da’in added, “As for the matter of choice in weapon, I believe the sword reigns supreme, because there is no other weapon versatile enough to unlock the full potential of the Forms.” Stepping in close to pat Mila’s cheeks, Da’in added, “Don’t fret, sweet Mila, you did much better than most Martial Warriors ten years your senior would. Not only did you refuse to concede and offer a counterattack at the end, I also meant to disarm you more than once, but you kept adjusting your shield by instinct so my next attack landed closer to the center rather than the outer edges. So young yet so strong, I do hope you and Seoyoon can get along and learn from one another.”

Girlishly skipping off the stage, Da’in sat down beside Lin and beamed prettily at no one in particular, though Mila felt a shudder whenever those brown eyes met her own. Only twenty-nine years old, Ryo Da’in won not through superior strength, speed, or Martial skill, but through sheer mastery of the Forms, truly an eye-opening experience. How strong would she be if she fought without holding back? From what little she displayed, even Alsantset might not be her match, though Tursinai might, and Da’in was even strong enough to threaten Gerel, though she would obviously be at a disadvantage if they were to fight.

At least, Mila hoped that would be the case, else Da’in was far more monstrous than she let on...

Either way, this dominance through mastery of the Forms was not something Mila had ever seen or heard of, but it opened new avenues of training she’d never considered before, ones worth exploring. Ugh. She couldn’t leave this be, but there was still so much to do, like craft a Spiritual Launcher for the Tyrant and spend more time with Yan before she went back to the front lines. Then there was the matter of Papa taking on more contracts than he could handle, and she also wanted more time with Rain, and not just to scold him for all his past sins coming back to bite him on the ass. She should’ve never let him go to Sanshu unsupervised or explore Yo Ling’s stupid island…

Well, there was no cure for regret, so Mila could only plan for the future. If Yang Jixing persisted with his foolishness of sending Rain into battle, then she intended to stand for her betrothed as his champion. None of this foolishness of accepting a veritable death sentence when he could prove his innocence through trial by combat, and so long as her opponent was under twenty-five, she was confident she could defeat them now that she had an Aura of her own.

Because regardless if the public recognized her title, she was still Sumila of the People, Number One Talent in the Empire.

Chapter Meme