Savage Divinity

Sitting on the sidelines is the worst.

With nothing to do besides twiddle my thumbs, I sat and watched the battle rage on for the better part of three hours while praying everyone would make it out okay. Alsantset’s tactics were textbook examples of minimizing risks and striking when the enemy is weak, but even the best laid plans can go awry, and I spent the entire time imagining just how it might happen. Sure, the Defiled have no ranged weapons or cavalry to respond to her ride by shootings, but all it takes is one Demon to form or one Defiled Peak Expert in hiding to turn the tides of battle, or at the very least inflict casualties on people who are only here to protect me. On the Imperial side, Peak Experts rarely take a direct hand in massed battle because doing so leaves you vulnerable to sneak attacks. Eccentric Gam is the exception, as most lack his Earth-blessed defences, but even he might’ve died to Goujian’s ambush if Jukai hadn’t spotted the Confessor first.

And even then, Jukai paid the ultimate price, which sort of makes me more understanding about why Peak Experts sit around on their asses most of the time.

I haven’t been this close to a battle since the last time I was in Sinuji, and I gotta say, I hate being a passive observer. If I were in the thick of battle with everyone else, I’d be focused and alert, with things to do and people to kill instead of chewing my fingernails ragged and resisting the urge to piss. Gotta sit tight in my rickshaw, because if things go wrong and we need to leave in a hurry, I don’t want to slow people down with my heavy crippled ass. With how far we were from the action, I could barely see a thing through all the dust and chaos, but that didn’t stop me from imagining the worst. What if a powerful Demon is born? What if there are Wraiths hidden among the Defiled? What if the Defiled Commander is there too, with all his Elite champions to guard him? Alsantset hasn’t been in a battle for years now, so what if she’s out of practice?

As the battle slowly came to an end, I was understandably relieved when my sister returned with her retinue none the worse for wear, with no casualties and only non-life threatening wounds to show for it. Had she been an Imperial light cavalry force without bows to harass the Enemy, I doubt she would’ve been so lucky. The Defiled are savage, murderous, and downright deranged, but they’re not stupid. If it weren’t for the arrows, they would’ve just ignored the Sentinels until they charged in and then ground them down with superior numbers. A shame I couldn’t do the same with my crossbows; with their reduced range and rate of fire, peppering the Enemy with bolts while running is both less effective and more difficult to pull off. The crossbows work best from an elevated position against a mostly static enemy force, meaning you’d need your own infantry to hold the Defiled tide in place. The Death Corps do a fair job of it most of the time, but here on the outskirts of Sinuji, we’d be surrounded in a matter of minutes.

Which begs the question, why didn’t the Defiled come for us? They would’ve taken massive losses from Alsantset’s harassment while making their way over, but an attack here would’ve forced her to commit to a head on fight, where her advantages of range, speed, and mobility would be sorely limited while allowing the Defiled advantage of numbers to finally come into play, not to mention all the tempting wagons filled with provision and whatnot for them to loot. I’m not really complaining, since I’m pretty happy they left me well enough alone, but if the situation were different and I was trying to lure the Defiled into a trap, it would be nice to know why they ignored such a big juicy target.

With no answers to be had, I set the musings aside for later while we regroup and resume our journey to Sinuji, where it appears the clean up is now underway. There’s still pockets of fighting on the battlements, but the excitement has largely died down and everything should be in order by the time we arrive. After giving Zabu and Mafu the order to follow, their squeaks of excitement are cut short as the Abbot raises a Sound Barrier around us. “Do you see, Junior Brother, the harm that comes from this needless bloodshed?”

Honestly, it never ends. “I don’t revel in death,” I reply, my tone snippier than intended, “But your way would see even more lives lost. The fort could’ve fallen without intervention, and tens of thousands of soldiers lost, soldiers we need to hold the line. You think the mundane people of the Empire would survive the onslaught of Defiled? If you truly believe so, then I’ve got a bridge in the Western Province I’d like to sell you.”

“Deplorable as all this death is, that is not the harm this monk speaks of.” Gesturing at my sister, he gives me a knowing look without clarifying a thing, but no matter how I look at it, there’s nothing wrong with Alsantset. Aside from the bloodstained leathers, she looks positively glowing, her eyes bright and cheeks rosy as she rides ahead of my rickshaw with bow in hand. Unlike me, the battlefield is where she thrives, though to be fair, I’ve never seen her struggle at anything she set out to do. Whether it be sewing clothes, cooking meals, or slaughtering Defiled, she does everything with the same natural grace and majesty few can mimic, the embodiment of confidence and competence no matter what the task may be.

It’s like seeing a real tiger out in the wild, one close enough to touch. It could be sprawled out on its side and fast asleep, but it’d still be an imposing creature when seen up close, and Alsantset is the same way. Even when she smiles, most people feel an unintentional hint of danger in her expression, the instinctive, intimidating pressure one feels in the presence of a predator.

Honestly, she’s so cool. I wish I could be all steely and imposing like her. Mom and Dad are the same way, so maybe I could learn, but Lin says I look goofy and nonthreatening when thinking happy thoughts, and I’ve lost count of people who’ve mistaken my worrying for constipation...

Unable to make heads or tails of what the Abbot is talking about, I raise an eyebrow in silent question and he responds with a raised brow of his own. Well, not an eyebrow, since he doesn’t have any, but same thing. “You cannot see them?” he asks, his surprise evident. “How can this be?”

The pieces fall into place once I remember who I’m talking to. “Oh, Spectres? Nope. Haven’t seen any since the whole crippling thing.” Shrugging, I add, “I figured it was because Spectre-vision is Chi powered. She have a lot of them?” Ugh, if only I could still Devour... “Well, she’ll be fine. She’s tough and can handle a few intrusive thoughts. Anyone else?”

“Many of your companions have attracted the attentions of the Enemy, though there are a few more concerning than others, like your sister.” Pointing at Awdar, the Abbot frowns and says, “This one in particular is favoured, as Spectres slip in and out of his Core with impunity which speaks of an erratic mind. That one as well,” he adds, gesturing at Ulfsaar in the distance, “Though the Spectres are less eager to enter and quick to leave.” The half-bear behemoth has yet to regain his calm composure despite not taking part in the battle himself, but Neera is beside him doing her best to soothe his agitation. Gesturing at another rider in the distance, the Abbot adds, “That young man there, he is the worst off and bears watching, one who is used to the Enemy’s nefarious presence and no longer fears them. A tea-drinker as you would classify it. Hai, such absurdity, such sin, even this monk has been affected by your needless complexities.”

Ignoring the Abbot’s low-key jab, my mind blanks in disbelief as I follow his finger to see it pointing at Huu. I don’t understand, how can Huu be worse off than Ulfsaar? After a long battle, the half-bear would have dozens of Spectres hanging around him, or at least they’d hang around until I got to Devouring, and even though I can’t see anything to make a comparison, to say Huu is worse of than Ulfsaar is worrying to the extreme. “...Only a tea-drinker, you said. He’s not full... he isn’t too far gone, right?” What should I do? Douse him with what little Chi Tea I have left? Would that even work? I doubt it, but what other options do I have? Make him drink it?

Patting my shoulder, the Abbot’s tone softens in response to my obvious distress. “Calm your mind, Junior Brother, lest more Spectres seek you out. Injured and vulnerable as you are, you may be particularly susceptible to their lies and this monk fears you would not survive this one’s treatment.”

“More? Meaning some Spectres have already latched onto me?” Great, just great. The last thing I need are more things to be paranoid of. Dammit, think happy thoughts. Blackjack with a hat. A banana hat. A bunana. Ha, I love it. I should really learn to knit. Not just for silly animal costumes either, but also so I’ll have something to do in all my idle time. Let’s be honest, if it weren’t for all the new year’s festivities, dealing with Jixing and Justicars, and doing my best not to throw up while reading Zhen Shi’s notes, things would be pretty boring. Having a hobby wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and my floofs would look adorable in matching or thematic outfits...

...

Hmm... I sense a distinct lack of Spectres urging me to burn and pillage to my black heart’s content. Aside from the initial panic, I’m not feeling sad or murderous, just anxious and in need of a piss. Also, I’m not condemning myself for being an idiot who didn’t think to pee before we set out, which is pretty low hanging fruit for the whispering ghosties. “Are you sure I took on Spectral passengers? Doesn’t feel like I did.”

Unperturbed by my misgivings, the Abbot makes a strange gesture with his hands and says, “Earlier, when you handed her the wet cloth, this monk watched three Spectres abandon your sister to slip into your Core. They have yet to emerge, but if they remain silent, then you best be wary indeed. The Enemy is a cunning foe, and even more so now that there is a hand to guide them.”

The thought of Spectres slipping into my body is disconcerting to say the least, but there’s nothing I can really do about it besides be on my guard for intrusive thoughts. I wonder how Zhen Shi turned the tables on them and became the Spectre Whisperer? Yo Ling probably had a similar Talent, considering the long lineup I found waiting to report to him inside his Natal Palace, or maybe Zhen Shi taught him the trick to enslaving the Father’s foul minions. Could I learn to do the same? Would I even want to? A Spectral Hotline sounds nice and all, but how would I even go about vetting the accuracy of information gained from the Spectres?

Hard pass. Making use of the Spectres just feels too much like a trap, a trade too good to be true. If the stories are true, then Zhen Shi was once an idealist who believed that studying the Defiled and Demons might help strengthen the human race, so who knows where he went wrong? Maybe it was when he thought he could make use of Spectre Radio and set up a listening post inside his Natal Palace, so until I know more about the subject, I should ignore any and all communication from incorporeal entities.

Since the Spectres are laying low and there’s nothing else I can do about them, I make a note to never be depressed and be awesome all the time so they can never affect me. Offering the Abbot an indifferent shrug, I say, “Well, how would you proceed?”

Emboldened by my appeal, the old, wizened monk straightens his hunched back with pride, a faux pas for a man of the cloth like himself who only just yesterday lectured me on the five poisons which include pride. “To minimize the risks of succumbing to depravity, it would be best to bring all afflicted away to a quiet, secluded place where they can spend their days in meditation, introspection, and self-discovery until the Spectres lose interest. Some of the more... advanced cases should return to the monastery alongside us, so that this monk can personally oversee their recovery.”

...

For a supposed wise man, the Abbot sure talks a lot of shit. “People are not as fragile as you believe. They won’t all turn murderous at the drop of a hat, even if there are evil ghosts egging them on.”

“...The monk can infer what Junior Brother means when he says ‘drop of a hat’, but what is ‘egging them on’?”

Mixed language idioms never work. “What I mean is that even though they’ve attracted the attentions of the Spectres, sending each of them away to live the life of an ascetic is a gross over reaction. Take Ulfsaar for example: given his history, he likely endured under Spectral influence for years, if not decades, and he never went full Defiled.” Gao Qiu too. When I first met him, I had yet to develop Spectre Vision, but I bet he was filthy with them and he still stood firm against Yo Ling once the truth was revealed. I wouldn’t necessarily call the Red Devil of Sanshu a good man, but his will was strong enough to reject the Spectres when it mattered most, and I think that counts for something.

“Hai...” The Abbot’s weary sighs are getting really tiresome, but there’s no end to them in sight. “You see the Brotherhood’s beliefs as excessive, but this monk is of the opinion that the Four Noble Truths should form the baseline for humanity’s behaviour.”

“Impossible. Putting aside the threat of Defiled if we sent all Tainted soldiers away to meditate, humanity would cease to exist within a hundred years if everyone abstained from sex.”

“...True, but you twist this monk’s words to your own benefit and ignore the true message within. Though the goal is difficult and perhaps even impossible, what harm is there in striving for peace and harmony?”

“Would the world be a better place if we all followed the Brotherhood’s beliefs? Sure, if you ignore how millions would probably starve if we all abstained from meat without preparation, or that unscrupulous individuals would use our non-violent tendencies against us, or a million other aspects you haven’t even considered.” Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I gesture around at nothing in particular. “In a perfect world, the Brotherhood’s beliefs might be possible, but we live in reality, and it is far from perfect. Even without Spectres, Demons, and the Enemy, humanity is more than happy to slaughter one another without end, because where there are people, there will be conflict. You hid yourselves away in the Arid Wastelands to live lives of secluded meditation, but even then, a schism still developed amidst you and your brothers. Hell you even fell into conflict with your Senior Brother over the reins of succession. Conflict is inevitable, and hopes and prayers won’t change that.”

A low blow, bringing up Mahakala, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Thankfully, the Abbot takes it in stride and merely lets out another sigh.“Our way is not perfect, but your way only leads to endless strife and misery. The more you fight, the more Spectres are born, and the more power the Enemy wields over humanity. Thus has it been for millennia untold, but should things continue in this manner, then perhaps the cycle of Death and Rebirth shall end within the century once the Enemy makes use of Anathema.”

“Okay, so why aren’t you out there doing something about it?”

“What this monk does now,” the Abbot says, his expression grave and tone deadpan, “Is precisely what needs to be done.”

...Argue with me? Why? Even if he can convince me to leave with him, what does he expect me to do? I’ve asked him this same question repeatedly these past five days, but he refuses to give me a straight answer and only insists I leave with him to shave my head, say my vows, and join the Brotherhood as the First Wisdom, a title which supposedly means I’m second only to the Abbot and first amongst my peers, the other four Wisdoms. Three now, I guess, since the Old Healer who waylaid GangShu and the others defected to Zhen Shi’s side.

Not exactly a glowing endorsement for the Brotherhood’s teachings if one of their top talents decided a crazed, eight-hundred year old torturer made more sense than the Abbot. Hell, I’m not even convinced I disagree. If Zhen Shi’s goal is to eliminate life as we know it, his chances of success are significantly higher than the Abbot’s goal of world peace.

Besides, who in their right mind, would ever choose to be vegetarian?

Our argument comes to an end and we sit in silence for the rest of the short trip. Once through the gates of Fort Sinuji, the Abbot slips away to help with funeral rites, chanting a prayer in a strange language while hammering a slow and steady beat on his wooden fish-drum thing. Indecipherable as the baritone intonations are, the chant is oddly soothing and reminiscent of the stuff I heard in Mahakala’s Natal Palace, probably because they’re more or less the same thing. Jorani called them the Sutras and described them as ‘the Forms for the Mind’, but the Abbot refuses to teach me until I’ve said my vows so I have yet to have any firsthand experience with them aside from the brief interlude prior to Mahakala’s death. Had I known how useful they might be, I would’ve spent more time mulling them over, but now that my Core’s been shattered, my memory isn’t what it used to be and I don’t remember the specific Sutra anymore.

Then again, I’m not sure the Sutras are as miraculous as Jorani claims they are, considering the Brotherhood recite them every day and have yet to see how stupid some of their ideas are...

As much as I’d like to stop and help the weary soldiers with their clean up efforts, I’m no longer a Warrant Officer and lack the freedom which I once enjoyed. As an Imperial soldier, I’m supposed to report to the commanding officer as soon as I arrive, since I am technically the ranking officer in my regiment of one soldier, a dozen condemned slaves, and three-hundred and sixty some odd Death Corps. Being under Nian Zu’s command, Alsantset has no need to report alongside me, but she still comes along to keep me safe, and I bring Kuang Biao as well just for good measure. Signalling for Ping Ping to stay off to one side, I announce my name and rank to the two soldiers standing guard at the command tent and wait to be called inside.

And wait. And wait. And wait. A stupid power play I assume, because how could the commander be busy after Nian Zu took over his command?

After half-an-hour of standing outside in the cold, a sharp, effeminate voice screeches, “Send in Private Falling Rain.” As I make my way inside, the guards stop Alsantset and Kuang Biao, or at least they try to. Before my fierce sister can even scowl, both guards crash to the dirt as the former Royal Guardian summarily knocks them both onto their asses without blinking. Having been forewarned of his intentions during the lengthy wait, I hobble in without missing a beat and come face to face with the enraged glare of a face-painted fool wearing a puffy white jacket laden with jewelled accessories. “You dare?!”

Sticking closely to protocol, I bow and salute my new commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Mitsue Watanabe, son of the Obsidian Shadow, Mitsue Juichi, and uncle to Mitsue Hideo of the Hwarang. Unfortunately, this puffed up clown is sorely lacking compared to his father and nephew, a fifty-something year old silk pants who only made it this far due to his familial connections. “Private Falling Rain, reporting for duty,” I announce, before glancing at Kuang Biao and back at Watanabe. “Apologies for the injuries, but your guards should know better than to get between a Death Corps and his duty. Kuang Biao here is Oath-sworn to keep me safe, and without prior warning, this Imperial Consort could not stop him in time.”

Watanabe’s alabaster face twists in rage, not exactly unexpected, though I am caught off guard by his unexpected reasoning. “Imperial Consort? A mere private dares speak so highly in the presence of his superior?”

Great priorities there. Two injured guards and this idiot cares more about propriety. “Private this Imperial Consort may be, but to set rank above Imperial Peerage would be an insult to the Imperial Clan.” Probably. I might’ve been more humble if Watanabe hadn’t made me wait so long, but since he’s already antagonistic, then there’s no harm in reminding him that despite my low military rank, I am still his superior in social standing, and as such, cannot be bullied without repercussion.

Plus I have a Colonel General watching my back, so I can afford to speak highly.

When I heard the commanding officer came from a family I was already at odds with, I considered visiting a different area of the front lines, but Nian Zu convinced me otherwise. Even though the Mitsue’s hate me and Dastan because we ‘embarrassed’ Hideo on stage, I doubt it’s enough to ferment a life and death enmity between us, and since I’ll need every advantage I can get, we decided it was best to fight in an area my soldiers were already familiar with.

Bristling at the reminder of my Imperial Peerage, Watanabe glowers and glares for all he’s worth, but I’ve weathered worse during family dinners. When it becomes clear I won’t be intimidated by looming silence, Watanabe’s grimace melts into a smile as he unfurls a scroll and displays the Justicar’s seal imprinted at the bottom of the letter. “The Disciplinary Corps has warned this Lieutenant Colonel against showing Private Falling Rain any undue leniency due to his status as an Imperial Consort, so do not think your political influence or high-ranking friends can intimidate me. You will serve as a Private and obey every command given to you.”

“Private Falling Rain will obey.” So long as the command is reasonable, but I keep the addendum to myself.

Grinning like a cat, Watanabe straightens up and declares, “Heed my command. The traitorous slaves from Sanshu are hereby ordered to standby at all hours of the day and night, and at the first sign of Enemy attack, to make their way to the outermost wall. Once there, they are to hold and defend their position until such a time as they have paid for their grievous crimes against the Empire.” With their lives, no doubt, but it’s not over yet. “As their overseer, Falling Rain is to remain on standby beside them and subject to the orders of whichever officer holds command at any given time.”

Detailed instructions follow and my spirits dip with each additional restriction which shows Watanabe or his handlers have thought this through. Not only will I be standing in the thick of the fighting, he has valid reason to restrict most of my Death Corps guards from joining me on the wall, since he can hardly be expected to leave enough room on the first line of defenses for three-hundred plus soldiers at all times, nor can my Death Corps stand ready for twenty four hours a day, ten days a week. This’ll leave me highly exposed and vulnerable not just to attacking Defiled tribesmen, but also to any lurking Wraiths, Demons, or Imperial Assassins waiting to strike in the heat of battle. Not exactly a death sentence, but pretty damn close without overstepping his bounds, though things could be worse.

I mean, it sure as hell beats digging latrines with a spoon, so there’s that. Still, maybe I should send Kuang Biao to make sure Watanabe suffers an accident, like accidentally tripping on his sword and stabbing himself in the back of the head. A message of sorts, to show Jixing and his other lackeys I mean business. Bah, look at me, on assignment for less than ten minutes and already considering assassinating my commanding officer. Not gonna lie, I kinda enjoy abusing power and privilege, so I can see why people do it so often.

It’s morally wrong, but since we’re playing by Imperial rules, then might makes right, so technically, I’m in the right. Yea, it feels right, but maybe I should run the idea by Nian Zu first, just in case…

...Then again, Nian Zu is a stickler for the rules, and it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission...

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