Savage Divinity

Despite having had ample warning of what was to come, Rustram’s stomach still twisted into knots when the order to withdraw went out two hours before dawn.

Passing along the orders to his sub-commanders, Rustram was met with the grim acceptance he’d come to expect from these stalwart veteran warriors. Though the boss – no, the Legate – made it clear Rustram was not to share his plan with anyone else, a good soldier could infer a commander’s plans simply from the arrangements being made beforehand. Not only did Rustram have the wagons inspected and non-essential gear stored away over the last few days, but he also ran his soldiers through exit drills to ensure everyone knew what to do when it came time to leave. If that wasn’t enough to clue them in, then the fact that so many other units in the castle were going through similar drills should’ve revealed there was something afoot to all but the most oblivious of soldiers.

Say what you will about their general inability to adhere to decorum or protocol, the Warriors of Falling Rain’s retinue were far from oblivious. In fact, going by battlefield experience alone, they might well be among the most veteran companies within the Empire. Though the infantry had a startling lack of Demon Slayers and Peak Experts, they were good, solid soldiers who’d been through hell and back on the front lines, yet were still eager to return for more. While there were only a few stand-out talents like Dastan, Sahb, Ulfsaar, and Wang Bao, Rustram was willing to bet that the Empire would soon learn the names of many more burgeoning heroes among the Legate’s retinue, heroes like Siyar, Ravil, Ral, Chey, Jorani, Lang Yi, and many more. It went without saying that his beloved Sai Chou deserved more recognition than she had, being an Expert of phenomenal skill and courage, but since she spent most of her time on the battlefield unleashing volleys of arrows with her Protectorate, her contributions were largely overlooked.

But not for long. With more and more Warriors seeing the effectiveness of ranged weaponry first hand, there would soon come a time when Sai Chou’s archery skills were given the respect and admiration she deserved. At Lady Sumila’s wedding, Rustram watched his beloved Sai Chou line up twelve horse-shoes along a fence, only to loose an arrow which went clean through without knocking a single horse-shoe down to strike a coin swinging on a piece of string at the other end. Even Major Alsantset had been impressed by the feat, though she replicated it easily on her first try, and Lady Mei Lin upped the ante by adding more horse-shoes and staggering them so they weren’t all evenly lined up, resulting in an arrangement even she couldn’t thread an arrow through. At the end of the day, it wasn’t a soldier who took home the title of best archer, but the Legate’s Brother-in-Law Charok who claimed the prize, a purse of coins he dutifully handed over to his wife, Major Alsantset, who then used it buy multiple rounds of drinks for all the contestants.

The Bekhai were an odd bunch, aloof and unsociable when interacting with strangers, but their attitudes became warm and welcoming once Rustram and the Legate’s retinue were accepted as members of the Khishigs. Mentor had a part in this, teaching Rustram the intricacies of their command structure and social network, but it surprised him to learn that until recently, Falling Rain was just as much of an outcast as Rustram or any of the other, non-Bekhai members of his retinue. This made perfect sense considering the Legate’s troubled past, as few communities would welcome a former slave with open arms, especially a beaten, tortured one like Falling Rain had been. It wasn’t due to a lack of empathy, but rather because the risk of Defilement was far too high for most communities to stomach.

To think, the soft-spoken, kindhearted, generous Falling Rain had once been a slave, and was now Legate of the Outer Provinces, the highest ranking Official in all the lands save the East. What a time to be alive...

With his pleasant memories soon interrupted by flashbacks of the desperate retreat from Sinuji, Rustram set to inspecting his retinue unit by unit while praying the Legate’s preparations were enough, because he did not want a repeat of his earlier experience. There were many more Imperial Demon Slayers and Peak Experts here in Castle JiangHu, so if things grew desperate enough that Rustram had to hold off the Enemy Demons again, then he wasn’t sure if he had the skills necessary to survive this second time around. Despite all the tales of his accomplishments and the accolades he’d received since, he didn’t believe he deserved his new rank of Major, for he was sorely lacking in personal strength. Yes, it was true he fended off more than one Demon during the hectic, extended escape from Sinuji, but in his eyes, he hadn’t defeated a Demon so much as he survived the encounters. At no point were his foes ever in danger from him during their duels, whereas even the slightest misstep would have seen Rustram killed outright. Duelling with a Demon was a game with margins so thin, even Bulat couldn’t spin the odds to make them look good, so Rustram had no desire to go at it again.

It frustrated him to no end seeing his rapier glance off his Demonic foe’s hide time and time again, but while he understood why it happened, he didn’t much like not knowing how to pierce through a Demon’s Innate Defences. There was no helping it though, since he had yet to Form his Natal Palace, much less achieve the next milestone along the Martial Path which was supposedly vital to do battle against Demons. As such, he put aside all thoughts of being the carp who leaped through the Dragon Gate and focused on his tasks at hand, doing what he could do instead of focusing on what he could not. The battlefield was a place where snakes and dragons intermingle, so Rustram would do well not to forget that he was not yet a dragon and only barely a snake.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when he finally declared the retinue ready to withdraw, which was well within the time-frame Brigadier Hongji had provided. As such, Rustram was given the order to set out and guard the northern flank, marching between the likes of Lu Jia Zian and Tam Taewoong. It was always nice working with competent Officers, but Rustram was nervous to have his name spoken alongside these two rising Dragons, and doubly so when the Brigadier’s aide informed him he was to hold operational command. Despite holding the rank of Major attached to the Imperial Defence Force, Rustram had now been granted the authority over any and all Officers deployed on the Northern Flank, a job which should have gone to a Lieutenant Colonel at the very least. Granted, they were probably all being kept in reserve as Demon Slayer squads, but why Rustram was chosen over everyone else, he could only guess. He assumed it had to do with the Legate’s bestowal of rank, which made him all the more fool for having overlooked his talented wife for this distinguished assignment.

Putting aside his internal panic and innumerable complaints, Rustram led his soldiers out to the rear walls where ropes aplenty were already in place to aid in their descent. This left the gates free for the cumbersome wagons carrying all their supplies, and he wasted no time ordering Wang Bao to lead the first group down, if only so he didn’t have to spend any more time with the stiff-backed, straight-laced soldier. Before the first group even made it down to the ground, however, the clamour of battle erupted from the west and Rustram turned to investigate, only to realize there was nothing to see besides the backs of the soldiers manning the inner wall. No doubt the Enemy had Scryed out Hongji’s intentions and were now hellbent on taking Castle JiangHu before too many soldiers escaped, and Rustram offered a prayer to those brave warriors holding the outer wall against all odds, with special focus on Brigadier Hongji and Lady Yan.

But only a short prayer, as time was of the essence. When Rustram turned to order his troops to double time, they’d already sensed his urgency and were all but running down the ropes in their haste to deploy. Good. The sooner they were in place, the sooner he could familiarize himself with the units under his command and rearrange the deployment to best take advantage of their strengths and minimize their weaknesses. It would only be infantry, as any and all cavalry were already out in the field, so there wasn’t much he could do with mismatched units of Imperial Officers. Lately, Rustram was enamoured by the Legate’s ‘wild’ idea that soldiers should not be assigned by faction or affiliation, but rather based on the weapons they carried. Imagine a unit of Spiritual Spear wielding Martial Warriors deployed to guard the flank against cavalry, supporting a unit of shield bearing warriors to hold the centre, while keeping a unit of dual-wielding skirmishers in reserve to hammer at weak points in the enemy line. Cavalry lancers, heavily-armoured hammers, wall-clearing axemen, the beauty of specialization just made too much sense not to fall in love with, but sadly, Martial Warriors would not easily fall in line. If a Warrior’s choice of weapon dictated where he served in battle, then newer, aspiring Warriors would no doubt pick the most ‘popular’ option, rather than what suited them best as they should. Even now, there was a preponderance of swords and spears within the Imperial Army, solely because they were the most efficient weapons in terms of manufacture and training costs. The sad truth of the matter was that most Martial Warriors would never own a Spiritual Weapon, due to the exorbitant costs which went into manufacturing one, though the Legate lucked out by stumbling across Yo Ling’s Spiritual Stone mine.

Which made the Bekhai’s inclination towards the longbow that much more sensible. The weapon took a lifetime to master, but it was a deadly tool in the hands of a competent marksmen, one that could more than make up for the lack of a personal Spiritual Weapon in most battlefield encounters. Only Demons could wholly negate the threat of stinging arrows, as even a Divinity would die if caught unawares, or so he assumed.

Taking one last look at the turbulent western front, Rustram burned the memory into his mind in tribute of the soldiers and irregulars selling their lives to buy their comrades more time. No doubt the Legate or Brigadier Hongji had some plan in place to safely extract the rearguard, but even the best laid plans could go awry. All he could do was play his part and hope for the best, so he set forth to do just that. Ignoring the knotted ropes, Rustram marched up to the edge of the wall, steeled his nerves, checked to see if the bottom was clear, and jumped. Lightening for all he was worth, he kept one hand pressed against the wall to slow his descent ever-so-slightly, though he was still dropping faster than he cared to. Rather than heed his panicked instincts and bracing for impact, he forced himself to relax and kept his knees bent ever so slightly. As the ground rushed up to meet him, he pushed off against the wall as hard as he could while simultaneously Deflecting from both feet, which resulted in a cloud of dust spraying up from under his boots while he quickly but casually bounded across the packed dirt ground with a noticeable spring in his step.

From an outsider’s perspective, it appeared as though Rustram took one step off the wall and continued walking as soon as his feet reached the ground. This was a favoured technique of Mentor’s husband, the Bloody-Fanged Wolf Baatar, allowing him to Cloud-Step into the thick of battle as quickly as possible. The memory was engraved in Rustram’s mind, the valiant Lieutenant General dropping from the skies over Sinuji with a thundering crash and bloodcurdling howl of fury and bloodlust, striking fear into the hearts of friend and foe alike. Unlike Mentor’s husband, Rustram’s descent was much slower and less impressive, more of a controlled fall in which it appeared as if gravity’s hold on him was lessened. Judging by how his landing kicked up a small puff of dust rather than an eruption of dirt and stone, he still had a long ways to go before catching up to the half-wolf hero, assuming he even could.

The flashy descent was something of a waste of Chi, especially since Rustram could have easily just climbed down the ropes, but Mentor taught him to take every opportunity he had to train. Where talent was lacking, hard work must take up the slack. Wasting Chi now was better than wasting Chi later, because so long as he only had to focus on giving orders and moving soldiers into formation, Rustram could still hold onto Balance and replenish his spent reserves, a skill he picked up in yet another of Mentor’s gruelling endurance training sessions. A merciless taskmaster, she was always pushing him towards improvement and instilling him with a drive he didn’t know he had, for which he would forever be grateful. Granted, there were times he wished she would ease up just a little, like when she made him drag a fully-loaded, wheel-less wagon back and forth across a muddy field until it dried, and refusing to let up even after he vomited thrice.

It was his fault really. Rustram always knew he was lacking talent, but Mentor showed him that talent wasn’t everything along the Martial Path, because hard work and painstaking efforts would be rewarded as well.

A lesson many a Martial Warrior needed to learn, but they were a prideful bunch, though not without reason. Even now, Rustram had to work hard not to bask in all the attention and approval emanating from the Warriors around him, which was difficult because it was human nature to enjoy admiration and seek out validation from others. Looking at it from a different perspective, by the simple virtue of becoming a Martial Warrior, you were already a step above most of humanity, a wolf among sheep if you will. Many saw this as ‘good enough’ and were halfhearted in their Martial pursuits, because it took tremendous discipline to put in the hard work required of the Martial Path when you were already considered an elite of the human race. In the same way not all craftsmen took pride in their work, not all Martial Warriors cared to pursue the pinnacle of the Martial Path, seeing it as a career rather than a passion, one many didn’t choose no less. This, in Rustram’s opinion, was the number one thing holding most Martial Warriors back, their lack of passion in the Martial Path, for many were quick to lament their own failings and do absolutely nothing to improve them.

Take Silva, Rustram’s good friend and military aide. A lazy scoundrel of a man, he only took the job because it got him away from the front lines, but Rustram was not so kind as to let Silva slack. In addition to his regular duties, Silva also had to attend his regular training with the rest of the soldiers, as well as his personal training to learn how to Send. Two months passed without progress, and when Rustram was considering having Silva busted back into the ranks, he sought out Bulat for advice who said, “Silva? A right lazy bastard, he is. Ban him from alcohol til’ he learns how t’ ask fer it through Sending. That’ll motivate him to learn right and proper.”

Eight days later, Silva Sent his first request, which was great news, but several months had passed since then and he was only a little better than when he started. Passion and motivation, the former clerk lacked both, and it showed in his lacking Martial progress. Viyan and Birca were the same, but to be fair, Pran and Saluk worked harder than any and still were only marginally stronger than average. Such was the way of the world, however, and much as he’d like to, there was no way to change Silva unless he wanted to change. That said, he only slacked when it came to personal matters, and never cut corners when it came to his job, else Rustram would have long since been rid of him. “The retinue is almost in formation,” Silva began, eschewing a salute as he flipped through a sheaf of documents. “I figured ye’d wanna know ‘bout troop compositions, so I talked to the other officers’ aides and got the skinny.” Rattling off a long list of figures, he gave a brief but detailed report of the other retinues, and Rustram set to work arranging his troops.

In the end, he settled on what the Legate called a checker-board formation, with Tam Taewoong and Lu Jia Zian’s retinues broken up into eight, individual thousand-man units, and joined by Wang Bao and Bulat also commanding a thousand men each. Every unit was arranged in individual square formations along a loose line at the rear of the marching formation, with plenty of space between each unit to create alternating ‘squares’ of troops and empty space. Behind them, Rustram arranged a second row of thousand man units in the same general arrangement, only offset by a single ‘square’ so that the units in the second row occupied the area behind the empty ‘squares’ in the first row. The third row was where he and his archers, crossbowmen, and catapults stood all clumped together, while his reserves were stationed ready on either side in their own little squares.

Not the simplest formation to arrange, but it afforded Rustram the flexibility and adaptability he would need to defend the northern flank since he wasn’t sure which angle the Enemy would attack from. The most likely direction was the west, of course, which was why he had his strongest, most coordinated troops positioned there, but if the Defiled cavalry came in from the North or even the East, then his soldiers could easily shift to meet them. This arrangement also offered plenty of flexibility on the march so that the entire division wasn’t all moving at the speed of their slowest soldier, but still keeping together in a fairly tight-knit formation. What’s more, this afforded Rustram the ability to manoeuvre his soldiers around the battlefield with ease in order to support, reinforce, or even replace different individual units mid-battle without sowing too much chaos or confusion among his own troops.

The downside was that a concentrated cavalry charge could easily punch through a single unit and be on the archers in a flash, not to mention the fact that his Peak Experts were more spread out than he’d like. Still, so long as he kept on his toes and his under-officers obeyed orders, Rustram was confident this was the best formation for his purposes. He would’ve been even more confidence if he’d had time to call a meeting with all his Officers, but getting everyone into proper formation took longer than expected since the soldiers were naturally inclined to stand closer together. When his troops were finally ready, the bulk of Castle JiangHu’s forces were already on the field and Brigadier Hongji gave the order to set out at double speed.

As before, the brave Brigadier had taken personal command of the rear guard and placed Colonel Du Kang Bing in command of the overall retreat, which told Rustram two things. One, was that Hongji intended to find success with the same tactic he used in Sinuji, holding back the Enemy with a small, but elite group of Peak Experts, and two, that the good Brigadier had enough Peak Experts to choose from and could spare the heroic Du Kang Bing who’d been gravely injured during their first withdrawal and was still not yet wholly recovered.

On top of matters as always, Silva passed along relevant Sendings for Rustram’s perusal as they marched away from the fortress, and put together, the reports painted a grim portrait of events. The Legate’s carriage was moving with the main bulk of troops, lingering towards the rear so that his Death Corps were poised to bear the brunt of the Enemy assault, while the southern flank was being held by Ishin Ken-Shibu and a smattering of no-name Central dandies. While the Legate’s Death Corps had also adopted a checker-board formation, the southern flank was stretched out in a barely-recognizable crescent-moon formation, with the prongs of the moon pointed towards the west. This would be fine if they were holding a defensive position, but on the march, it was too easy for the soldiers at the prongs of each moon to lag behind, turning the crescent moon into a single packed mass of bodies leaking a trail of lingering soldiers behind it.

The strength of the half-moon formation was in manipulating the surface area of soldiers in combat at any one time and pushing through the Enemy offensive to blunt their momentum, but it would take far more coordination than what the Central soldiers were exhibiting to pull it off during a march. Perhaps the Death Corps could manage it, but Rustram was unable to name a second group, so he quietly had Silva Send word to the Legate and see if he wanted to intervene. The reply came back negative, as the Legate said to watch and wait, so there was nothing to be done except keep moving.

Minutes passed by in agonizing lethargy as the army marched towards the Citadel at a brisk, but steady pace, and Rustram took to inspecting his lines. There was no real need for it, except to distract himself from the disheartening fact that he had yet to spot smoke on the horizon, which would herald the rearguard’s retreat and Imperial soldiers descending from the eastern wall to join him. More minutes ticked by and the walls shrank in the distance, until Rustram finally spotted movement on the battlements. Fate was a cruel mistress however, as his hopes were dashed by the telltale yellow brigantine armour of the Chosen streaming down the Eastern Wall without a care for safety.

Which meant they’d already slaughtered or subdued any and all Imperial Warriors inside the castle walls. Rest well in the warm embrace of the Mother, Brigadier Chen Hongji, and may fate have mercy on those who killed Du Min Yan, for they would find none from Falling Rain.

Now was not the time for rage or despair, so Rustram put aside all emotion to study his foe. Where his speedy descent was the result of countless hours of careful practice and carefully timed Chi skills, the Chosen relied solely on strength of limb to weather the fall, though not all emerged unscathed. Even from this distance, he could make out Chosen breaking ankles and landing atop other Chosen in their haste to pursue the retreating Imperials, their rabid mannerisms wholly at odds with their neat and orderly appearances. The Legate was right to make no distinction between the Defiled and the Chosen, for in the end, they were truly cut from the same cloth. How strange that a suit of armour and the ability to march in lockstep was all that was needed to mistake crazed killers as disciplined soldiers, though there were some who might argue that again, no distinction was needed.

A soldier’s job was to kill, and there was bloody work to be done.

Keeping his tone calm and quiet, he said, “Sending to Colonel Kang Bing. Major Rustram requesting permission to engage.” With luck, there would still be Imperial forces trying to make their way out of the castle, but they’d never get away with so many Chosen already on the field.

There was a brief pause as Silva relayed the request, but Rustram was already ordering his ranged contingents into formation. Siyar and Ravil had their Martial Warriors wielding crossbows on the north and south flanks respectively, while Sai Chou and her Protectorate were marching with Rustram. Beaming with a smile which made his heart swoon, his beloved winked in acknowledgement of her orders and Sent, “Yes Ser, Major Ser. Might I also say, Ser, that ye looked mighty pretty comin’ down from the wall back there. Might think about gettin’ yerself a cape, Ser, so it kin flutter in th’ wind as ye come down, Ser. Maybe some of them poofy pants too, the mighty fine silk ones with the frills, tho Ser’ll wanna make sure he ties the cuffs down tight, else yer pants might billow out and rip if ye fall too quickly, Ser.”

Doing his best to ignore the breach in protocol and keep his cheeks from turning scarlet, Rustram looked away from his lady love as she yammered on about how exposing himself to the Defiled might actually give them pause. This teasing was just her way of dealing with nerves, because despite her accomplishments in archery and the Martial Dao, Sai Chou was only two years older than Rustram, marking her as a stand-out talent and capable Martial Warrior unlike him. However, she was also never formally trained as a soldier, and while she saw her fair share of action defending the Guardian Turtle around Ping Yao, dealing with poachers and mercenaries was a far cry from battling with the Defiled, and the Chosen were even worse. While she had since blossomed into a formidable veteran of war, as the only unmounted archer unit in the retinue, Sai Chou and the Protectorate had precious little chances to meet the Defiled in close combat, and the prospect still rattled her nerves something fierce.

She was such an enigma, his rough, woodsy woman, brave as a lion, strong as an ox, and beautiful as the sun was bright, yet still too shy to wear a dress unless the occasion demanded it. There was a time when Rustram thought to tame her, but now he saw that there was no need, for her wild nature was part and parcel of her beauty and allure. He loved her as she was, and he eagerly awaited the day when he convinced her to take him as her husband, but to do this, he had to ensure they both survived this coming conflict.

“Colonel Kang Bing’s response: Permission denied.”

“Excellent. Send orders to – wait, denied?”

“Aye Major Mister Rustram.” Offering a halfhearted shrug, Silva added, “No explanation. Orders are to continue marching east at double speed.”

It was the wrong move, in Rustram’s opinion, especially in light of the southern flank’s state of disarray. The Chosen vanguard needed to be quickly dealt with before they picked up momentum and drew even more Defiled away from their bloody, gruesome games. No doubt there were many an Imperial Warrior screaming beneath the blades of their Chosen tormentors, but Rustram could do nothing to save them and could only work to ensure their deaths were not in vain. Should the Chosen catch up and bog down the Imperial retreat long enough, then those captured soldiers would still die, and the withdrawing forces would join them soon after. The Chosen were difficult enough to kill while manning the walls of Castle JiangHu, and Rustram was not looking forward to finding out first-hand how difficult they were to kill on open ground.

Resisting the urge to personally question the Colonel’s reasoning through Sending, Rustram grit his teeth and growled. “Send orders to Ravil and Siyar. Escort duty. They’re to come in tight while the Protectorate open fire on the Defiled as soon as they come in range. I don’t want anyone slowing down to loose one extra arrow, volley and go is the game tonight, volley and go.” The crossbows were too unwieldy to reload on the move, and the Protectorate would move faster without the two escorting units, but Rustram refused to leave anything to chance where Sai Chou was involved. Though it’d been some time since they fought on open ground, Rustram and the Legate had plenty of time to come up with drills and tactics to increase the retinue’s efficiency, and now Rustram was finally putting their training to good use.

It always amazed him how skilled archers could loose an arrow aimed at the sky and kill a Warrior almost a kilometre away. Sai Chou tried to explain the trick to him, keeping track of landmarks as you passed in order to gauge distances more accurately or checking cloud movement to adjust for wind speeds, but it all went straight over his head. Regardless of the calculations involved, seeing Sai Chou bend her bow back never failed to put a smile on his face, and not just because he liked the way she looked while arching her back. The arrows came alive with a hiss and he tracked their flight off into the distance, his smile stretching into a grin as the foremost ranks of Chosen stumbled and faltered beneath the storm of arrows.

Well... storm was something of a misnomer, since they numbered less than three-hundred in total, even after recruiting archers from village huntsmen and the like. Archery was rarely practised outside of the Saint’s Tribulations Mountains, and it was a skill which took at least a decade to pick up and a lifetime to master. Without crossbows or catapults lending their weight to the storm, the majority of Chosen emerged unscathed thanks to mundane armour and inborn toughness as they chased after the withdrawing Imperial forces with alarming alacrity. Proximity only spurred the Chosen on and Rustram could see his troops beginning to falter, not because they were growing tired, but because they were concerned about dying to a spear in the back.

They had to turn and fight. It was now or never.

“Orders from Colonel Kang Bing: Hold this position. Slaughter the Chosen.”

“Acknowledged.”

Rustram was already issuing his own orders before Silva finished speaking, abandoning protocol because he didn’t have the time. It was a sight to behold as Tam Taewoong’s retinue turned as one, joined by Wang Bao’s killers who led the charge against the hated Chosen. Though Rustram couldn’t stand the man personally, there was no denying Wang Bao’s frightening prowess as he closed in with the Enemy and sent three Chosen flying with a swipe of his malefic battle-axe. Even Tam Taewoong didn’t inspire the same courage or terror as the former Butcher Bay Bandit, a fearsome destroyer on the battlefield whose name was sure to soon become known. Mentor once considered finding Wang Bao a Mentor, but after seeing his frightening progress along the Martial Path, she merely shook her head and declare, “That one is a killer born. War and conflict are his Mentors, and anyone else would only get in his way.”

Not to be outdone, Tam Taewoong also made his presence known on the battlefield, in almost the same manner. With every strike, the Benevolent Asura sent Chosen flying into the air or crashing into their comrades behind them, an unstoppable force of fists and feet as he smashed through the opposition. It was easy to see where Wang Bao and Tam Taewoong’s units were at all times, because they were deepest into the enemy, taking pressure off the units around them and blunting the Defiled offensive.

Just enough so that when Ravil and Siyar’s units of crossbowmen unleashed their first volley, their bolts fell down upon a thick cluster of Chosen, rather than the scattered lines of the pursuing vanguard. Then the miniature catapults barked as they unleashed their payload, and the Chosen died in droves, for what the smaller weapons of war lacked in range and power, they more than made up for with accuracy. Mounted atop iron-framed wagons, the miniature catapults were perfectly positioned to launch their stones over the heads of the soldiers in the second row to crash into the Chosen rushing to occupy the empty squares between the units of the first row. Having been loosed from a lower vantage point, the arc of the stones meant they struck the Chosen almost head on rather than raining down from above, and a single body was not enough to stop their powerful force. Seeing the catapults blow holes in the Enemy lines and turn armoured Defiled into a spray of bloody mist, Rustram once again marvelled at the Legate’s brilliance and forethought, devising this flimsy looking battle formation for the express purpose of allowing the miniature catapults to fire into battle.

That said, the Legate never stopped complaining about how it would be so much better if his ‘cannons’ were ready and working, and Rustram could hardly imagine a weapon capable of doing more damage than what he was currently witnessing.

All too soon, the carnage was over as Rustram’s soldiers cleaned up the Northern flank. The Legate’s Death Corps were still hard at work with halberd and catapult, but only because they’d moved on to support the southern flank. However, just as Rustram expected, Ken-Shibu’s crescent moon formation had fallen into disarray during the retreat, and now their battle-lines had become more of a battle blob. Judging the angle too risky to launch stones into, he ordered Ravil, Siyar, and the Protectorate into the gaps of the second row, where their ranged weapons could fire freely into the Defiled rear without risking friendly fire.

There was something off about the chaotic disarray in Ken-Shibu’s lines, but Rustram couldn’t identify it until he hopped onto a catapult wagon for a better view. Where before the prongs of the crescent moon pointed west, now the formation had almost flipped upon itself, with the convex edge engaging the Chosen while the concave side... did... something. If Rustram didn’t know any better, he would say they were sweeping dirt aside, but why they would do this in the middle of battle was beyond his comprehension.

“Orders from Colonel Kang Bing: Dispatch ten-thousand soldiers to support the southern flank.”

“Acknowledged.”

Despite his easy reply, Rustram again believed this action to be a mistake. To support the southern flank, his troops had to swing around the centre and come up behind the Chosen, leaving their flanks exposed and unsupported. Still, orders were orders, so he followed through while keeping an eye on the horizon. There was still a trickle of Chosen streaming out across the plains, but he could already make out the beginnings of an orderly formation assembling just outside the castle as the Enemy commander exerted his control over his deranged berserkers. Hoping to make quick work of this so he could order his troops back into formation, he dispatched the row to take on this risky task, since they were already in fighting form from the initial clash. Positioning his second row to move up should the situation demand it, he sought Balance and stood stock still while watching the Enemy movements.

Their intention to pursue was clear as day, but what Rustram wanted to know was how the Enemy overran the Castle so quickly. Despite the withdrawal, Brigadier Hongji had a full complement of soldiers defending the outer wall, and while they had no irregulars providing ranged support from the inner wall, the walls should have held for hours more unless the Enemy Peak Experts and Demons were in play again. That was the only answer, this or Hongji’s escape plan went horribly awry, but Rustram couldn’t imagine a world in which the meticulous and adaptable Brigadier could blunder so terribly.

A rumbling sounded from the southern flank, and as Rustram whipped his head around to see what it was, he could hardly believe his eyes. While Ken-Shibu’s mixed retinue of Central soldiers and Death Corps held the Chosen back, the soldiers behind him had cleared out an entire swathe of dirt and grass to reveal a massive, underground crevasse. No, not a crevasse, unless nature had carved perfectly hewn stone stairs down into the darkness, but the opening of an escape tunnel which stretched back to Castle JiangHu, with Imperial soldiers streaming out from the tunnel to form up in ranks behind Ken-Shibu’s forces. As Rustram followed the tunnel’s expected path back west, he found the source of the rumbling about halfway between the castle and their current position. A divot in the dirt marked where the tunnel had once stood, now collapsed beneath Mother knows how many tonnes of dirt, stone, and grass. Even as he watched, another large section collapsed, and then a few breaths later, another. How foolish of Rustram to think Hongji would try the same plan twice, for the canny commander had plenty of tricks up his sleeves. Small wonder they left the castle intact, as now the Enemy would have to wonder if there were any more hidden tunnels the Imperials might use to retake it.

As the Chosen numbers dwindled and the fighting died down, Rustram puffed up with pride at his countrymen's accomplishments.

Turning to check on the Chosen movements, he paused to catch Sai Chou’s eye and share his joy, but the expression on her face gave him pause.

Fear.

Time slowed as he turned west once more, just in time to spot the oncoming wave of Demons about to crash into his lines. “Demon Slayers!” he shouted, knowing he lacked the authority to command them and that they might already be too late. “To me!” There was more he had to do, more he should say, but all he could do was deploy his Aura as he watched his beloved Sai Chou. Her fear gave way to stubborn determination, and his heart skipped a beat as she dropped her precious bow to take up the axe, charging forward to meet her Demonic foe with a snarl, a dark, lanky bastard of a Demon with spikes protruding from every surface imaginable. His feet encased in lead, Rustram surged forward to lend his blade to the cause, but a lifetime of distance stretched out between him and his lady love. Sai Chou’s axe caught the Demon’s first attack, but the spiky, spindly creature’s lean frame belied its strength as the blow sent her staggering. At the same time, a Protectorate Warrior threw himself at the Demon in an effort to help, but a spiked fist pulped the poor man’s head and sent his corpse careening to the dirt. Two other Warriors met the same fate in a lightning-fast flurry of blows, and then the Demon’s attention was upon defenceless Sai Chou again, still yet to recover from the first exchange.

An inhuman howl sounded as the Demon’s fist impacted with her midsection. His beloved’s body bent double and a spiked fist emerged from her spine, and only then did Rustram realize the scream was coming from him.

Time resumed as he appeared in front of the Demon, his rapier lancing out to pierce through its eye. Reeling back at the unexpected damage, the creature retaliated with a left jab which flowed seamlessly into a right straight, but Rustram slipped his head to avoid the first and pivoted aside from the second. A chopping left descended from above, aimed at his head, but he Deflected it aside with a flick of his rapier and cut the Demon’s throat on his backswing. Unperturbed by the gush of Ichor rushing down its neck and chest, the Demon shifted into a duellist’s stance which showed it respected him as a foe, but Rustram could not care less. There was only empty rage and cold desperation driving him on, as he fought to kill the Demon and get his lady love to a Healer. He could feel her, lying there in the dirt behind his feet, and so long as he still drew breath, this Demon would not move past him.

His focus razor sharp, Rustram sensed the attacks coming before his eyes registered movements, and he gave himself over to the battle. A barrage of fists was met with a storm of steel, but since even Sai Chou couldn’t meet the attack head on, he could only parry and Deflect them aside and attack on the riposte. At least he could hurt it, his rapier leaving deep furrows in its stony, chitinous skin and slicing off spikes protruding from its body. Barely five seconds had passed and they’d already exchanged blows at least thirty times, its fists moving faster than his eyes could follow and his rapier intercepting each attack with unerring accuracy, but Rustram felt neither pride nor joy, because he knew his beloved was dying behind him.

That punch had gone clean through her abdomen and spine, so even if she was still conscious, Sai Chou didn’t know how to use Panacea to stop the bleeding and extend her life.

Desperation growing as he fought with all his might, he felt panic sinking in. He’d taken an Oath never to share it, else he’d have taught her to use Panacea, but what he failed to do was ask the Legate or Mentor for permission. Oh what a fool Rustram had been, thinking he didn’t want to impose, but Falling Rain was a kind man, and despite her rough edges, Mentor was the same. They would have gladly taught her if she offered to make the same oaths, and the Legate wouldn’t have even wanted that much, but no, Rustram was worried about asking for too much, but how could this be?

Sai Chou was his everything, and he would do anything to save her. Anything.

His Aura washed over her and he wished he could share his love with her, let her feel how much she meant to him and how her mere presence could light up his life. If only he could share his knowledge of Panacea with her, or better yet, fix her injuries for her, but such a feat was beyond him. He couldn’t even Heal the cattle using Panacea, and Mother knows he’d tried, but all his efforts ever earned him was a suspicious glare from the bovine in question, a surly, shaggy bull named Arby. However, Rustram’s desperation knew no bounds, so as he traded blows with the spike-faced Demon, he directed his Chi to produce Panacea within Sai Chou’s body, while simultaneously labouring to share his feelings through Aura.

Because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, there was a good chance there was nothing he could do to save her. As her Aura rose up to meet his, he imagined he felt her love washing over him and feared this was her last farewell, but he could not spare a moment to turn around. Oh how he yearned to take her hand and look deep into her clear, beautiful eyes, but all he could do was radiate his Aura and hope his love and efforts were somehow bearing fruit.

A Spiritual gun barked and the Demon reeled back, affording Rustram an opening to drive his rapier deep into its chest. The blade pierced through the chitinous plates with ease, and Rustram let loose with a scream of frustration as he worked his blade in a ponderous flourish whilst still embedded in the creature’s flesh, dodging and slipping its attempts to strike him from almost point-blank range. Finally, the Demon’s arms dropped at its sides and Rustram booted its carcass away, wholly uncaring of the Ichor eating through his armour and flesh so long as it didn’t come in contact with his lady love. Fear and panic was all he knew as he threw himself down at her side, too afraid to touch her with his Ichor covered hands yet desperate to know if she still lived.

Her eyes were always his favourite thing about her, those clear, beautiful eyes, hiding so much pain and sorrow even on the best of days. There they were, looking back up at him, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive.

Then she blinked, and he felt her Aura seep into his, mingling together in warm, unconditional love.

“I felt it,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Your love. I feel the same for you, beloved.”

“I know,” he replied, leaning into her touch. “I know.” There were no words to express his joy as she closed her eyes and slept, and he knelt there, not understanding how he was Healing her wounds and warding off death, but uncaring so long as it worked.

Because she was his lady love, his reason for drawing breath, the person who made him whole. So long as she was alive, nothing else mattered. Nothing.

Chapter Meme