Savage Divinity

BEHOLD THE CONQUERING HERO, COME TO SAVE THE WEST.

The booming declaration echoes through the inner walls of my mind, a pain unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced, but not so debilitating that I cannot simply grit my teeth and bear it. Standing before the sprawling canvas tent which covers the entirety of this sorry excuse for a fort is none other than the Demon once known as Goujian, the Bloody Confessor displayed in all his unholy glory. My eyes look past the obvious threat, scanning the surroundings for possible traps, but I see nothing besides loose stone and packed dirt in all directions save for whatever is hidden behind the tent. My other senses warn me of imminent danger however, so I choose to land a relatively safe distance away from both Demon and tent. Kuang Biao and three other Peak Expert Death Corps immediately move to position themselves between me and the Demon, upholding their duty the best their Oaths will allow. Naaran, Dad, and Binesi inform me that they are also Concealed and waiting nearby, guarding me from Death Corps and Demon alike. More Peak Experts spread out around me, securing the perimeter and making sure there’s no one hiding behind us, but I somehow already know that the Demonic Confessor is the only presence here.

Aside from the people I brought with me, there is not a single living soul in the vicinity of LuZhou, a fact I am assuredly convinced of by my obscure and esoteric Spiritual Sense, a certainty that brings me no relief or comfort at all.

No one else has reacted to the Demon’s sardonic quip, which leads me to conclude the Demon’s Sending was for me and me alone, but rather than answer immediately, I remain silent to consider my options while studying the horrific abomination before me. A massive, hulking monster which stands at least three metres tall from head to toe, the Demon stands even higher by propping itself up on the four oversized legs protruding out from its hips, blackened appendages which remotely resemble something one might find on a human, but wrong in almost every aspect. The same can be said for the four extra arms folded behind the Demon’s back, and at the time, that is all I note, but now I see what unsettled me so. The creature’s extraneous limbs are subtly misshapen, the joints bent out of shape, the underlying ‘bones’ hidden underneath all too jagged and protruding, all while the sinewy ‘flesh’ flows about in place like black molasses.

And in the darkness of those flowing, palpitating liquid movements, I sense great power lurking far beyond the limits of my comprehension, a secret hidden right in front of my eyes and me without the tools to uncover it.

This same flowing property is shared by the vivid scarlet flesh of Goujian’s ‘original’ body, giving off the impression that the Demon is more liquid than solid, or at the very least covered in a dense, blood-like liquid layer flowing over its true body underneath. A fact which reminds me of the circumstances of its creation, for the blackened limbs were shaped from the liquefied remains of dead Chosen and Wraiths, while the glistening scarlet ‘flesh’ is the result of the dead Confessor’s blood seeping out of his corpse as it was replaced by Demonic Ichor yet still put to good use as an outer layer of defence. There’s a hint somewhere in all this, a piece of the puzzle to help complete the picture, but I know not where it fits in the grand scheme of things and must put it aside for now. All I know is that the flesh of Warriors has power contained within, even moreso when factoring in that the Confessor’s body might well have been a Spiritual Heart in life, seeing how I had to Hone my Domain in addition to the edge of Peace’s blade just to cut through his nigh impenetrable flesh.

Another form of defence, different from that of the assassin Miss Ruo. Goujian’s body was still flesh in life, but more durable than any other living creature I’ve faced, even without his Domain defences in place to counter regular Honing. Miss Ruo on the other hand was seemingly armoured in an invisible suit of solid Chi, a difference which was most discernable when hitting them with my weapon. Flesh has a give to it, a supple strength that absorbs impact and disperses it throughout the human body, while the Chi armour was hard and rigid, and I suspect prone to shattering if hit the right way. How will the Demonic Confessor’s defences compare?

A mystery worth exploring when I have the time, but there are more pressing questions to consider.

Not even a second has passed since I set foot in LuZhou, yet already I am eager to leave, for there is an unsettling presence here which I yearn to be away from, one which makes my skin crawl and has nothing to do with the Bloody Confessor’s appearance. This is not to say the Demon isn’t disturbing to behold, poised in mid-air with its three heads bowed over its bloody hands pressed together in prayer, like some corrupted holy being here to herald our doom. The heads are the most human thing about the Demon, with each one bearing the Confessor’s likeness as it was in life, yet almost frozen and artificial in expression. The central head wears a mask of peaceful serenity, its eyes closed and features unnaturally slack, while the left face of Wrath and right face of Despair fix me sidelong with a glare and gaze of fury and horror both. Though the faces themselves are contrived and stilted, the emotions still translate well enough that I can almost believe this is simply another transformation of Goujian standing before me, but I know that the real Confessor is trapped inside. What I see is no man or transformation of one, but a twisted caricature of something that only barely resembles life, an unnatural creature of dark emotion that yearns to live almost as much as it yearns to destroy the living.

And in the moment, I realize that this means it cannot be Goujian speaking to me, nor the Demon itself, but someone else speaking through it.

“So you must be... the Uniter,” I utter, speaking out loud for everyone to hear as I remember I can’t call him Zhen Shi just yet, as that’s still something of a secret. Dad and the rest of my guards go on alert at the sound of our Enemy commander’s name, but I strive to appear more relaxed and nonchalant, though I’m not entirely sure if that will translate over to Zhen Shi. Is he controlling the Demon like a meat suit he wears, or did the Demon inform him that I’m here and is acting like a radio to transmit Zhen Shi’s Sending? It does not occur to me to think about it at the time, only knowing I am now speaking to an actual monster who gave up his humanity for reasons not entirely known. I play the part of calm, cool, and collected while focusing on my righteous determination to keep my wavering Aura in check. “How disappointing. Not only are you too scared to stand and fight, you don’t even dare show your face.”

YOU THINK THIS SOVEREIGN SCARED, LITTLE WORM? YOU ARE NOTHING AND NO ONE, A PAWN AND ANNOYANCE IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS. A WASTE OF THIS SOVEREIGN’S ATTENTIONS, THESE WHIMSICAL GAMES OF WAR AND CONQUEST, AND YET ATTENTION LITTLE WORM STILL DEMANDS.

Though bearable, it irks me how painful it is to speak with him, which I suppose is the point. Loud Sendings are boisterous and disorienting, but they don’t cause any actual pain, physical or otherwise. It’s just unpleasant and surprising if you aren’t expecting it. In contrast, Zhen Shi’s words grate on my nerves like pin-pricks of electrical shocks being set off all over my mind and body both. It scours away at my skin like swimming through a sea of broken glass and chips away my sanity like nails driven into my soul, a pain that is all too real and yet lacks any actual substance, and still somehow sets my body afire.

And yet, the moment I even consider defending against this overbearing presence, my Domain Deploys to insulate me from the worst of Zhen Shi’s ill-intent. There is more to it than putting up a Domain, for rather than radiating out in all directions like a bubble of Chi, it pulses once to wash away the pain and discomfort before adjusting itself to guard against further harm. Even though I am the one in control, I have no idea what I am doing even as I do it, not in a way that can be easily explained. The closest comparison I have is the process through which the human immune system adapts to remember foreign cells after coming across them once, as my Domain now recognizes the harmful effects of Zhen Shi’s Sendings and will filter them out in the future.

The ‘what’ occurs to me as I observe what has happened, but the ‘how’ is complex and ineffable. The knowledge of what to do just pops into my mind and I follow through, the same way I helped alleviate Mila’s nausea on the boat ride south through intent alone. I did not arrive at these answers through instinct or intuition, but Insight, which I now believe comes from Blobby’s nearby presence. Taduk once alluded to Elemental Spirits years ago and called them the source of Heavenly Energy in our world, but I’ve found that there’s more to it than just that. Blobby isn’t sentient, not in the way an animal or human might be, but he always responded to my thoughts and emotions in a very real way, and it seems as if he’s more eager than ever to communicate and assist me. I’d forgotten what it was like having him around, because even though I’ve always known there’s a part of him inside me, his ‘voice’ has been lessened and muted ever since I ‘lost’ him in Nan Ping Bay, likely because I had to give something up to do so.

But now he’s back, and with his help, I intend to take down this ancient monster and put an end to the united Defiled threat once and for all.

The Demon shows no sign of surprise in its facial expressions or posture, but the tone of Zhen Shi’s Sending gives his emotions away. “So Little Worm can learn and adapt, a promising a pawn as ever, yet still merely a pawn to be sacrificed.” Such a small and petty man, his irritation is evident now that his Sendings no longer cause me pain. The suffering caused is not incidental, but intentional, done solely for the sake of suffering, which is a far cry from the curious scholar he began his life as. A conclusion arrived at not through Insight, but intuition, for I have spent many a night poring over his notes, written over the course of several centuries if the contents are to be believed. The first half depicts a man dedicated to discovering the truth, one who refused to be held back by petty concerns like scruples or morality, but the second half of his notes which I received from Shuai Jiao painted a very different picture. Gone was the carefully neutral tone and the meticulous annotations, and in their place was the ramblings of a madman who’d slipped into depravity to become a monster cloaked in human flesh, one who needed no purpose or cause to inflict pain, for he derived pleasure from the act itself.

A scholar who was led astray by the Father’s foul minions and lost himself along the way? Or was Zhen Shi a sadistic torturer all along, one who would have found any excuse to commit the atrocities he carried out in the name of progress and experimentation? Did he notice himself slipping down the dangerous slope, and if he did, did he even care?

Difficult to say, but as I face the Demonic Confessor and conversed with Zhen Shi, all I felt was relief that his words could no longer hurt me, and pride in accomplishing such a feat on my own. “For someone who always complains about how busy he is, you sure do love to repeat yourself.” In hindsight, revealing that I’ve spoken to this monster before is not ideal, but pride made me flippant and overconfident. What’s done is done, but more interesting is how similar this conversation is to the ones I’ve had with him before, with many of the same tired phrases and tactics repeated here once again. I thought Gen Shi was easy to see through because Zhen Shi was limited by the need to keep Gen’s delusions from shattering, but the original is every bit as unimaginative as the puppet, using these power games to foster an abusive dynamic between us and allow him to more easily influence my actions. “Me Sovereign, you little worm, minor annoyance, grand schemes, hurr durr. Next comes more insults followed by backhanded compliments, only to conclude with honeyed promises laced with dire threats encouraging me to submit to your will, which I will inevitably reject and you can do absolutely nothing about it. I’m bored of this already, so perhaps I should just slaughter this Demon and be done with it."

Though I move to draw Unity, I don’t intend to lead the charge as I can sense I am outclassed. The Bloody Confessor exudes menace and power that is palpable in the air, and I cannot tell if the threatening atmosphere is lending strength to the Demon, or if the Demon itself is the source of said atmosphere. Even Bai Qi didn’t seem so daunting when I faced off against him, because regardless of his formidable strength, the Lord of Martial Peace was still human yet. Not so with this alien creature before me, one that looks just human enough to make the discrepancies that much more alarming. The left face of Wrath has a mouth full of shark-like fangs, while the right face of Despair’s eyes cry tears of blackened sludge, and the central face is so immobile it might as well be carved on.

There is no name for the central face, because I cannot quite put a name to its expression. It is not peace or serenity, not tranquility or composure, for there is nothing so warm or amicable present in its frozen aspect, only cold, empty desolation, a blank chasm of emotion so immense I fear to even look too deeply within.

And like that, I realize why the central face scares me so, because it represents the barren void of surrender, the escape I so desperately desired and never could attain.

I don’t need to attack the Demon myself, as there are many other Peak Experts present and Divinities to keep their opposing counterparts in check. Still I hesitate to give the order to attack, my attention fixed on the massive canvas tent sat behind the Demonic Confessor, attention which does not go unnoticed. “The impatience of youth,” Zhen Shi retorts, his tone smug and unconcerned by my desire to do battle. “This Sovereign has said already that he has no time or attention to spare Little Worm. Too many other concerns to attend to now that the true conflict has come to a head, sooner than this Sovereign first anticipated, but preparations have long since been laid.”

The Demon moves and my guards form up to defend me, but no attack comes as the abomination retreats through the air, pulling back the canvas tent as it passes to reveal the grisly horrors hidden underneath. Wherever the sun shines in LuZhou, an atrocity is being depicted, and I am forced to retract my earlier criticism regarding Zhen Shi’s lacking imagination. The scene is so graphic and imaginative I am unable to comprehend it in its entirety as my mind refuses to interpret what my eyes are showing it. Murder, rape, cannibalism, and torture are the words to describe it, but they fall woefully short of matching the sheer dread and disgust this horrific spectacle presents, with no two scenes repeated through the thousands of details present. The children gutting their mother to feast on her warm flesh. The father holding down his daughter for another man to indulge his lust. The wife feasting on her husband’s entrails while their children watch in horror. The Warrior torn apart by the people he sought to defend. The beggars being torn apart in the streets while the crowd watches with glee. These are but a handful of the scenes I take in at first glance, and there are thousands of others hidden within this tapestry of death and emotion, ones that assault my mind and sensibilities and leave me screaming with anger and hatred both.

“Little Worm will find naught but death and suffering in every city and harbour you visit, your every step in this Sovereign’s domain paved with the blood of the meek and innocent.” Zhen Shi whispers, glee and exhilaration oozing out of his every word, drinking deep from the well of my suffering. “You seek to preserve the lives of the people of the West? Then return home to your Citadel and wait until this Sovereign has the time to spare, or see millions slaughtered to herald your arrival. What lands you take are yours to keep, but you will find no survivors to rescue, the sweet taste of victory tainted by the bitter draught of your own futile efforts.”

And then, the Demon is gone, and with it, Zhen Shi’s Sendings, leaving me alone with my screams of rage and frustration. Falling Rain, Legate of the Outer Provinces, helpless today as he was all those years ago when he first appeared in this world as a twelve year old slave.

I stop the playback of my memories and return to the beginning, studying every word, action, and nuance for clues on what to do next.

BEHOLD THE CONQUERING HERO, COME TO SAVE THE WEST.

The pain strikes me anew, fresh and agonizing as the first time, for I am doing more than merely remembering, but reliving my memories in the moment for the sole purposes of examining my every thought and action as well. Was I led to unleash my anger and despair on the army behind me, or was that merely a happy little accident for Zhen Shi? What of my thoughts and emotions in the moment? Did my fear and uncertainty originate from my own mind, or were they planted there to influence my actions and decision? Did my foe reveal anything of note which I overlooked? Is there something in my memories that can help me make sense of the multitude of questions I have burning in the back of my mind, or perhaps a better question to ask instead? For these reasons and more, I relive my memories of those few, short minutes over and over again, suspecting everything and taking nothing for granted until I am unsure of up or down, left from right, but each time, I uncover something new to consider or a different light to shine on the perspective.

The Demonic Confessor is fast and powerful, but it was ready to flee at my approach, a conclusion I arrived at after noticing a subtle change in its posture as I first stepped foot inside LuZhou. Is this out of concern for my Devouring abilities, or a feint to make me overconfident in future encounters?

My Spiritual Sense is more similar to sight than touch, in that I am not reaching out to explore with it, but rather am using it to interpret information that is already present. How? By gauging the changes in Heavenly Energy, like how one perceives temperature through the exchange of heat? Or am I reading the signs left behind in the flow of Heavenly Energy, like seeing ripples over the water? Maybe I’m wrong, and it’s the Mother Above speaking to me from on high, but if so, it’d be nice if She were a little more clear-cut and concise with Her advice.

Zhen Shi was surprised when I went on my spiel about his same, tired old arguments. He didn’t know I’d heard his hard sell before, because he wasn’t the one who tried to sell it to me. At least it confirms my theories about Gen Shi and proves that Zhen Shi is not omnipotent, as he doesn’t even know everything about what his puppets do and don’t do. Can I use this information? I don’t know, but know thy enemy and all that.

There were at least two Concealed Divinities present, both outside the walls of LuZhou, and I suspect there were even more lurking in the wings. I only found two because of the shadows they cast, not ones of light and darkness, but shadow in perception. Even though I kept my head on a swivel on the approach, I never once stopped to look east, nor did I take any time to study the south-west section of LuZhou while scanning the surroundings. Concealment convinced me to gloss over those two directions, and considering they were already settled in place before my ship even arrived in the harbour, then it could mean they were already lying here in wait, though I should ask the accompanying Divinities if it was any of them.

Time and time again, I relive those memories and find precious little information for all my efforts and suffering, but I endure and persist in hopes of uncovering something to ease my troubled conscience. I had nothing to do with all those deaths, and yet I feel responsible all the same, for they would not have died so terribly if not for my crusade against the West. Zhen Shi has made it clear that he will not fight, so even if I march in with this army at my back to retake vast swathes of the conquered West, what good will it do if there is no one left to live here? The cost of this campaign will be paid for in the blood of innocents, so how can I continue onwards knowing what I know now? Doing so would be as good as engaging a hostage taker who has bombs strapped to his prisoners, their deaths a direct result of my own actions and decisions, and so I must tread carefully from here on out.

And to do that, I need answers, but there are precious few to be found. What did Zhen Shi mean when he said the true conflict has come to a head? Who is he fighting against? The East? If so, why didn’t they loop me in on the attempt, or inform anyone in the outer provinces? What’s happening to make Zhen Shi slaughter not just innocents, but his own Defiled alongside them in order to create this hideous depiction of suffering and depravity? In fact, if he’s killing so many people just to deny me my victory, why even go to so much trouble to set the stage in the first place? Easier to just slaughter them en masse, or set his Defiled tribesmen loose on them, but neither one of those options could create a scene so meticulously detailed for me to study.

So he must have another reason to pose the dead in this manner, but I cannot for the life of me understand why. I need answers, but I will not find them here, hiding in the depths of my mind and soul, so I must look elsewhere if I am to be satisfied.

Breaking out of the cyclical repetition of memories, I sit up from my bed with the intent to leave my Natal Palace and return to the world of the waking, but my movements bring me over to Buddy, who sits vigilant atop my throne. Glancing back at me as I approach, he bares his fangs in a non-threatening manner, his rumbling growl deep and reassuring as he lets me know he has matters under control, though I know not what he is guarding against. Spectral intrusions I suppose, and possibly also Natal Soul invaders, but I can’t see Zhen Shi risking his own immortal soul to come contest me here in mine, not after seeing how he sent Gen Shi over to test the waters several times before and never followed through. The same can be said for Spectres, as entering my Natal Palace is all but gifting themselves over to be Cleansed and repurposed into usable Heavenly Energy, a resource which I am sorely lacking.

That’s neither here nor there though, as I did not come to Buddy for a report. Instead, I slide into the chair beside him and scratch his head while basking in the warmth of his comforting presence, finding solace in his company and existence even though I am not entirely certain if he is real or just another delusion of my own devising. Either way, he’s still my best friend and the greatest dog there ever was, because he was my dog, and greatness is all about perspective. “I have questions,” I declare, to which Buddy’s only response is a muted woof protesting how I’ve stopped giving scritches. “I’ve been trying to find answers, but I keep coming up short, and I doubt I’ll get anywhere going around in circles like this.” Another woof, this time more insistent and accompanied by a little dance of his front paws, alternating between left and right to tippy tap in anxious expectation. Giving in to his demands, I pat his head and scratch his neck until I hit the perfect spot that sets his back leg to twitching, a sight which does much to ease my doubts and apprehensions. Not because it provided any sort of answer to the troubles that plague me, but simply because it’s cute, and cute is soothing for the soul.

“Yea, you’re a good dog,” I declare, as if he’d actually said something of value, but not all dogs are working dogs. Some exist solely to be pampered, and Buddy is a bit of both. The declaration earns me a lick to the face before he presses his head against my chest, sinking in with a sigh after a long vigilant watch and happy just to be in my company. This is the kind of bliss I want, the ability to simply enjoy what I already have, but alas, my stupid human brain won’t shut up and let me be happy.

After spending far too much time delaying the inevitable and not enough time showering my dog with affection, I kiss his doggy head goodbye and emerge from my Natal Palace to return to the waking world. Gathered around me in a protective half circle are Lin-Lin, Yan, Mila, and Song, while my pets huddle in around us and Akanai and Grandpa Du loom overhead. The rest of my guards have made themselves scarce while I deliberated on answers to more questions than I care to list, but their consideration has all been for naught, as I’m nowhere close to a proper answer. “Sorry for making you all worry,” I say, clutching Lin-Lin close while squeezing Mila and Yan’s hands and offering Song a nod of thanks. Without them, I might well have lost myself to anger and despair, especially Song whose loving Aura helped not only pull me back from the brink, but also supported me emotionally until I could stand on my own two feet again. “I’m okay now, and I won’t lose myself like that again.”

“Good.” Though the declaration is terse and to the point, Akanai’s approving nod speaks volume to her relief, as she is rarely so free with her praise, but then she moves straight onto business. “The commanders have discussed the matter, and we are deadlocked in a decision. The pup, myself, and Gao Liang are of a mind to push forward, while Nian Zu, Zhang He, and Liu Xuande believe we should turn back.”

Though she’d never come out and say it, Akanai wants me to make the decision, because she is not entirely convinced her decision is the right one. I assume Nian Zu and the others are the same as well, else they’d still be arguing over what to do next instead of waiting for me to weigh in. Though I want nothing more than to spend the rest of the day in the company of my pets and loved ones, the burden of command is a heavy one which I cannot just set aside. Taking only a minute to reassure my spooked floofs, I step out to hold a meeting with my commanders. Dad, Akanai, and Gao Liang are in favour of pressing the attack for one reason only, because even if Zhen Shi slaughters swathes of Westerners as he retreats, any ground gained is worth it in the long run. Cold and calculating to the extreme, but not wrong if you consider the fact that even just holding the coastline is enough to restrict the Defiled from attacking the Northern section of the Wall. If the Enemy presses forward and overextends, we could just send ships filled with cavalry down the coastline to flank the Defiled army from behind, an aggressive defence that suits Dad and Akanai’s personalities perfectly. What’s more, now that the Central Citadel’s formidable defences are already in place, this would mean the most likely area to come under Enemy attack would be somewhere on the southern front, so we can just station more troops there in preparation.

As for those in favour of withdrawing, they all have different reasons. Nian Zu wants to retreat because we’ve lost the initiative and should return to regroup and put together a smaller, more clandestine counter-attack, one that can strike before the Enemy slaughters all their prisoners in a most horrific manner. Liu Xuande’s argument is even simpler, because if the Enemy is willing to cut off its nose to spite its face, then there is nothing to be gained from continuing the attack, and everything to lose. A poor gamble if there ever was one, but a logical conclusion from my master tactician, and one I would be foolish to ignore. As for Zhang He, his decision is rooted in neither logic nor strategy, because having seen firsthand the horrors Zhen Shi has wrought upon his fellow countrymen, he now believes there is nothing worth saving in the west and has retired to his cabin to drink.

Technically, an offence punishable by death under military law, but instead, I set Gao Liang on him and let the two Westerners mourn in their own way, while asking Dad to keep an eye on our erstwhile Admiral. Cham died all those years ago because I couldn’t keep a handle on his vices and let him wander into battle drunk, so I’ll be damned if I do the same with Zhang He, not when the stakes are this high.

Regardless of their reasons, they all make good arguments which I must take into consideration, but my decision is to delay and keep searching for answers. Turning back accomplishes nothing, but the same could be said about pushing forward without rethinking our plan, so I put forth that we take a breather to plan our next step while reclaiming the harbour and building it up into something we can defend and resupply from. Also a place not so horrific to set foot in, because even though we’ve reduced the entire gruesome composition to nothing but bloodstains and ashes, the air is still rife with the stench of murder and suffering. This is similar to the dour atmosphere pervading the Central Citadel in the aftermath of Bai Qi’s siege, a lingering ambience of misery and despair that pervaded the thoughts of everyone living there. History shows that time will disperse these dark clouds overhead, but we cannot afford to wait, nor can we afford to abandon this pivotal harbour location. The terrain and coastline around LuZhou makes it easy to defend against attacks from land and by sea, meaning it is the perfect stepping stone from which to retake the West.

After conferring with my commanders, I visit the ships closest to the harbour and the horrors hidden within to bolster morale and check for Spectres or Defiled, but my efforts turn up nothing. That’s par for the course these past few months, and the absence of Spectres has been both reassuring and unnerving. I know they’re all hiding from me in the Void, but I’m not sure if this means they can’t influence Martial Warriors from there. They swarmed into my Natal Palace from the Void fairly easily, and while that turned out to be a blessing in disguise, one wrong step or moment of weakness could have led to disaster.

Which is why I cannot let my guard down just yet, as well as the minor fact that I cannot trust the Brotherhood to help me uncover Defiled traitors lurking within our midst. Putting aside the questions regarding Monk Happy’s presence at Shuai Jiao’s meeting, I doubt the Brotherhood would out any Defiled hiding in my ranks while knowing I plan to execute them. Though the Defiled can be saved, it requires a hell of a lot more effort on everyone’s part, and killing is just the quickest and easiest solution. Ideally, rehabilitation would be best, but I cannot afford to take on more risks than I already am, an outlook the Brotherhood does not agree with, considering they believe that this life is merely a test, and death is not the end nor the failure it appears to be.

I still have no proof that the Brotherhood attended Shuai Jiao’s meeting, much less that they took part with nefarious intent, but what bothers me more is that Monk Happy hasn’t come out to admit it. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that Monk Happy was sitting at the table before I burst into Shuai Jiao’s courtyard uninvited, alongside Shen ZhenWu or some other lofty Royal Imperial, and Monk Happy has to have noticed the loss of my complete trust, but he has yet to come ask me about it. If he did, I would give voice to my suspicions just to hear him confirm or deny them, but he’s acting like nothing has changed in the week or so since. I’d be a fool to think he really doesn’t know, which means he’s avoiding the topic for a reason, and what reason could there be if his presence at the meeting was to aid me in my cause?

He was there and not because he was following me, that much is clear even without any actual proof, but while I can no longer trust the Brotherhood entirely, I can at least trust them enough to discuss matters pertaining to the Dao, so long as I vet their answers with a clear mind.

Still seeking answers about what happened here, I head back to LuZhou where the monks have gathered to chant their Sutras after overseeing the mass cremations for the dead. The air is still heavy smoke even though the fires stopped burning several hours ago, and there’s an oily film over everything that I try my best to ignore and not think about, mostly for the sake of my sanity. Seeing me approach, Monk Bones steps in to keep the beat and free Monk Happy to speak with me. The usually cheery monk is more sombre today, and I cannot say I blame him, not when the ashes of the dead sit so thick that our boots leave footprints as we move through it. Monk Happy’s vibrant red ceremonial robes and yellow sash are both caked in ashes as well, and it’s a wonder his face is as clean as it is, so I offer him the respect he deserves after a hard day like today and greet him as an Initiate would. “This one is lost and comes seeking answers.”

“And this monk will endeavour to provide.” Gesturing for me to lead the way, we set out on a slow stroll around the ruined harbour as soldiers bustle about getting defences and latrines in place, but where there was a time when I would have felt at ease leaving him to obscure our discussion, I personally put up a shroud of Concealment and Sound Barrier myself.

Paranoid, I know, but even though I’m almost certain Monk Happy would never leave an opening for my enemies to use, I still feel better taking care of things myself.

This is what my life has come to, guarding not only against my enemies, but my allies as well. The Death Corps, the Brotherhood, Central, South, East, and god knows who else, I trust the Defiled more than I trust any of them, because at least the Enemy is openly trying to take my life, as opposed to harbouring hidden intents.

“This,” I begin, waving around us at the death and suffering that has all been cleared away and Sending because I’m just that paranoid. “I want to know why Zhen Shi bothered with all of this.”

“The killing? This one has no answer for this, Junior Brother, for the mind of a massed murderer is beyond my comprehension.”

“No, not why he kills, but why he did all this. More specifically, why stage the corpses in such a detailed and intricate display? What benefit does he gain from macabre decor?”

“Ah.” Nodding in comprehension, Monk Happy looks more tired and defeated than I’ve ever seen him, even during the funerals he held for his fellow brothers after Gen Shi’s attempt on the Abbot’s life. “This monk understands, but Junior Brother has all the knowledge and experience required to arrive at the answer himself.”

I have my guesses, but I’m not entirely sure. “I suspect he did it to elicit an emotional response from me and everyone else who sees it, but if that’s the case, there are easier ways to go about it.” At Monk Happy’s raised eyebrow, I shrug and Send, “He could’ve just strung their bodies out along the coastline or piled them up high in one giant mountain. Why go to all the trouble of posing each and every individual body?”

“I suspect,” Monk Happy stresses, heaving a defeated sigh, “This is because he seeks to elevate death to an art form.” Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow, and Monk Happy explains, “You have experienced firsthand the effect music has on soul and Heavenly Energy in general, but the same effect can be produced through any medium of art. Painting, calligraphy, carving, pottery, regardless of what medium the work takes, the grandest works of art can touch the human soul and in turn even affect how the Energy of the Heavens behaves, sometimes even in a predictable way.”

Though Luo-Luo’s music is the most obvious example, the mediums Monk Happy rattled off are curious considering he left out dance, poetry, and various other more comparable types of art, which leads me to believe he’s trying to guide me to a certain answer. Painting, calligraphy, carving, and pottery, all art forms heavily dependant on imagery, which seems to parallel what Zhen Shi was doing here, but what does that have to do with anything? How is a bunch of art supposed to affect the Energy of the Heavens in...

Oh. Runic Inscriptions.

“Zhen Shi went to all this effort to create... what? A Rune comprised of corpses?”

“Close.”

That is all I get from the weary monk, which isn’t all that unusual. No one in the Brotherhood likes to just give answers, because the truth hits harder when you stumble over it yourself. If Zhen Shi wasn’t trying to make a Rune, then what was he doing instead? Taking a step back, what are Runes to begin with? Yo Ling called them the language of Heavenly Energy, but they’re not a language that can be translated and read by all. A Rune is more of a concept in which the speaker, namely the Runic Craftsmen, attempts to bridge the gap between human intent and natural law by persuading the Energy of the Heavens to act in a certain way with reproducible results. So if Zhen Shi wasn’t trying to create a Rune with his creepy corpse artwork, then...

“He was attempting to commune with the Energy of the Heavens?”

“Very possible.” Unwilling to speak in certainties, Monk Happy explains, “It’s often seen in those caught in the spell of the Spectres, a compulsion to put together these grotesque creations for no discernible reason at all, but there is evidence that such works can bring about a certain sense of Insight or affect some change on the creator and sometimes even the spectators, though much is still unknown regarding the technical details behind the process.” Looking sidelong at my Spiritual Weapons, he adds, “Perhaps a more familiar example would be the manner in which a Divine Blacksmith will mutilate an animal’s corpse to create a weapon for the sole purpose of killing.”

Now there’s a spin I absolutely hate, but I can’t exactly argue against it. I’ve seen Mila in the throes of Inspiration, and it’s different enough that even Imperials use a different term for what’s more or less the same thing as Insight. Putting aside the morality of creating Spiritual Weapons, the long and short of it is that Inspiration is a phenomenon that we all know happens, but no one has any idea regarding the what, why, or how. Maybe that’s why the Brotherhood monks keep making so much art day in and day out, a sort of concentrated effort to study this subject in detail. “So Zhen Shi builds his corpse art in order to seek Insight from the Heavens above. Was his painting really so terrible?”

“You jest, but remember, the Energy of the Heavens is the power of Creation and Destruction both.” Gesturing at the ashes billowing about us, Monk Happy Sends, “There is power in life and beauty, but also power in death and morbidity, and it is the latter this ‘True Corpse’ has studied for nigh on eight centuries now.”

Well, at least his name makes more sense now. “I see... sort of.”

“Suffice it to say, there is power in art, for art is the means through which the human mind connects with the soul.” Raising one hand in prayer, Monk Happy utters, “OM MANI PADME HUM,” a short utterance which explodes behind my eardrums in a manner similar to how Zhen Shi’s Sendings injured me earlier today, and I do not appreciate the unexpected demonstration. Still, it’s useful information, because maybe now I can turn my broadcast Sendings into something more than a measly jump scare. “You see?” Monk Happy continues, gazing around in forlorn melancholy. “Art can move the soul and the Energy of the Heavens both, but just as it can move one to tears of joy or tears of sorrow, so too can it be used to create or destroy. This monk knows not what dark intent our foe had in mind here, but it is difficult not to see the harm his efforts have wrought. This is destruction on a level difficult for our mortal minds to comprehend, but we can sense the damage in the air around us, the lingering grudges of the dead leaving an invisible scar in the very fabric of the Heavens themselves which affects everyone who walks here.”

“A scar eh?” Shrugging, I pat Monk Happy on the shoulder to try and raise his spirits, because I’ve never seen him so down. “Well... I don’t know much about anything, but I know scars can be Healed. I believe the same phenomenon occurred at the Central Citadel, and that cleared up in a matter of weeks.”

“An accidental cut and a deliberate one can differ in more than intent, especially when the intent is malicious in nature.”

He’s got me there. That being said, if Zhen Shi is staging these macabre tableaus with a deliberate purpose in mind, then that means he needs time to plan, prepare, and put together whatever artistic vision he has in mind, and now I know what I must do. “Thank you for your guidance.”

“You have found the answers you seek?”

“No, a different answer to a question I didn’t think to ask.” Without bothering to explain, I Send word to my guards and head back to the ship to find Gao Liang, or rather Gao Changgong, Major General of the West and all-around bad-ass Warrior burning for vengeance. Though the grizzled veteran is deep in his cups from consoling our shaken Admiral, Martial Warriors have this nifty ability to purge alcohol from their system, and soon enough a sober Gao Changgong stands ready and waiting for orders. “Gather as many Peak Experts as you can, but only volunteers willing to put their lives at great risk.”

“There are a hundred and eighty three Peak Experts under this one’s command.” In response to the second part of my question, the stalwart Major General stands tall and proud as he declares, “The remaining sons and daughters of the West are all willing to die for the chance to free our countrymen from the Enemy.”

A formidable gathering of Peak Experts, but considering he coordinated the Western resistance for months, it makes sense that he gathered a fair number of survivors to his banner. Let’s call it a round three hundred in total, including my guards and whoever else Dad insists on bringing along. Not as many as I’d like, but I don’t know if I can spare any more, much less convince them to roll the dice with their lives alongside me. “Okay. Come with me. We’re heading out to attack the Enemy.”

“By your command, Legate.”

Gao Changgong doesn’t blink an eye at the quick reversal on my earlier decision to sit and recuperate, or even ask what sort of risk I’m asking his Peak Experts to take, which is good because of operational security, but I cannot resist sharing just a little. “So,” I Send, heading over towards Dad’s ship to discuss my hare-brained scheme, because even though Akanai will probably support my idea, she’s also likely to take over and tell me to stay out of the way. “You think we can take a fort with only three hundred Peak Experts?”

Damn it. Stupid question to ask, because even if his answer’s no, I’m still going to give it a try.

Chapter Meme