Savage Divinity

Demons. The embodiments of anger and hatred, the harbingers of war and strife, the heralds of death and destruction, these nightmarish monstrosities were known by many names and feared by most, but in Zian’s eyes, they were merely stepping stones on his Path to the Martial Peak.

Or at least, that’s what he reminded himself as he stood firm before the wave of Demons barrelling down upon him.

There were humanoid Demons and bestial Demons, enormous Demons and diminutive Demons, revolting Demons and beguiling Demons, Demons of every shape and colour imaginable it seemed. He’d heard tales of the massive Demonic horde which took part in Bai Qi’s siege of the Central Citadel, and while the group gathered here likely fell far short in comparison, they still made for an imposing sight. The pressure they exerted on his Aura was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, a crushing weight upon his mind and soul that took him firmly in hand to squeeze him from all sides. There were no tactics to rely on, no experience to draw from, no plan of action to secure victory here today. All Zian could do was stand fast and believe that his strength and the strength of his allies would be enough to see them through this battle, because the alternative was death and defeat, an outcome he refused to accept.

Palms sweating and heart racing, he moved his twin sabres about in a slow, defensive pattern in preparation to receive his foes, though he had no real need to warm up. Since emerging from the tunnels under Pan Si Xing, he’d hardly had a moment to breathe much less rest as he waded through a veritable swarm of crazed Defiled assailants. Easy as chopping firewood, or so the idiom would have you believe, though Zian was beginning to believe the person who came up with it had never chopped a single log in their life. The work was simple enough and anyone could figure it out after a few tries, but chop enough wood and even the greatest Warrior in the Empire would eventually topple over in exhaustion, and the Defiled of Pan Si Xing constituted a veritable mountain of wood which needed to be chopped. Leaden arms and burning lungs were the least of his problems though, as the hot Western sun sapped away what little strength and moisture he had left. Despite having emptied two full water-skins into his gullet since the battle began, Zian’s mouth still felt drier than the desert sand plaguing every crack and crevice in his body.

And yet, still he felt the need to twirl his weapons about, because if he didn’t work off some of this nervous energy, he feared he would become unmanned and start trembling before his foes.

This wasn’t due to lack of courage mind you. It was perfectly natural to feel apprehensive in a situation such as this, and trembling was a perfect natural reaction to apprehension. Rain might have an answer for why that was, but Zian didn’t care one whit about the why and only wanted to know how to stop it. Even though there was nothing abnormal about his reaction when coming face to face with so many Demons, as leader of his Warriors, how could he be the first to show fear? He was Situ Jia Zian, young Patriarch of the Situ Clan, a name and title that rang hollow in a way he never noticed until recently. What happened to the man who decided to honour his father’s name? What happened to the man who resolved to strike out from Clan and Society in order to make his father’s name known? Lu Jia Zian, son of Lu An Jing and Situ Jia Ying, Disciple of Jukai and Situ Jia Yang, that was the man he wanted to be, but then...

Then Mother came along and decided everything for herself.

He couldn’t take his father’s name, because his father had agreed to marry into the Situ Clan, laid out in a contract he signed and sealed himself. If Zian started calling himself a Lu, then wouldn’t others think him unfilial for not honouring his father’s word? And how could he strike out on his own? Without support from the Society, his career and Martial Path would be a hundred times more difficult. Where would he find trained elites for his retinue? How would he pay for their salaries and equipment? Even though Mother was Magistrate of Shen Yun, she had a fiduciary duty to ensure the city’s security and stability, so she couldn’t simply empty the treasury and pillage the guard roster just because he was her beloved son. No, Zian would need both Clan and Society, not only for the resources and manpower it provided, but the connections as well, so there would be no more talk of striking out on his own, much less any Lu family nonsense.

Everything Mother said always made perfect, logical sense, but at twenty-seven years old, Zian was tired of being the obedient and dutiful son and wanted to take his life into his own hands. Not that she would let him, of course, since she was now Magistrate and Matriarch both and therefore needed him following in her footsteps even closer than ever before. Still, there was no harm in yearning for a better tomorrow, one in which he escaped out from under Mother’s thumb to discover the man he wanted to be, even if it remained a faint and distant dream.

Granted, he wasn’t some ungrateful child who didn’t appreciate everything she did, because without her, he would not be half the man he was today. The more he learned about the circumstances of his birth and upbringing, the more he was amazed by her brilliant foresight and political acumen. Growing up, he’d been left unaware of all the struggles she suffered and hardships she endured just to keep him safe and alive, for she made it all look so easy and effortless he didn’t even know there was a threat to his life. For as long as he could remember, she was the Magistrate of Shen Yun, but now that he was older, Zian could not imagine how difficult it must have been to secure the Office for herself. Without assistance from Clan and Society mind you, because she intended to use Shen Yun as a bargaining chip and could only negotiate from a position of strength if the city belonged solely to her and her alone. How she accomplished such a feat, Zian did not know, for the records only indicated that the previous Magistrate bowed out of the competition and no one else cared to challenge Mother for the right to succession.

Which he only learned of recently, when his wife told him all about the legendary Situ Jia Ying.

See, to him, she’d always been his mother, confident, intelligent, and loving to the extreme, but to the world, she was one of the most fearsome women of the North alongside OuYang Yuhuan. While Aunty Yuhuan owed her notoriety to her Runic Crafting skills and Ancestral Beast backer, Mother’s claim to fame lay in her ability to govern. When she took over the Office of Magistrate, Shen Yun had been little more than a glorified rest stop on the way to greener pastures, a hub where the most prestigious work was being a local middleman for foreign powers hailing from other, more prosperous cities. If you wanted the best hardwood, you went to Shen Mu. The best soft woods? Ping Yao. The finest foodstuffs? Sanshu. Cheap salt? Shen Bin. Best weapons and armour? Shen Huo. The list went on and on, leaving Shen Yun with no means to compete until Mother took it upon herself to fill a niche that had thus far gone unnoticed.

A long story short, Mother turned Shen Yun into a city of artisans, the one-stop shopping destination for any and all things fashionable. No matter if it was clothes, decor, jewellery, or furniture, if you wanted something custom made, then chances were, the best craftsman of the North could be found in Shen Yun. According to Jing Fei, Mother did this simply by offering those experts something no other city cared to offer, namely their dignity. Despite being masters of their craft, in the eyes of the noble elites, a master sculptor, tailor, silversmith, or carpenter was still nothing more than a mere labourer, but Mother elevated them to something more. In Shen Yun, they were respected for their craft and more than that, protected from the strong-armed tactics of nobles looking to secure their services for less than they were worth. It wasn’t even all that difficult or time consuming on Mother’s part either, for all she had to do was hire them on as City employees with an appropriate salary, which meant assaulting them was the same as assaulting a civic officer, the penalties for which were not to be taken lightly. No one would be losing their heads over killing a city employee, but it was not something so easily swept aside, especially if Mother was unwilling to allow it, so once it became known that she was will to fight on their behalf, the craftsmen of the north flocked to Shen Yun in droves for the promise of safe and steady employment.

It seemed a sad state of affairs that such a simple promise could move so many people, but in many parts of the North, strength was the only measure that mattered. More so because life in the North demanded it rather than the people preferred things this way, and many were happy to trade their harsh lives in the north for greener pastures in Rain’s Central Districts, which were largely considered safer than many villages back home even with the threat of Defiled hordes bearing down upon them.

Of course, Mother did far more than win over a crowd of master craftsmen, but she would never have risen to such heights without the prestige and wealth they brought with them. Wealthy Nobles were always looking for a means to show off their ostentatious wealth, a burning desire Mother exploited without mercy. With the means of production already in hand, Mother did not get greedy and set her craftsmen to working around the clock, but instead provided them with the best materials and asked that they only present her with their best work, because only the best could do their reputations justice. False scarcity, some might say, but that wasn’t enough to stop the Nobles of the North from dancing to Mother’s tune. Buying overpriced luxuries was merely another way to gain face, and there was nothing the nobles loved more than face, which was why she also opened an official auction house in Shen Yun which sold only the finest goods the city had to offer twice a year.

As a child, he remembered sitting through those auctions being the most boring hours of his life, but only now did he understand how much face was gained and lost on those seemingly unremarkable days. Who knows how many nobles ended up sealing their own fate by outbidding and offending someone they shouldn’t have? Then there were the profits, not just the auction house’s fifteen percent cut from each sale, but also the costly price of private bidding rooms so that everyone could see who was bidding for what. That wasn’t all either, as Mother made even more profits by becoming the greatest middleman the North had ever seen. If you wanted a calligraphy scroll written by Master Lanting, a painting drawn by KaiGu, a sculpture carved by Wu Tsung, or a necklace crafted by YinXian, then you first had to speak with Situ Jia Ying for no one else could offer you access to their work, much less get you a face to face meeting with those famed craftsmen. The time and efforts of such masters was utterly priceless to the right buyer, which meant Mother could make friends and allies as easily as turning a hand without any need to expend her own effort at all. With all her wealth and connections, she was able to stand apart from Clan and Society long before he was old enough to even understand such matters, an independent power who wasn’t beholden to them in any way. If anything, it was the other way around. Upset Situ Jia Ying, and you might not have to deal with duels or assassins, but your wives, mothers, sisters, and daughters would most certainly have your head once they learned that they could no longer make use of some trendsetting master craftsmen or the other to keep up with the latest fashions.

And now, Mother was not just Magistrate of Shen Yun, but Matriarch of the Situ Clan, a stunning upset which no one, not even the fearsome Rang Min saw coming.

In truth, both of Zian’s parents were standout geniuses of their generation, but unfortunately, he only inherited the Martial talents of both his parents and received none of his mother’s political and mercantile brilliance. As such, excelling on the battlefield was the only thing he could do, but in the face of so very, very, very many Demons, his usual cocksure confidence was nowhere to be found. The reply came back from Brigadier Hongji informing him there would be no aid coming his way, a statement his idiot aid, Situ Shirong, announced out loud for all to hear. “What do we do?” Shirong continued, as if he hadn’t done enough damage just yet. “How can he expect us to hold out without reinforcements?” His question struck a nerve in every soldier within earshot, and Zian knew this seed of doubt would spread like wildfire if nothing was done.

His first thought was to smack his ‘cousin’ until he came to his senses, but he feared Shirong would die long before that happened. This wasn’t his first battle, but it was clear that this was the first time he’d faced a significant threat to his life. His pallid skin was white as a sheet and his eyes so unfocused it was a wonder he could even see, too afraid to stand and fight yet too cowardly to run first, for there were far worse fates than death. The boy... no, not a boy any longer, for Shirong was of similar age to Rain, and yet there was such a stark difference between them. Though Rain had always looked younger than his years, he possessed an air of maturity about him that was almost ingrained in his every movement, action, and decision. He would have never allowed himself to appear so flustered and unnerved no matter the odds stacked against him, because he knew what it meant to lead. In contrast, Shirong didn’t know the first thing about leadership despite having been groomed for it since birth, and Zian didn’t understand how the difference could be so stark.

“Hmph.” Offering Shirong his best dismissive sneer, Zian turned back to the Demons and felt his lips curl into a smile. “Reinforcements? What need do we have of reinforcements? We Warriors of the North have finally found our chance to stand beneath the limelight, and I for one do not intend to share it.” Despite his bold declaration, Zian found himself looking to Situ Chi Gan for reassurance, an involuntary and cowardly reflex he’d picked up these last few weeks. The old Guardian might well be the strongest living Situ Clansman, and he was here to ensure Zian’s safety on the battlefield, but he was only to act in the event of catastrophe. If Zian came to expect the old man to rescue him from every scrape and bruise, then how was he supposed to grow as a Martial Warrior? No, better to pretend as if Chi Gan wasn’t even there and fight with his life on the line lest he become a flower in a greenhouse, one too weak to navigate through trials and tribulations unassisted.

And yet, he felt a heavy weight lift off his shoulders when Chi Gan nodded ever so slightly, confirming that he was confident that Zian’s retinue could stand firm before the tide of Demons.

Or maybe he was nodding to say he could safeguard Zian’s life no matter the odds. Not as ideal, since Chi Gan would likely only save one other person, his grandson Chiang, a far more capable Warrior and Officer than Shirong but lacking the latter’s unfounded confidence. Then again, all the work of Zian’s second was being done by Kei Lan, a branch family clansman responsible for Shirong’s safety, so it’s not as if it even mattered who served as second. The title was merely a badge of prestige the family wanted pinned to Shirong’s chest, even though there were soldiers far more deserving of the post. Politics even in warfare, which was madness in Zian’s eyes, but politicians had always seemed a little mad to him, so there was no real helping it.

Resisting the urge to lick his lips, Zian strode out to meet his monstrous foes, reminding himself one last time that he was a Domain-Capable Expert who’d killed Demons before. “Demon Slayers, with me. Everyone else, keep the chaff off of our backs.” There was really nothing left to be said, as Demons were an unpredictable lot whose physical appearance had little to do with their strength or skill, meaning the only way to learn what they were capable of was to challenge them in combat. Luck of the draw as it were, and Zian could easily draw poorly and match up against a fearsome foe right from the start, one that might well kill him in the first exchange. Not an ideal outcome, so he took every caution as he approached his chosen target with his ring of whirling defence already in place. The Demon in question as a brownish-black creature that loomed over its allies, a tall, slender, bipedal monster with knees that bent backwards and a pointed, bat-like head. It’s long, sinewy arms were covered in coarse, wire-like fur and its hands ended in vicious talons that gleamed in the sunlight like metal rather than bone. The Demon offered him an even closer look at its talons as it lunged at his face, its deceptively long arms giving it more reach than expected. Fierce and sudden as the attack might have seemed, it was little more than a jab as Zian discovered firsthand when he leapt back to avoid what he thought was certain death. For once, the sun had nothing to do with his burning cheeks as he struggled to get his emotions under control and find Balance in the moment, but his mind and heart were both aflutter with too many distracting concerns. If things continued in this manner, then he would once again be the cause of his own defeat.

The world froze as Zian was brought back in time to a moment that felt like ages past, but couldn’t have been more than two or three years ago. Back then, he didn’t know Jukai was his father’s old friend. He just thought he was some aged Officer who accepted a job to safeguard some young Magistrate’s life. As such, Zian didn’t place too much value on Jukai himself, since anyone worth their salt wouldn’t have to accept such a thankless job just to make ends meet. Little did he know that the old man actually stormed into Mother’s City and demanded to join Zian’s retinue, because even after all these years, Jukai still felt like he let his old friend down by not dying at his side. Oh what a fool Zian had been to ignore the treasure trove of knowledge and experience just standing at his side, to say nothing of Jukai’s love, loyalty, and dedication. If he could do it all again, he would have cherished every last second he had with his Mentor and done everything he could to save him from his ignoble end at the Bloody Confessor’s hands.

But the Zian from his memory didn’t know any of this. All he knew was that the old man his Mother insisted he take as his second acted like he knew everything yet refused to say anything. “Explain,” the younger Zian had demanded, for he wanted to know how Falling Rain defeated him, and Jukai had the answer.

“He didn’t defeat you,” Jukai had answered, looking like a man resigned to his fate without actually backing down. “You defeated yourself.”

There was more to it, so much more, but this first lesson stood out to Zian above all others. Zian didn’t lose to Falling Rain, he lost to himself. Though it sounded like an excuse, it was nothing if not the truth, because back then, talented as Rain might have been, he was no true match for Situ Jia Zian. The Rain he fought on the duelling stage was a young, brash, arrogant youth who gave himself over to anger in order to assuage his fears. Had they fought a hundred times, Zian would have won ninety-nine matches without breaking a sweat, even if Rain was fresh and fully rested instead of coming off of three life-and-death duels. That match had been Zian’s to lose, and lose he did, because he let himself get too caught up in his own thoughts and the expectations of his uncle and the Society in general. All he had to do was take his time and do what he did best, fight defensively and force his opponent to make a mistake. If he’d been wise enough to get out of his own head, perhaps Falling Rain’s saga would have ended then and there, which would have been a true shame indeed. The Mother was looking out for the both of them, because if not for this darkest of defeats, then Zian would never have become the man he was today.

Situ Jia Zian. Husband to Ong Jing Fei. Father of Situ An Yang and Situ Fei Ying. These were his priorities now, the lives of his wife and children, two beautiful baby twins born six weeks ago who changed his life forever. Now, husband and father had become far loftier titles than anything the Clan, Society, or Empire could ever bestow upon him. His son, An Yang, had the brightest eyes he’d ever seen and was named for his father and his uncle, while his daughter little Fei Ying possessed a devilishly enchanting smile that told him she would be no less formidable than the mother and grandmother she was named after.

Not the most original names he could have come up with, but once the idea struck him, no others seemed to fit, for this was his past and future coming together to show him the proper way forward. There was a time when Zian fought because he enjoyed it, but more than that, he enjoyed standing above his peers and looking down on them from above. Today, he fought so that his wife would not be widowed and forced to experience the same trials and tribulations his mother suffered through. He fought so that his son and daughter would never know the pain of growing up without a father. He fought in the hopes that husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters the Empire around would never again know the pain of losing a loved one to the Defiled, a lofty, unrealistic goal perhaps, but one he strove for regardless, because the Heavens had seen fit to bless him with a family and all the happiness that came with it, so it only seemed fair that he did something in return.

Which was why it was imperative Zian get out of his own head before this bat-faced Demon ripped it off for him.

The world came back into focus as reality resumed from whence it left off, except now Zian fought with renewed purpose. The fear was still there, but tempered by unwavering determination, for nothing would keep him from returning to his family’s side. Though his style was defensive in nature, that did not mean he could only defend or retreat, so he charged forward into the fray to engage his foe on the field. Twin sabres whistling as they cut through the air, they set a punishing rhythm as he danced with the Demon and dealt cut after cut on its forearms. The wounds were far from crippling, barely even more than a scratch, but they enraged the beast to no end, and its subsequent flurry of strikes grew wild and sloppy as it sacrificed speed and precision for raw power. That only made it easier for Zian to parry, block, and dodge its attacks as he danced it around in circles while probing for weaknesses. It didn’t take long for him to realize it had difficulty pivoting on a single leg, so he capitalized on this by darting in close and forcing it to put all its weight on one leg before delivering that same limb a devastating three-slash combination attack.

From there, it was a simple matter to finish the Demon off as it flailed helplessly about in the sand, and then Zian moved onto his next target, a prickly, quadrupedal creature that was reminiscent of a frog faced hedgehog the size of bull. Sharp though they might be, the Demon’s spikes were flexible and almost prehensile in the way they seemed to bend and avoid his weapon wherever it passed, which was both fascinating and disturbing to behold. The skin under the spikes was as hard as any other Demons, meaning Zian could notch and graze his foe in passing, but he would have to plant his feet and really give it his all to deliver a killing blow, unless he incapacitated it first. Unfortunately, the Demon fought in an atypical manner that almost rendered Zian’s whirling blades useless, favouring short bursts of quick motion in a single direction in an attempt to slam into its opponents. From there, the prehensile spikes did the rest, as the Demon’s first unfortunate victim discovered firsthand, but its killing power was rather low considering the man was still alive. Granted, with almost a third of his skin and a good portion of flesh ripped clean from his torso, he wouldn’t be alive for long if Taiyi ZhuShen himself hadn’t shown up to treat him. Something Mother arranged no doubt, to have the golden-eyed Healer lurking nearby in case her son should come to harm, and Zian quietly smiled at the reminder of his mother’s love.

As the spiky frog Demon gathered up for yet another charge, Zian noticed something amiss but couldn’t quite place his finger on it, so he immediately Lightened and kicked off to the left. Sliding across the sand as if gliding on ice, he sailed out of the path of the Demon’s attack as its spikes launched themselves off of its torso and embedded themselves into the Defiled tribesman trying to attack Zian from behind. The result was sheer agony, if tribesman’s scream was anything to go by, but it was mercifully short at the very least. Cold chills ran down Zian’s spine as he took in that near death, and he muttered a small thanks to the man who taught him to always be vigilant. That was one of Uncle Yang’s favourite lessons, which started off as a game, where he would always try to surprise Zian and would hand over a prize if he was caught before launching his ‘attack’.

A precursor to the lessons Mother made him take about avoiding assassination attempts, but Uncle Yang’s lessons were always more fun. He was here in the city somewhere after having found his second wind in life, and Zian couldn’t be any prouder, for he knew more than most that his Uncle stood at his current lofty heights not because of his talents, but in spite of them. That was the greatest lesson a man like Zian needed to learn, that genius and talent was no substitute for hard work. Uncle Yang was not born a dragon amongst men, but forged himself to become one by conquering his shortcomings and leaping through the dragon gate. The world called Zian the Twinned Dragon Scion because he was the successor of the Twinned Dragons of Shen Bin, but in his heart, his Uncle Yang was the second Dragon after Jukai. It was only fair since Zian’s father had little to do with who he was today, as Uncle Yang had taken on the lion’s share of that work, and while his uncle wasn’t perfect or even all that fatherly most of the time, Zian loved him all the same.

It took a considerable amount of effort to dispatch the spiky Demon, especially after he discovered it could not only regrow its hurled spikes, it could also use them to block and grab his sabres. Eventually, after several more passes, he finally got the timing down right and used the momentum of its charge to impale it upon his sabre. Two Demons killed, but he was not yet spent, so he sought out the next closest Demon and charged in with blades at the ready. This one was far more formidable, for Kei Lan had already lost an arm rescuing Shirong from its bladed clutches, a most fearsome creature indeed. A lean, willowy Demon with a brown, featureless face and talons as long as Zian’s arms, it lashed out and set his swords to ringing as he fell back before its punishing offensive. Putting everything into his whirling ring of steel and Domain Deflection, he clung grimly onto dear life by a thread as it landed blow after blow from awkward angles made possible by its long, spindly arms. Worse was how it could change a slash into a thrust with little more than a crook of its fingers, and Zian soon lost track of how many times he’d almost died to his foe. Barely fending off each successive attack, he managed to keep his skin intact, but no small amount of credit went towards his Runic Breastplate, one Mother commissioned using Clan funds. He’d fought with it before during the clash at the Central Citadel, but he later learned commissioning the armour had quite literally been Mother’s first official act as Matriarch of the Situ Clan, and truth be told, Zian had felt rather smug about it. Jealous? Then you should find yourself a mother formidable enough to seize control of the Situ Clan.

The Demon’s attacks came fast and hard, for despite there being so many of them, the bladed claws packed a mean punch. Focusing inward on nothing in order to see everything, he picked off the attacks one by one with his whirling sabres and left his Domain Deflection to deal with only the attacks that he couldn’t dodge and were certain not to land on his armour. It was easier said than done, making split second decisions that could mean the difference between life or death, then do so repeatedly within the span of a single minute. Then, without warning, something in Zian’s mind just fell into place and defending was as simple as breathing. Instead of blocking this next attack and leaving the subsequent ones to his armour, he saw that he could parry the first to interfere with the next two, so he did just that. A sidestep here let him avoid four of seven attacks, while the remaining three could all be ignored as they’d glance off his Runic armour. A riposte here would force it to ease off the offensive, and his sabre moved even before he completed the thought, catching the Demon clean in the face and spilling vile Ichor across its cheeks and chin.

One with the Sword and One with the World, Zian turned the tides on his opponent in an instant. No, there was more to it than this, for he was truly at ease in this battle, for he’d found Oneness with himself. He remembered one battle during which Jukai fended off a Demon with a cloak of countless bladed tentacles, and marvelling at how the older man fended off so many attacks from so many different angles without blinking an eye, and now Zian finally understood how. It was a good feeling, measuring his progress these last few months by comparing his skills to his Mentor. Though he was now a father first, husband second, and Warrior somewhere further down the list, he still loved the Martial Path dearly, if not with all his heart like he used to. A cold smile stretched across his cheeks as he pushed himself to his limits and freed himself from friction’s hold, spinning and sliding this way and that as he unleashed a barrage of blows upon his foe. More often than not, the Demon’s powerful talons raked through empty air now as he parried and Deflected its attacks with ease, making it seem like a massive, unskilled child throwing a tantrum rather than a fearsome creature of death and destruction born to carry out the Father’s dark will.

Then the tides turned, and Zian went on the offensive as the Demon fell back before him while blocking his unending flurry of attacks. The chime of metal on Demonic flesh rang out like raindrops on a metal roof, punctuated every now and then with a discordant ring as Zian sheared off a bladed finger here and an armoured toe there. Try as it might, the Demon could do naught but endure before Zian’s righteous fury, slowly but surely coming apart as he chipped away at its skin and flesh until it leaked Ichor from a hundred different cuts, but still it stood strong, its black, empty eyes unblinking at is came to terms with its fate.

Far too late, Zian realized the Demon was not resigned to death, but rather waiting for the opportune moment. One second, he was an unstoppable god of war upon the battlefield, and then everything fell apart in an instant as the last of his strength was spent. Numbed and leaden arms stopped heeding his commands, still moving only due to pure momentum as his body succumbed to heat and exhaustion, and try as he might, he could not draw breath into his burning lungs. How long had he been fighting for? Difficult to say, for he’d been so caught up in the moment so many times. Maybe a half an hour passed between emerging from the tunnels to clashing with the Demons, then that first fight again bat-face couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes. The spiked-hedgehog Demon took much longer to kill, maybe ten... no twenty minutes? As for this cloaked Demon, it most certainly took longer than the spiked-frog, but surely not that much longer, right?

Apparently not, because Zian discovered he was dead on his feet with nothing left to give, and the Demon could taste his despair.

One moment, it was closing in for the kill with a three-taloned claw raised high, and the next, the Demon disappeared from Zian’s field of view. Blinking the sand out of his eyes, he glanced around and saw it some twenty-five metres away, on top of a nearby building and half-hidden behind a crenellation, its featureless face glaring out at a foe too fearsome to fight. “A piss poor showing,” Elder Chi Gan Sent, even as Zian’s soldiers raised their voices to cheer for the ‘Twinned Dragon Scion’. “All that dancing and faffing about, like a courtesan in heat trying to get a rise out of a corpse. Why didn’t you just hit the damned Demon and kill it?”

If there was one thing Zian learned from Jukai, it was never to be too prideful to learn from his mistakes. “Had I the opportunity, I would have struck to kill, but the Demon’s defences were formidable.”

“Maybe,” Chi Gan Sent, his pursed lips indicative of his scorn, “But what about the other two Demons, eh? Fodder trash, yet you still had to do your little dance. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to swing your sword? I mean really swing it, not sling it around like you’re making noodles, mind you, a proper, all-out attack.” Seeing Zian’s lacking comprehension, Chi Gan snorted and shook his head. “Suppose it’s not all your fault. Was part of the plan. Let you play with two sabres just like your daddy without sending anyone to teach you, because that would limit your growth. Jukai fucked that up, but about a decade too late since he was busy wallowing in sorrow, but even if he’d taught you from the start, you would’ve never been accepted as Patriarch. Raised away from the clan, you never made the friends and connections you’d need to gain the support of the future Elders, so I suppose Rang Min did a fine job of setting you up for failure, because as a young Patriarch, that’s exactly what you are. A failure.”

Zian already knew Rang Min had tried to ruin him with alcohol and women, but this was news to him. “Who would plot so thoroughly against a child?”

“That’s the best time to be thorough,” Chi Gan replied. “When they’re young and don’t know any better.” Seeing Zian’s incredulous look, he shrugged and asked, “Who you think gave Rang Min the idea? Clan and Society above all else. That’s what it means to be a Situ, so it’s best you remember your family name.” Prodding the ‘Lu’ character emblazoned on Zian’s chest, Chi Gan continued, “Your Daddy was a Lu, but did any of them come running to support you? You see any of them fighting here beside you? I see plenty of his old subordinates, but not a single Lu, no brothers, cousins, nephews, or anything. Curious that, but not unexpected, because they’re a family of merchants who only ever think in terms of profit.” Fixing him with a steely eye, Chi Gan poked Zian hard in the chest and said, “Remember, you serve the Clan, but in return, the Clan looks after its own, no matter the cost. Now attend to me and see how you can be of better service.”

Drawing his longsword, Chi Gan took his stance, but rather than the standard, two-handed, overhead sword stance Zian had seen so many other Situ Clansmen use, the strongest living Situ Clansman held his sword in one hand and his scabbard in the other, one pointed high, the other low. Then, he took a single step and crossed the twenty-plus metres between him and the featureless Demon, appearing on the rooftop in the blink of an eye. Throwing his entire body into the attack, Chi Gan brought his sword down with all his might while raising his scabbard up, almost like he himself were a giant pair of scissors. It was hardly the most elegant or graceful of attacks, but its power could not be denied as he cleaved through the Demon in a single strike, smashing clean through its raised defences as if they were made of paper with sword and scabbard both.

There were Peak Experts, and then there were Warriors like Chi Gan, who even Rang Min and Nian Zu had to respect. Hearing about it was one thing, but having seen the old man’s strength firsthand, Zian most certainly had no complaints.

Before the Demon’s carcass even had time to topple over, Chi Gan reappeared at Zian’s side. “See that?” he aside, his sword already back in its sheathe as if it’d never been drawn. “That’s a proper killing blow. No need to learn that exact movement, as it’s just something I came up with for an example, but it’s a damn sight better than anything you’ve shown today.”

Clasping his fist in a proper salute, Zian bowed ninety degrees at the waist and said, “Thank you for your guidance, Elder. You have opened this one’s little eyes.”

“Stand up straight before I send you out to cut me a switch,” Chi Gan barked, and Zian wasn’t ashamed to admit that he jumped to obey, if only because the man sounded deadly serious. “The little Patriarch doesn’t bow to a Situ Clansman, not even an Elder like me.” Muttering some rude obscenity beneath his breath, he grabbed Zian by the shoulder and turned him to face the battle again. “There, see that one? That black-hearted scoundrel of a scout with the sword there? Siyar his name is, and a damned fine swordsman he is. You could learn something from him. He uses one hand too, but he knows something about killing in a single blow instead of dancing about to look pretty, so don’t just stand there gasping and wheezing like a fish on land. Use this time to learn. If you aren’t busy learning, then you’re busy dying, that’s what my grandfather used to say, and he was a Warrior unlike any other.”

The old man had a lot to say now that he’d broken the seal on his self-imposed silence, and Zian wasn’t entirely sure he liked things better this way. One thing was sure though, the old man was right. So long as Mother served as Matriarch of the Clan, then Zian would serve in his own way, as it was the least he could do for the woman who raised him. He had no great love for Clan or Society, but at the same time, he didn’t hate it either. Maybe it would be good for little An Yang and Fei Ying to have so many cousins to grow up with, but Zian would make no decisions before consulting with his beloved wife and finding out what she decided for him.

Such was the curse of having a brilliant wife, to always be beholden to her superior wisdom, but Zian knew she would never steer him wrong, and he could not wait to hold her and his children in his arms once more.

Chapter Meme