Chapter 788

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Peering through the torrential downpour at the oncoming Defiled, I take no pride or satisfaction in what comes next.

The cannons roar and bodies explode, leaving a visible gap in their battlelines as they surge ever forwards, and I can sense the dread and fear from those who just narrowly avoided death. Not through any action of their own, for they only still breathe by the luck of the draw, being a step too slow or an arms-length too far for the cannonballs to reach. Hardly the most encouraging or exhilarating near-brush with death, but rather a chilling reminder of their own frail mortality. The Spectres spur them on, but their instincts urge them to resist, because their will to live is stronger than their desire to kill and maim. Despite knowing the costs, I create a squadron of Natal Souls to reach out and speak to those who will listen, though I have learned from my mistakes and do not sever them from my soul, and instead keep them tethered and linked. Unlike before, what they see, hear, and think is shared in real time, pushing the limits of my focus and sanity as I multi-task in the only way I know how, by splitting my mind into a host of distinct, but wholly similar personas.

To aid them in their efforts, the Call Centre of the Void returns in full form as my Natal Souls surge into battle not with sword and shield, but keyboard and monitor. Their fingers clack-clack-clack away in an exaggerated manner which anyone who’s ever used a keyboard would call bullshit on, but it amuses them to do so, and we could use all the amusement we can get. Each one connects with a Defiled tribesman on the field, seeking to convince them of the error of their ways, but there is no success to be found. Some of the Defiled turn tail and run, others charge even faster into the fray, whilst a select few abandon all hope and Demonify amidst the thundering clamour of cannon-fire, but not a single one cares to accept the error of their ways, for in their eyes, their actions are right, for might makes right, and the weak are only deserving of death.

A wasted effort most would say, trying to lead the Defiled to salvation, but while I would love to claim I’m only doing it to chip away at their resolve, I cannot lie to myself anymore. I can’t hate the Defiled anymore, not knowing what I know now, and if I can save even one from the self-destructive Path they’ve found themselves on, then it will be well worth the effort. Perhaps I’ve been afflicted by the Abbot’s mercy, a man who took in all the monks who betrayed him and seeks to set them back upon the Noble Eight-Fold Path, but the realist in me thinks he is merely inviting disaster back into his home. There has to be a better way to do away with the Spectres, some method or Chi skill to ward them off from the hearts and minds of the vulnerable, but even with hundreds of my Natal Souls working to diagnose the issue, I fear I will make no headway on this issue here.

But I have to try regardless, not just because I pity the Defiled, but also because I cannot stomach the thought of slaughtering them all to the last, which will be their fate if they continue to fight. Bai Qi and the Uniter care not for their lives, for they are stockpiling corpses for their Demons to feast upon for some other nefarious purpose at hand, one which I cannot for the life of me understand.

Why make more powerful Demons with me and Taddy here to neutralize them? I can Devour and Cleanse Demons as easily as turning a hand, while Taddy’s rain drains away at their lifeforce which they can only restore by feasting upon the dead. What’s Zhen Shi’s end game here? Why is he still fighting? If he has everything he needs to ascend as he claims, then why doesn’t he do that and just cut his losses here in Shi Bei?

Hideo warned me that Zhen Shi is retreating to preserve his own strength so that he can fight against the Imperial Clan another day, but that’s not what this looks like here. Instead, it appears as if he’s given up on the Defiled and banking only on his Chosen, Half-Demons, and Demons, but even if he thinks they’ll be ineffective in his vendetta against the Emperor, the tribal Defiled could still be of use. Scatter them to the winds and it’ll take years for the outer provinces to uproot them from the Western province, at staggering cost to boot. All without any effort required on Zhen Shi’s part mind you, but he’s content to throw their lives away for minimal gain. Even if he overruns Shi Bei and slaughters the vast majority of Imperials here today, all he will have won is an empty shell of a city which he likely intends to abandon anyways.

It makes no sense, but I respect my foe enough to know that this means I’m overlooking something crucial, only I have no idea what it could be. All I can do is endure the strain of splitting my focus so many ways and hope against all hope that my efforts bear fruit, but as the tides of Defiled reach the walls and clamber their way up the parapets, I fear I must put my talents to other use.

I will fight if I must, and in the moment, I will even indulge in the frenzied emotions, but come tomorrow, I fear I will have many lives to mourn, and I can only selfishly hope that none of my friends or loved ones are among them.

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Rage and resentment burned within Vithar’s chest as the cursed downpour sapped away his strength and vigour, and it took every scrap of willpower remaining to hold firm against the Ancestors’ unrelenting demands urging him to charge forth into battle.

Where they were once a seething mass of discordant whispers, their varying opinions had grown strangely united in recent weeks, a change which made it far easier to hear their voices, but far more difficult to ignore, even when their demands were unreasonable or unwise. To think he’d once valued their guidance in times past, all too happy to heed their warnings and advice, yet now he saw them for what they truly were, the disgruntled spirits of incompetent failures who had long since died and yet still refused to accept their mistakes. A fool’s gambit, besieging this worthless city, with its too-high walls and destructive weapons aplenty, yet the Ancestors insisted he take it with all haste, the same demands they made of him so many days ago when he first crested the dunes to take in the newly raised fortifications with his own two eyes.

So much had changed since he last saw the city, too much to list out in one breath, but the smooth, raised walls and soaring towers overlooking them told him that many of his tribesmen would die to retake the city. With so many tribes gathered under one banner, the end result was never in doubt, but he questioned if the prize was worth the effort. What gain was there to be had in spilling blood on the sands here? None so far as Vithar could see, aside from the slaughter itself, but after two years of raiding these lands of plenty, even the youngest of his tribesmen were well-blooded and battle-scarred. The city itself served no purpose that the other cities nearby could not match, and leaving the southlanders this area to defend meant there would soon be supply lines aplenty to raid and plunder. Better to leave them be and focus on the harbour instead, cutting off the southlanders’ ability to move soldiers and supplies by ship, but the Ancestors would hear none of it.

Not that Vithar ever tried to reason with them, not even when they were a thousand tongues speaking in a thousand voices. Back then, their incessant whispers would have drowned out anything he had to say, and now, they were too undivided to contend against in a direct match of wills. Easier to ignore them altogether outside of battle itself, for that was the only area in which their words were worth heeding, but it was a constant struggle to keep his reasoning free of their contemptible influence. Alas, not everyone was able to do the same, nor were most even inclined to try, for they believed the Ancestors could do no wrong whereas Vithar knew better. If they were so clever, then they never would have died in the first place, but too many of his tribesmen cared not for his arguments so long as they were free to spill blood, even if the blood was their own. With the collective will of the Ancestors finally in agreement, their voices were too loud and too insistent for most to ignore, which was why so many of Vithar’s tribesmen continued throwing themselves at the walls day after day without sparing a thought for the mountains of their dead and dying brethren who tried to do the same.

And still the Ancestors demanded Vithar take his axe into the fray, urging him ever forward into the spears and cannons of his enemies. Despicable weapons, those booming cannons of death and carnage, weapons he loathed with all his heart and soul, for they made a mockery of combat with their frightening destructive capabilities and rendered even the most cunning and careful of plans moot. Every opening and vulnerability he seized or struck at was easily countered by a single volley, for even the most crazed of Vithar’s tribesmen would balk upon seeing those thunderous blasts rend a bloody hole in the battlelines with naught but blood and viscera left behind. The first time he saw the cannons used, it’d been against armoured Chosen at the Citadel, and even the Uniter’s steel shells laden with sorcerous energies offered no protection against those hurtling cannonballs. Though only slightly larger than two fists put together, those orbs of iron were launched with such speed that Vithar could barely track them, and anyone caught in their path was as good as dead. Upon landing, they shook the earth and air enough to injure anyone just standing nearby, and if that wasn’t enough, the cannonballs would either explode into fragments of jagged steel or worse, bounce off the ground and continue hurtling forward to kill everything it touched.

What was a Warrior to do against such a domineering weapon? The crossbows and catapults were despicable enough, sharpened steel and hefty stone thrown by constructs of wood and sinew, but those projectiles were easily blocked or avoided so long as one paid heed to the skies. The cannons however were all but unblockable, powerful enough even to stagger Transcendents on the charge, and even targeting the wielder was a difficult task since every last cannon lay in the hands of a formidable Warrior to boot. The solitary cackling madman wielding his cannon against Vithar’s tribesman radiated with power and threat, even without the hateful weapon in his hands, and to make matters worse, he was guarded by Warriors as formidable as he, including one whom Vithar recognized as the man who’d slain Yo Ling in Sanshu, so many moons ago.

An aged Warrior with hair of white and a wizened, bony frame, this Bastard Liu was not the strongest of the bunch, but the most dangerous by far. The cannon-wielding madman and the beauty laden in gold and jewels were formidable indeed, but Bastard Liu knew how to hide in the shadows and pick his fights well. Three Wraiths died the moment they appeared, cut down by the aged Warrior before they even knew there was a hunter among them, foiling the attempt to kill the cannon-holder and steal the weapon for the Uniter to study. The Ancestors would do well to learn from Bastard Liu, for after seeing a towering wall of water crash into their ranks followed by this torrential rainfall which made their limbs leaden and knees weak, the best course of action would be to pull back the tribesmen so that the Chieftains could bolster their courage with feats of strength and daring, pitting their skills against their foes in glorious single combat. There was no sense in pressing the offensive like this, for though their foes were weary and ragged, this storm would soon leave Vithar’s tribesmen in the same state and render all their efforts wasted, yet still, Gongsun Qi gave the order to charge, and charge Vithar’s tribesmen did, dying every step along the way.

He cares nothing for the lives of you and your tribesmen, which is why he spends them for almost no gain. Live or die, you mean nothing to him, so why die when you could instead live?

A rare message of value from the Ancestors, though they quickly returned to their insistent wailings, proving that there was at least some dissent among them. Tearing his gaze away from the slaughter, Vithar hefted his axe and turned to his second, Gargeera, a ferocious garo of a man who bore his own ancestral weapon, a vicious spear with a hooked blade that he wielded with skill and strength aplenty. “Gather those who still hold fast to reason,” he Sent, using the harsh tongue of his people, rather than the melodic tones of the southlanders. “The strongest and most resilient of our people who know better than to give into all the Ancestors demands. Not all together, and not in any overt manner, but keep them away from the battle and ready to move. Once the battle comes to an end, we cut ties with the Uniter and seek out a new life for our tribes.”

For long seconds, Vithar’s second stood and stared with an unreadable expression, weighing his options before committing to a side. Gargeera was a Chieftain himself, one with strength even greater than Vithar’s, but Gongsun Qi underestimated the man’s cunning and intelligence simply because he refused to speak the southlander tongue. Make no mistake, Gargeera understood it well enough, and even knew how to read, but he thought it beneath him to chirp and warble like prey. Now, he was considering if he should take Vithar’s head and present it to the Uniter, for betrayers and cowards were equally reviled, but then the stone-faced man nodded and Sent, “We have marched beneath his banner and laid waste to his enemies, and he has brought us to this land of plenty. A bargain struck, a bargain fulfilled, and it is long past time we parted ways.”

Vithar didn’t dare relax before Gargeera was out of sight, and even then, he remained vigilant for a few minutes more. Turning back to the battle at hand, he watched his people fight and die for a cause not their own. These southlands were scorching and unpleasant, but they were still preferable to the frozen wastes back home, and Asmani was somewhere out there with their unborn child, so he would bring his people to find her and reclaim his place at her side.

Right after he razed Shi Bei to the ground and killed everyone inside as tribute to his tribesmen who’d already died.

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Two minutes into my new job as a cold-calling self-improvement helpline, and all I have to show for it is a giant throbbing headache. This is in all likelihood a working of Mind and Soul, though more the first and less of the second with how I have things set up. I’m not sure how Zhen Shi controls all his Spectres, but I figured it would be more resource efficient to have a bunch of beefier, connected Natal Souls parsing through emotions from the Call Centre of the Void first, then send out a smaller, severed Natal Soul once they acquire a target. No more wasted emotions on frustration when my severed Natal Souls can’t find someone who cares to listen, though I am sorta spoiled for choice when it comes to the Defiled. The trick is to find someone who might actually be able to do something if I’m able to influence them, which is why I’ve been targeting the Chieftains and Champions who’ve retained some semblance of sanity instead of charging headlong into the fray. It’s not much, but it’s worth a shot.

Problem is, once my severed Natal Souls make it in, I have no way to find out what they say and can’t really tell if they’ve succeeded. As far as I can tell, I’ve been throwing good souls after bad and have nothing to show for it, which is disheartening to say the least. As far as I can tell, once someone accepts my severed Natal Soul, there’s a moment during the melding process in which they are both connected to the Heavens, a brief glimpse at Insight to help them find their own way. That’s how the Spectres know what to say to really tear someone down, unlike Zhen Shi whose whispers appear to be carefully crafted after studying his targets and interrogating the Spectres who’ve been planted into their psyche.

You know… considering my Natal Souls are pretty much Spectres by another name, what would happen if I made a play for someone’s Natal Throne? With Spectres, you get a Demon, but I don’t think seizing the throne is what sets off the transformation. I think the amalgamated Wills of the Spectres are so driven to be whole that simply seizing a host isn’t enough. They don’t just want to live, they want to go back to being a person again, except their self image is a combination of thousands upon thousands of fractured snapshots of damaged psyches, an image which is then further muddied by their host’s internal struggles with emotions, leading to Demons almost always being horrific in appearance. That being said, if I’m careful about it, surely one of my severed Natal Souls could take control of someone’s Natal Throne and… meat puppet the body, sort of like what I accused Zhen Shi of doing with Gen, though I admit it turned out that Gen was more in control that I thought, because that sad sack of shit would rather pretend to be someone else entirely than face his own issues.

…Pot, meet kettle. I probably shouldn’t be slinging rocks of accusation around, seeing as how I’m living in a glass house. Ethical and moral issues aside however, this is a fascinating topic I would love to study, but I should probably focus more on the life and death battle unfolding around my general vicinity. I can see why Taddy gets so distracted all the time. It’s difficult to stay rooted in the real world when it’s moving at ten miles an hour and your brain likes to coast at a thousand. In more practical terms, even though I just went through thousands upon thousands of emotional profiles and dispatched hundreds of Natal Souls to make their sales pitch, less than a minute or so has passed in real time. Unfortunately, a lot can happen in under a minute, namely that the Defiled have made it onto the battlements and the fighting is fierce and ferocious, but I can’t bring myself to call upon the Energy of the Heavens and cut them all down. It's like the Abbot once said, this is the power of Creation itself, yet we mostly use it to hit each other harder. It doesn’t feel right to me, and since it doesn’t feel right, I can’t find the Will and Intent to do it.

Plus, Akanai told me to cut it out with the tidal waves, because no one wants to risk an all-out war of Divinities, even if I’m fairly confident I could keep them from turning Shi Bei into a nuclear wasteland. Or more of a nuclear wasteland, since the ruinous wastelands outside the Empire is supposedly the result of what happens when you don’t have a Treaty to restrain the Divinities. Then again, even if I wanted to, I’m not really sure if I can use Heavenly Energy to just wipe this Defiled army off the face of this world because of the unique method with which I use to control it. No struggle and no surrender, but how do I keep to this tenuous Balance while simultaneously expressing my Intent to kill? I am no cold-blooded murderer, and far from callous or uncaring, because my problem is exactly the opposite. I care too much, sympathizing even with the people who’ve wronged me, so how can I remain unfeeling and unaffected while using the Energy of the Heavens to commit massed murder?

The short answer? I can’t.

The long answer? With lots and lots of practice.

All this means is that there will be no more Divinity-level shenanigans from me until absolutely necessary, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything. It occurs to me I could probably put my Call Centre Natal Souls to better use helping my allies find Insight instead of trying to dissuade my arguably insane and certifiably crazed enemies from continuing to fight. Doubly so considering the fact that the Enemy grossly outnumbers us here in Shi Bei and we might well lose the city if we’re not careful, alongside most of the soldiers currently stationed inside it.

As I set my Natal Souls to this new directive, I reach up to massage my temples and ease the pangs of pain, but halfway through I think better of it and crack my neck instead. It’d be bad for morale if I showed pain and weakness while also undoing everything I accomplished with my domineering entrance. I’m big, strong, and powerful as fuck, which means I’m here to hold up the Heavens, or at least that’s how the story goes, one which is supposed to inspire courage and determination in the soldiers of Shi Bei, so I can hardly curl up into a ball and hide in the shade. My kingdom for an extra-strength aspirin, or a cup of Taddy’s willow-bark hangover tea, either would be great right about now, but alas, I will just have to power through and do without.

Man… how much stronger do I have to get before I’m well and truly OP? I would really love to have the ability to trivialize all content so I can start the exploration and achievement hunting phase of my life…

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Fingers poised over the strings of her zither, Luo-Luo carefully considered what song to play as the battle for Shi Bei unfolded. This was too much for her, all this discord and death, too overwhelming for her to think. It was one thing to play while standing distanced from the fighting, but Lord Husband and Guard Leader Hua Lie had brought them right up to the battlements, and Luo-Luo was far too close to the Defiled for her liking. Though logically, she knew they were less fearsome than the disciplined soldiers of the Mataram Clan, the tribal Defiled were far more fearsome to behold. She’d grown up around soldiers, with Death Corps Guards always patrolling the academy to ensure the safety of its students and teachers, but these feral foreigners were unlike anything she’d ever seen, and it was only natural to fear the unknown.

Even sweet Noodle was agitated by all the commotion, stirring from within Luo-Luo’s sleeves as she poked her little head out to keep vigil on the surroundings. Aurie, Banjo, and Baloo were also pressed to her sides, while sweet Jimjam and Sarankho stood guard around them, pacing to and fro while snarling at every Defiled who moved too close. A small pang of guilt coursed through Luo-Luo as she recalled what Lord Husband said earlier, about how she was with Lin-Lin getting settled somewhere safe with all of the pets when in truth they were all close enough to reach out and grab him. This was Guard Leader’s work keeping them all Concealed from Lord Husband’s senses, and it was rather humbling to think that he was not all-powerful as he might seem, so Luo-Luo muttered a small prayer under her breath asking the Mother Above to keep him safe.

A burst of amusement wormed its way into her heart, and she almost gasped at the warm and tender emotions surged through her from the familiar touch of Lord Husband’s presence. Not his physical touch, but one within her heart, mind, and soul, and he was most certainly laughing ruefully at his own lacking abilities. This fool of a man thought himself incompetent because he was unable to pierce through Guard Leader Hua Lie’s Concealment, but as far as Luo-Luo could tell, the Ancestral Bunny was quite possibly even more powerful than Medical Saint Taduk, so it was only natural that she should be stronger than Lord Husband. Try as she might to convey this, Luo-Luo sensed the same lacking cognizance in this presence as she felt in Meng Sha, which meant this was merely a Natal Soul and not Lord Husband himself. Though still unclear about the distinction, Luo-Luo accepted that there were secrets of the Dao still too complex for her to understand, so she gave up on understanding and simply moved in accordance to her Will.

Which was to play a song to rouse the spirits of the Imperial soldiers fighting in Shi Bei.

Music is not merely an arrangement of notes. The pitter patter of raindrops falling upon stone. The flowing banners fluttering in the wind. The smack of bare soles running across hot sand. The clash of steel and bone amidst screams of rage, defiance, and death. All a part of the Dao of Music, every bit as important as the notes you play on your zither, which means your song must not only match your own Will, but also the natural Will of the Heavens as it plays the eternal hymn of the Dao itself.

There was so much more to this burst of Insight, so much more Luo-Luo had yet to wholly understand, and though she yearned to sit down and meditate upon her findings, she knew now was not the time for deliberation. Closing her eyes, she listened for several heartbeats before finding the right time to jump in, and she did so with a moderate and restrained minor chord. Not the beginnings of a melody, but the mid-point of an accompaniment, for the symphony of battle had long since started and Luo-Luo was merely playing to accompany it. Her singular chord rang out and faded away before she found the right timing for a second, followed seconds later by a third, then shortly after with a fourth, each one intermingling with the sounds of battle and coming together to form something new.

As the song of her heart and soul flowed out from her fingertips, she felt all the pets heave a sigh of relief, for they heard a song of safety and comfort, for Luo-Luo, Lord Husband, and so many others would never allow them to come to harm. The Imperial soldiers of Meng Sha heard the very same notes, but they perceived a slightly different melody, one of courage, determination, and glory as they fought humanity’s oldest and greatest foes. As for the Defiled? Luo-Luo knew not what sort of song they heard, but she sensed their fury cooling and their confusion mounting as they heard the dissonance in her music, not because she was actively attacking them, for the dissonance stemmed from within their own hearts. Not all was right with their minds and souls, and Luo-Luo’s music brought those discrepancies to light, not by forcing them to focus upon them, but by revealing the disharmony deeply rooted within.

What effect this might have? Luo-Luo could not say, for she had long since given herself over to the music, and only the music remained.

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Block and thrust. Block and thrust. Backstep, block, and thrust.

For the last minute, this was all Mila had done, block, thrust, and shuffle about a bit. It was the most efficient and effective way to fight from a defensive position, utilizing the least amount of strength and stamina whilst standing shoulder to shoulder with your allies. To her right was Yan, and on the other side, Li-Li, both turned ever so slightly so that their backs were more or less to Mila. They trusted her to guard them, and guard them she would, because this was the formation they’d fallen into when they moved forward along the wall. It was heartwarming to see how much faith they had in her, positioning themselves on either side because they knew she would keep them safe without hindering her ability to fight, seeing as her short spear was made for encounters like this. It made perfect sense for them to arrange themselves like this, because both Yan and Li-Li required more room to swing their weapons, yet Mila chafed at the need to restrain herself when she wanted nothing more than to draw Paragon and clear the Defiled from the wall in a single pass of its chain-whip form.

Pure hubris is what it was, for as she watched Li-Li’s sabre cut down every Defiled who came close and Yan’s six-pointed star scythe through multiple necks with each pass, Mila yearned for the chance to show off as well, but instead she swallowed her pride and fought with patience, diligence, and restraint. This would be a battle of endurance, for there were far more Defiled than Imperials in Shi Bei, and while Taduk was able to revitalize the beleaguered defenders with his reinvigorating rainstorm, even a Divinity couldn’t maintain so colossal a working for long. Though most saw Divinities as the peak of mortal power, Mila knew better, for though Taduk possessed considerable power, he was sorely lacking in experience.

The Martial Path was far too complex to sum up in a sentence or even a paragraph, but so many Warriors seemed to believe that victory was decided by strength alone. Far from it, because while having more strength certainly made it easier to defeat your opponents, even the strongest Warrior in the world wasn’t all that impressive if he telegraphed every single one of his attacks. You had to know how to apply your strength in order to use it effectively, and the easiest way to learn this was through practice and repetition. That’s one reason why Mama insisted her Sentinels set time aside to Demonstrate the Forms each and every day, because only then could you ensure you were most familiar with your greatest weapon, your body itself.

In contrast, Mila had never once seen sweet, silly Taduk do anything remotely resembling hard work. This was a Divinity who grumbled whenever anyone besides Lin-Lin handed him anything heavier than a small box, so while he was clearly capable of summoning the rains to wash away a Warrior’s fatigue, there was no way he was intimately familiar with the process. This meant he had to spend more focus and effort on it than he otherwise might, which was why he wasn’t even humming anymore and just standing there with an absent look on his face. There was also the fact that the storm was large enough to cover the entire city and then some, but Mila’s point still applied, which was why she wanted to break away from her dear sisters and use Paragon to kill as many Defiled as possible while Taduk’s rainstorm was still capable of restoring her spent stamina.

Except in doing so, she would be leaving Yan and Song to defend themselves, or rather leaving others to protect them. Not only that, Mila would also require someone to look after her, for it would only take one Champion capable of slipping past the arc of her chain to really ruin her day, and out on the sands of Shi Bei, the tribesmen, Champions, and Chieftains all blended together in one indistinguishable sea of savage expressions. All in all, it wasn’t worth the extra effort, because while Paragon was a formidable weapon, killing faster was not the key to victory here today. Better to set the pace nice and steady and keep to it for as long as possible, because this battle would test their perseverance more than any battle ever.

A shame the rainstorm couldn’t restore her Chi, else she could dazzle all of Shi Bei by launching Radiant Spear after Radiant Spear, which would sate her desire to both show off and kill more Defiled before settling into her rhythm, but not even Taduk understood how Rain had restored Mila’s Core to full not once, but multiple times during the siege of Meng Sha. Her husband didn’t understand it either, because to him, a Natal Soul was merely a vector to deliver usable Heavenly Energy into her Core, but that made about as much sense as saying a ladle could scoop sand and water both. True, but those were two different substances and had no bearing on the end result, but all Rain could do was prattle on about how this was a difference without a distinction, a statement only the Divinities agreed with.

To think, her beloved fool of a husband was no longer merely the greatest Young Talent of the Empire, but the youngest one to ascend to the level of Divinity, if not Divinity itself.

And yet you will always be my beloved hero, the person I look up to and admire the most, for you are the sun in my sky, the radiance which lights up my life. Look inwards and take hold of that radiance hiding deep inside, and show the world just how dazzling Sumila of the People truly is.

That was the general sentiment of Rain’s Natal Soul, but the information hidden within meant so much more. Until recently, she’d always believed that her Blessing was functionally useless, because she’d been unable to make use of it directly, but even the Radiant Spear was but a fraction of what she could do. She’d long since suspected her Blessing was the source of her prodigious strength and density, but now she understood how. The sun was not merely a source of light, but of life itself, a wellspring of nourishment which slowly but naturally started the process of Refining her body, mind, and soul which allowed her to stand out from her peers all this time in a manner she was wholly unaware of, much less able to describe.

But now, with Rain’s help, Mila realized that there was still so much more she could do.

The Sun was an Esoteric Blessing, one which drew deeply from all four Primal Blessings at once, so even though she was denied the ability to utilize Fire, Air, Water, or Earth directly, the Sun was still capable of so much more. To start, she touched upon the most obvious facet of her Blessing as she unleashed its power upon the Defiled before her, dazzling them all with a glimmering beam of brilliance that shone straight into their eyes. Yan, Li-Li, and the Imperial soldiers around Mila saw nothing, not even a brightening of their surroundings, for this Radiant Chi released no physical light, but the Defiled used their eyes far more than just for sight. It always confused her why the Defiled and Rain would have such spectacular night vision, able to find their way even under the cover of total darkness without so much as a hitch, but now she understood that it wasn’t that their eyes were able to see more, but that this was how they interpreted the information provided to them by their other senses, what Rain called the Spiritual Senses.

It was these senses Mila’s Radiant Chi targeted, and the results were satisfying to behold as they flinched and flailed blindly about now that they were no longer able to see. Rain would have called it the downside of lacking comprehension, because if they knew how they were ‘seeing’ with their Spiritual Senses, then they could also turn it off and keep fighting. This was but the least of what her Blessing could do, for she suspected it also had a hand in guiding her towards Insight and Inspiration, perhaps by ‘illuminating’ the Path for her to see, and she wanted to explore the deadly desert sun as well, but for now, this would have to do. Pleased with the results, Mila skewered a helpless Defiled tribesman through the ribs and smirked when Yan and Li-Li turned their inquisitive gaze towards her, for it was difficult not to notice how every nearby Defiled had suddenly gone blind in her presence. Blowing the water out of her hair, Mila signaled for her sisters to keep fighting before exchanging her spear for Paragon instead. With her Radiant Chi blinding every Defiled who approached them, she could rest easy knowing her sisters were well protected, meaning she was now free to slaughter the Enemy to her heart’s content, and slaughter them she would.

Paragon sang and a chorus of Defiled screams rose up to accompany its thrumming melody as she set it to spinning overhead, and Mila’s heart soared as the soldiers cheered in hearty reply, gratified to have this brief reprieve as Taduk’s invigorating rain washed over them all, clearing away two weeks of exhaustion, fatigue, and despondence. Hopefully their morale would continue to soar or at least hold steady once the rain stopped, but if not, Mila was more than ready to help bolster their spirits with another act of heroism or two.

For she was Sumila, wife of Falling Rain, Sentinel of the People and young Hero of the Empire.

Chapter Meme