Chapter 742 unedited unmemed

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Though quiet slumber encompasses my entire existence as I lay adrift in a sea of warmth and comfort, the sweet serenity of peaceful oblivion is denied me for reasons unknown.

Perhaps it’s my anxiety and paranoia keeping my mind adrift in a sea of nervous activity instead of idle and resting, parsing through memories of the last few days in a desperate bid to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that the events I experienced were real rather than more illusions implanted by my insidious foe. Or maybe this is the price I pay for overexerting myself to ward off death, the aftereffects of Healing Dad’s mangled and ruptured heart after a steel bolt passed clean through it. A price I’d gladly pay a thousand times over for any one of my friends, family, or loved ones, but that doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it. Then again, this whole fugue state could also be a figment of my imagination, my semi-conscious and almost waking mind making me think I’ve been stuck in this purgatory for what feels like forever when in fact only seconds have passed, a slow start after a long rest like a car warming up in the winter.

Whatever the reason, the respite I so desperately desire is denied me as my restless thoughts flit about that unsatisfying midpoint between sleep and waking, a dream of nothingness in which I only wish for existence or oblivion in favour of this unhappy medium.

It’s like me before my morning coffee, or at least how I used to be when coffee was still a thing. Despite not remembering how it tasted, I miss coffee with all my heart, but even with the considerable manpower and resources that comes with being Legate of the Outer Provinces at my disposal, I have yet to find that elusive bean to grind into a powder and insert directly into my veins. A joke, just to be clear, because that’s not what you do with coffee, a fact I feel obligated to clarify in case my conscious self is paying heed to these subconscious ramblings. Then again, I doubt I could ever forget the wonder that is coffee, a love that has persisted from my last life to cross over into this one, despite having forgotten the faces of my parents and the name of my dog. Weird how the brain works, especially my brain, or so I would assume considering I’ve never experienced how another person’s brain behaves. Well, not entirely true, as I did take up the mindset of a different person to become someone else, the brave and courageous Baledagh who resembles the person I should have been, if I’d been born into this world naturally at least.

That’s the part of me I most love and hate, the memories of my past life. Though they’ve made me who I am today and are largely responsible for all my achievements, I wholeheartedly believe I would be so much happier without them, because then I’d be Baledagh in truth, a person who grew up in this world of trials and tribulations without the ponderous baggage of a past life to compare everything to. Much as I love the life I’ve made here, there are so many things I wish were different. I miss being able to sit down and turn off my brain as I watch stupid shows in the comfort of my own home, but more than that, I hate knowing I once could do exactly that, and instead I am left to languish in this technologically lacking world. The worst part is I don’t know enough about anything to directly drive progress along, as I am not a craftsman or artificer or even a proper researcher, but instead just a guy with a head full of vague concepts to pass along to others. I’m an idea man, and as anyone who’s done anything of note would know, ideas are almost always worthless. Sure, there are always stories about how one person took an idea and turned it into a multi-billion dollar company, but you never hear about the millions of people who had a brilliant idea and either did absolutely nothing about it or failed in execution. Survivorship bias is what it’s called, the fallacy of only paying attention to the people who made it big and forgetting the thousands of casualties along the way.

I suppose I’m not only musing about ideas anymore, as my thoughts have wandered into military territory now. They say that behind every Great General lies a mountain of corpses, but what most people forget is that many of those corpses might well have been potential Great Generals themselves. Let’s take my personal mountain for example, and think back on all the people I killed with my own hands. Like the bandits I killed after they attacked our caravan during the dead of night night. Though I was years off from forming my Natal Palace, the memories of that fateful encounter are still fresh in my mind, for I’ve relived them time and time again. We’d already been attacked once that day, a failed ambush from an overconfident idiot wearing a wolf-pelt who had no business leading bandits, and my brief nap was rife with fresh nightmares of people I may or may not have killed with my bow from afar. This was way back when my mountain was merely a corpse pile of one, namely Gortan who I hated with all my heart and still feared despite having splattered his brains across the dirt several years ago.

And so, when it came my turn for nightly sentry duty, I started Demonstrating the Forms in a forlorn hope of tiring myself out enough to avoid a second round of inevitable nightmares once I laid my head down to rest again.

A rustle in the grass attracts my attention, my eyes drawn towards the sound even as I ready my bow and arrow. Metal scrapes on stone and I signal to alert the camp, while an unseen sentry looses an arrow at a bandit who I now know was closer than I thought at the time, within striking distance in fact. Someone was looking out for me, or more specifically, supervising me as I went about my life wholly ignorant of their existence, playing the part of guardian and warden both. It was years before I picked up on that fact, overlooked in the heat of the moment and all the nightmares which followed, but I am now a hundred percent certain I wasn’t saved by an idle sentry as I initially believed, and maybe probably kinda sure it could’ve been Naaran who pulled my ass out of the fire. Dad was out on patrol duty at the time, whileMom, Alsantset, and Charok wouldn’t have stayed hidden for the entire trip, not after what I went through in Shen Huo. It could have been Akanai or Husolt, or really anyone else, but somehow, I just have this inkling that it was Naaran. There’s a strange familiarity about him that I never really noticed until I stopped to think about him, a sort of unspoken understanding between us which I have no idea how it developed.

When I first became aware of his presence, I always kept an eye out for him, partially because I didn’t like having someone lingering about, but also because if I did have to have someone watching me from the shadows, I would rather it be him. That’s why I always nodded at him without meaning to, greeting him in a quiet manner like you would an acquaintance you pass on the street, to the point where the surly old man had to lectureme about giving away his presence and position. From then on, I still looked for him, albeit in a less obvious manner, not only to prove to myself that I could find him but also toreassure myself with the knowledge that he was there, and he never said anything about it again.  Justlike that, he’d become a sturdy pillar in my life, one shouldering the weight of the Heavens to keep it from crashing down on me, and I’ve since come to rely on him in so many ways.

And yet, despite spending so many hours of my life with him at my side, I’ve never actually sat down and talked to Naaran. I can sum up everything I know about him in two simple statements; he’s Dad’s old friend and rides a Spiritual Quin named Kharuul, who is a heckin’ big chonker witha sweet tooth to match Lin-Lin’s and loves floating around in the shallows so the pups have a safe place to go back to when they’re still learning how to swim. Shit,I know more about his quin’s personality than the man himself, which just seems kinda rude and all. Does he have a wife, kids, and grandkidswaiting for him back at the village, or is he’s an aged widower who volunteered for babysitting duty just to have something to do? What about siblings and nieces and nephews? Siblings... probably not, as there aren’t many amber eyed People still running about, though considering he’s Dad’s age, it’s possible any non-Warrior siblings would have already passed away due to old age. What about interests? What does he do when he’s not pulling double duty as nanny and bodyguard? Does he enjoy the opera, or is he as bored of it as I am? Does he play chess? Mahjong? Does he drink often like Husolt, oronly on special occasions like Dad?

The big takeaway from all this is that I should get to know Naaran more, even though I feel like our relationship has developed like this because he prefers things this way. Maybe he’s as anti-social as I am and doesn’t want to be best buds, or maybe he thinks I’m an idiot and is only here out of pity for his old friend. Regardless of his reasons, I should at the very least invite the old man out for a meal or something, a gesture to show my appreciation for all that he’s done for me. Geez, now I’m nervous about having dinner with Naaran of all people, not sure how to bring the matter up. What’s wrong with me? Why do I so desperately want him to like me all of a sudden? Because it just occurred to me that he might not like me, and I would just hate that. It’s one thing to be a burden to my family, because they love me and suffer gladly for it, but being a burden to a stranger is another thing altogether. I mean, he’s been guarding me all this time and I don’t even know if he’s being paid for it, though I suppose he probably draws a salary as a Sentinel, right?

...

......

What was I thinking about again?

...

Right, the mountain behind me.

After Naaran saved my ass, I started firing blindly at sounds in the darkness, a move I now look back on with shame and regret. Thankfully I was on guard duty and thus supposedly standing on at theedge of the camp, which meant there shouldn’t have been any allies in my line of fire, but I never even considered that in the moment. What’s more, as this was a training mission comprised mostly of raw recruits, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn if Akanai had a team of hidden protectors helping her watch over her gaggle of noobs. Mother knows if some Peak Expert came close to taking an arrow in the heart, and I would never have been able to live with the regret, but I like to think I’ve come a long way since, though I still have a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later when it comes to taking action in the heat of the moment.

As I do back then, firing blindly into the darkness before drawing spear and shield to fight off my assailants, mundane weapons with which I had no bond to help guide my efforts, but my deadly training takes over. My shield slams into the first form I see, the distinctive crack of bone and gurgle of pierced lung telling the more experienced me that my foe was not only a commoner, but also as good as dead, but the younger, amateur me of memory didn’t pick up on the clues and wasted time stabbing a dying man without even finishing him off. The mistake leaves me open to three more assailants who charge in without fear, and my memories blur as I panic and fight for my life without ever being in any real danger. Luckily, even though one of the three is an actual Martial Warrior, he’s a bottom of the barrel chump who’s only saving grave is being a little stronger than your average man, which is still a significant advantage over the spindly, malnourished fifteen year old me. Sixteen? I can remember the event clearly, but not how old I supposedly was, on account of having lived more years than I can remember.

Silly of me not to cherish this second chance at youth, but in my defence, I was stills scrambling to learn how to survive and stand on my own two feet in this world of trials and tribulations.

The fight is messy and hard to watch when viewed through my recreated third person perspective, amateur hour all around. I luck out as my opponents run out of steam and step back for a breather, giving me the time and space needed to hurl my spear clean through the closest bandit, though in hindsight, I should’ve aimed for the Martial Warrior with the big two handed sword. A mundane one, thank the Mother, which I then proceed to smash out of his hands, but even unarmed he comes dangerously close to killing me as he tackles and slams me to the ground. A second slam threatens to knock me out cold, but then his friend fucks everything up by warning him to stay down. This tells me an attack is coming for my head, so I lift the tackling bandit into the arc of his friend’s sword and am rewarded with a cry of pain, though both bandits still yet live. With the Martial Warrior out of the equation, I move to take on the last bandit, but fail to react in time and lose my shield and a chunk out of my shoulder for the trouble.

Then, with only one arm and an arrow to fight with, I capitalize on my opponent’s lacking battle sense and dodge as he charges into my range, jabbing him in the side, then the throat, only to continue stabbing as I watch the life drain out of his eyes with a twisted smile etched across my face. Fear and adrenaline, or my darker nature taking hold? I could have stopped after the first stab and given him a chance to surrender, or after the second and waited for him to bleed out, but instead, I kept stabbing until he stopped moving, which was long after he was dead. I considered killing the other one,  now unconscious from shock more than his injuries, imagined it time and time again as I tried to retrieve my weapons with only a single working arm, and might well have followed through if Mila hadn’t been there. Hell, I didn’t even think to start Healing until her scolding brought me back from the brink, as I was too busy staring at the man I’d killed. A young guy, maybe early twenties, as ordinary as could be, with no physical markings to prove he was evil to the core, just a guy who turned to banditry to fill his belly. Was he a good man? Probably not. Does that mean he deserved to die? Debatable considering he attacked our camp in the dead of night, a camp filled with commoners and fresh-faced Sentinel recruits who were barely old enough to grow beard and boobs. Had we not fought them off, the man I killed might well have raped and murdered to his dark heart’s content, but I don’t know that for certain. Maybe he only turned bandit because he’d been unable to find enough work to fill his belly, or maybe he’d been born into the life and saw it as his only chance for survival. All I know is that he could have ran and left his Martial Warrior friend to die, but he didn’t. He, a mere commoner, stayed and fought, and for that, he died, while his friend lived and was brought to Shen Huo to serve out his sentence.

Maybe that bandit is a soldier now, fighting for the Empire in lieu of toiling away in a prisoner work camp. Maybe he’s a part of my army even now, burning with fervent desire to retake the West and throw back the Enemy from our lands. His friend, however, is dead and gone, with no chance of redemption in store for him, because I couldn’t control my fear and stabbed him sixteen times at point blank range and found it oh so exhilarating. That’s what haunts me most, not his dead face haunting my nightmares, but those accusatory eyes reminding me of the joy I felt in his moment of death. I’ve always had a darker side, one I’ve tried to deny, but even Mila saw through my bloodthirst back then. I could have let that second bandit live, but I didn’t, and while I wasn’t exactly wrong to kill him, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

And after that night, I had two more bodies heaped onto my mountain, but more would join it soon enough.

I didn’t kill Dugu Tian Yi and his two horrific sons, but I was the one who brought about their downfall. Husolt killed DuGu Ang for daring to threaten Mila, but he only did so because of my conflict with his brother, Ren. Their father, Tian Yi, was already firmly aligned against Magistrate Tong Da Hai, but he might have won his match if I wasn’t sent me out to infuriate him beyond reason. I’ve gone over every aspect of that duel countless times now, and Tian Yi was so unhinged he barely had control over his Chi, which was the only reason I managed to put up any sort of fight. Add in the fact that both duellists were forbidden to kill, and it’s no surprise he lost his temper when faced with the man responsible for his son’s death. As for Ren, even though I ran my sword across his throat, that was a mercy compared to what had been done to him already, three lives taken and a famed household ruined all because I was pushed aside in a crowd and couldn’t keep my drunk mouth shut.

Was their response to my disrespect justified? Of course not, or at least I don’t believe so, but I could’ve just accepted the shove and went on with my life, and maybe, just maybe, I’d have DuGu Tian Yi and his two talented sons here at my side to help me retake the West. DuGu Tian Sha was the pinnacle expert of his time, a Living Legend of yesteryear whom the Living Legends of today looked up to, and whose to say his son Tian Yi wouldn’t have reached those same soaring heights? Alas, we’ll never know, because the DuGu family line came to an end all because they had the misfortune to cross Falling Rain’s path. Three more bodies in the mountain, with so many more to come.

My merry band of cripples, sixty-seven strong at the start, were reduced a mere eight within a year of entering my service. At the time, I thought I was doing them a favour, but they probably would have survived longer on the streets of Shen Huo as cripples. Rustram, Bulat, Ravil, Silva, Pran, Saluk, Viyan, and Birca are all still with me, but the list of those I left behind is too long to go through in its entirety, and while time has eased the pain of their loss many still feature prominently in my nightmares. Cham most of all, a man who was a drunk and a ruffian, yet spent all his free time making toys to donate to the orphanage, because he remembered his childhood and how devoid of fun and games it’d been. He bled out in my arms and I couldn’t do a thing about it except watch the light fade out of his eyes. I couldn’t even offer him any comfort in his dying moments, as Bulat had to be the one to step in, and that failure hurts almost as much as losing the man himself.

Then there’s the bandits I captured and claimed for my own retinue, the former Mother’s Militia turned soldier. I learned my lesson from my first group of cripples and tried not to get too close to them, but I still find myself looking for familiar faces who have long since died in battle. Like Jinoe, whose filthy mind came up with the dirtiest jokes which never failed to put a smile on my face, or Awdar who I helped overcome the Spectres only for him to meet his end on the fields of JiangHu. Dastan’s retinue hasn’t fared any better, going from fifty talented elites to less than ten since they were forced to swear slave Oaths in Sanshu, all their lives lost in my name yet the survivors still see me as their benefactor.

Since Sanshu, my retinue has only grown in number as I added more and more Warriors to the list. Loyal Sentinels, reformed bandits, vagabond Protectorates, fanatic Aspirants, brave commoners, and more, the list goes on and on as I try to account for those who died for my cause. Since coming to this world, others have paid the blood price while I reap the rewards, emerging time and time again to secure fame, wealth, love, and power aplenty while most of the people who helped raise me to such heights have long since been consigned to ashes in the wind.

Most days, I am happy with my new life here, but then I remember the price I paid and wonder if I am worth it. Why did so many people have to die for me to arrive where I am today? How many more will die in my journey to force my ideals onto a world that will likely fight tooth and nail to resist me? My crossbows, catapults, and cannons have been used to great effect against the Defiled, but will I be able to stomach turning those weapons of war against fellow soldiers of the Empire? Even after all I’ve done with the reputation I’ve made for myself, the Emperor would only need to issue a single Edict to reverse it all, as I doubt even Nian Zu would turn rebel to fight on my side.

That’s the power the Emperor holds, and I have no idea how he managed it. I once noted how the Empire has no real formal religion besides a disorganized yet communal worship of the Mother Above, but I’ve since come to realize it’s because the distant and absent Emperor fills that void in their lives. With his power, he might as well be a god to most in this world, an aloof authority figure who renders unseen judgment from afar. That’s why the Emperor renounces his birth name upon taking the throne, becoming the Emperor first and foremost to all, for it is more than a mere title, but a mantle of sorts, a head of state and religious icon both wrapped up in one. For as long as the Empire has existed, the Emperor has sat on the throne, and while the physical person may be killed and replaced, the Emperor persists so long as the Empire still stands.

Or at least that’s what I assume Zhen Shi meant when he claimed he would be the first to topple ‘the’ Emperor from his throne, as opposed to ‘an’ Emperor, though I’d be lying if I wasn’t concerned about the possibility the Emperor is actually an eternal, body snatching monster of antiquity, making me me the bad guy in Zhen Shi’s heroic journey to overthrow the tyrant. Honestly, if that’s the case, I’d probably write this world off as a loss and head back to the mountains to live my life in peace, because fuck everything about that specific nightmarish scenario.

That’s the real problem I’m facing now, one of motivation. Zhen Shi’s adaptive responses to my tactics has got me second guessing about my chances, and now his words and tactics have me wondering if its even worth fighting him to the bitter death. If this whole war was truly part and parcel of some greater Imperial political struggle, then just what am I fighting for? The safety of innocents, but while defending them against the Defiled is simple enough in theory, I have no idea how I could even begin to protect them from Imperial machinations. Though I still yearn to save the West from the clutches of the Defiled, I no longer have the confidence to fight this out if the true Enemy is the actual Empire instead. I can slaughter Defiled without losing too much sleep because most are unrepentant monsters, blood-crazed cannibals who delight in the torment and suffering of others. It’s another thing altogether to fight relatively sane Imperials who wholeheartedly believe that I’m the traitor and apostate who threatens their Heaven-sent Emperor.

For this reason, I yearn for sleep, because at least then I can stop thinking about my problems for a bit, but even this is denied to me in this time of lacking consciousness. I cannot open my eyes, because my body and soul are too weary from my overuse of Chi, to the point where even the world of my Natal Palace is denied me, so all I can do is suffer my own company in this semi-conscious state and await my return to the waking or spiritual world. This might well be my own personal hell, because I am nothing if not ever critical of my own actions and this downtime gives me plenty of time for scathing introspection. My mind makes a full loop as I ponder through the implications of my decisions and replay my life back in detail, wondering if I could have changed things by doing something, anything, everything different, or if I would have been better off dying in the camps. My mountain has more bodies than just soldiers I’ve lost, as I’ve also killed a good number of people with my own two hands. Some were deserving, and others just collateral damage, like the two young heroes of the Society Teng Wei Chuan and OuYang Yu Jin. I could have spared the first and was so bloodthirsty I never even tried with the second, killing two promising young soldiers serving at the Wall who might well have had many future contributions. Then of course there’s all the pursuers the Society set upon me and my family in the first place, though the only one I truly regret killing is Elder Ming’s unfortunate nephew Zhong Lang, who I could have easily spared, but didn’t because I wanted to send a message in blood to the people threatening my family.

A message which went largely ignored by most and ended up escalating matters even further, but even I  can’t blame myself too much for that one. Alas, even then, I still feel bad about the kid’s death, especially once I remember how scared and helpless he was, but he crossed a line coming after my family, and I would sooner become the villain than let my loved ones suffer any harm.

This is all of course without touching upon what might well be my greatest sin of all, beating Gen within an inch of his life and leaving him to stew in the humiliation simply because it made me feel better about myself. Sure, he brought it upon himself by assaulting Qing Qing like he did, but I was strong enough then to stop him without going so far. I lost myself to rage, then held myself back, not because I didn’t want to kill him in cold blood, but because I thought his life was so miserable it would be a mercy to take it away. How many have died for my pride that day? Too many to count, and they all belong on my mountain as well, to say nothing of sweet Qing Qing herself, who I failed in so many ways.

When I finally get tired of second-guessing my past decisions, I set my sleepless mind to fretting about the future and all the pain and torment lying hidden down my steep and seemingly insurmountable Path. Say I defeat Zhen Shi and drive the Defiled out of the West, a tall task to be sure, but one I am reasonable confident I can complete so long as I have the support of the outer provinces. What comes next? Resettling the West I suppose, and dealing with the fallout of Zhen Shi’s backers coming after me for ruining their grand schemes. I doubt I can count on Shen ZhenWu to shield me, as I will have likely have long since served my purpose at little to no cost to him, meaning he will throw me to the wolveswithout thinking twice. I mean, even a blatantly Imperial attempt on my life couldn’t bring him out of hiding, and I doubt he cares if Miss Rou tries to kill me a second, third, or fourth time, so long as nothing can be traced back to him. It sucks to even consider it, but maybe it’s time I cut my losses and head home for the decade to let this whole kerfuffle play out. The people of the West will suffer, and will only suffer longer even if I succeed, because I’ve run the numbers and even combined, there’s no way for North, Central, and South to sustain the West without bleeding themselves dry. The West’s greatest natural resources are considered luxuries after all, making them an expense which the other provinces can do without.

That being said, I cannot see myself ever walking away from this conflict, not even if ordered to by the Emperor himself. I’ve experienced firsthand how the Defiled treat their slaves and seen what awaits them at the end, one at the bottom of a cooking pot if they’re lucky, and as the centrepiece of a macabre tapestry of flesh and blood if they’re really unlucky. That means that I need to step up my game in order to survive, to make it so Dad, Naaran, Binesi, and all my other protectors no longer have to put their lives at risk to defend mine. I almost lost Dad today, or however many days ago I fell into this coma, and I cannot bear the thought of actually losing him. Even now, I’m still not entirely sure if I saved him or if my brief chat with Lin-Lin was merely a figment of my imagination, a wonderful, pleasant dream to keep me from forcing myself awake and possibly doing even more damage to myself than I’ve already done.

I’m certain that’s the issue here, that this comatose trance is self-inflicted so I can take the time to Heal and recover from overusing my Chi. It happened after JiangHu after all, when I called upon the Energy of the Heavens to summon a storm cloud in order to shed all my earthly emotions, the actions of a frightened fool who only wanted to get away from it all. Even then, I knew that Zhen Shi had pushed me to sever my fingers in the dream world contained within his writing cloak so he could get his hands on slivers of my soul, yet there I was delivering an all you can eat buffet of soul which I severed without thinking of the consequences. Most of it went out in the world to do what I myself could not, raising Irregulars to Martial Warriors and guiding wayward Defiled into the arms of the Brotherhood, but as I have already noted, there is a dark side which I do my best to ignore, so who knows what those most sinister of intents were up to? Maybe part of me sought Zhen Shi out in hopes of obtaining power and knowledge, or maybe he knew enough to collect my severed soul the same way he collected my fingers. I don’t know which one it was, but I’ve no doubt my actions in JiangHu played no small part in his newfangled understanding of my abilities.

He knows which of my buttons to press to elicit a reaction, and how to stop me from collecting more Heavenly Energy from Spectres and Demons alike. Who knows what other surprises the monster has in store for me? I am outmatched in both strength and wits, and were I standing alone, I would flee for the North without thinking twice, but I have family, friends, and comrades to fight alongside, all of whom believe I can lead them to victory. Fools one and all to have such faith in me, but I cannot bear the thought of letting them down, so after languishing in condemnation and pity for far too long, I finally set my mind to seeking solutions to the problems which plague me.

Regardless of his words, it’s clear Zhen Shi sees me as a threat and will do anything to stop me. If he’s truly busy clashing with the Imperial Clan, then it means he knows I can tip the scales of balance against him, so he wants me off the board before I come in and mess everything up. Too bad for him, but making a mess is my fucking forte, because while I might be at a disadvantage in battles of brawn or wits, if there’s one thing I have going for me, it’s my natural ability to thrive during a clusterfuck of chaos.

A terrible thing to bank on, essentially betting everything on a roll of the dice, but that’s probably my best chance for victory in a conflict of this scale. That being said, I could also improve my odds by progressing even further along the Martial Path, for I’ve become something of an irregularity when it comes to Martial Warriors. In terms of pure combat ability, I’m impressive for my age, but far from peerless. It’s my tricks which give me a real edge, my Emotional Aura, Honed Domain, and familiarity with Chi putting me heads and shoulders above the rest, but none of that matters when faced with overwhelming strength. I can make an army of Defiled flee before me with help from my cannons, but not only will the Enemy eventually regroup and possibly even adapt to my Aura, I can’t rule out the possibility that Zhen Shi has a counter ready and waiting for when I least expect it. I already know he has Demons capable of using Emotional Aura, the armoured miscreations he first revealed in force in JiangHu. With one of them having been revealed as Mataram YuGan, the Patriarch of his traitor clan and in full control of his faculties, it’s safe to assume that the others are also half-Demons of similar origin, yet another nail in the coffin of my Devouring abilities, as I cannot sap away Heavenly Energy from people still in control of their own soul.

Which is exactly what gives me an idea to try out for myself, one I’ve seen in action before.

What are Demons? Well, they’re the result of Spectres trying to forcibly take over a human host, one that has invited them in and surrendered control thanks to their lies and manipulations. So what happens if I invite them in, let them start the process of Demonification, then seize control halfway through to ensure the final product is not a monster out of nightmare but rather an aesthetically pleasing version of a perfected Falling Rain?

We all must walk our own Path, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take cues from the steps others have taken, and who better to follow than a tried and true Divinity? While her Ascension might not have been the smoothest one around, the important things to take away is that one, it worked, and two, I had some part in ensuring her success. I don’t remember what I did, only that I did something, and it had to do with... Nuclear Acid or something like that? Panacea too, though I remember wanting to call it by another name that I couldn’t remember, but I’ve a working theory as to why.

When I tried to give it all up in JiangHu, I touched upon the border of Divinity and acquired a sort of limited omniscience. I believe that’s what happened when I stepped in to save Ping Ping, which is also why my memories of both events are so spotty. The soul is more than a vessel for our emotions and experiences, but also the way we humans are meant to truly perceive the Dao, with Insights being minor recollections of what our Souls have to offer. It all ties into the Spiritual System and Sense which I have yet to define, an ineffable and Divine means through which we utilize the Energy of the Heavens that goes far beyond the Core, Natal Palace, and Domain. No one knows it because no one understands the Dao well enough to even look for the signs, but everything I’ve learned and experienced tells me there’s a method to all this madness, order within the chaos that we humans have yet to comprehend. To the people of the Azure Empire, flying around in steel tubes sounds like magic so far-fetched it can hardly be believed, but I know that it is merely science and technology that will one day be discovered again. Who’s to say it isn’t the same with Chi?

That’s my theory and I’m sticking with it, but I am not smart enough figure out Chi for myself, and so I must rely on that limited omniscience. With a little risk and a lot of luck, I might very well succeed in taking the next step to Shatter the Void and become a Divinity in truth, though somehow, I feel like my Path has diverged from the one the Abbot expected me to take. He told me I was ready to become a false Divinity, but if my plan works as intended, I might become a true Human Divinity, the very first of my kind. eager as I am to take this next step, fear and an uncharacteristic dose of respect and prudence keep me from barrelling ahead without thinking twice. I’ll only have one chance at this, and then no more, for I will either become the hero I’ve always wanted to be, or a horrendous monster of fear and despair that will turn against everyone I love and care for.

I can’t be any more optimistic about it, because I am absolutely certain that not only does the world lack any ‘benevolent’ Spectres aside from the ones I unleashed myself, I also know there’s no such thing as a good Demon. How do I know this? It’s simple really. I’ve seen many Demons, and a good number of beastial ones to boot, but not a single one of them have ever been floofy. 

That’s all the proof I need, because floof is love, and floof is life, and no one can convince me otherwise.

Author's note: This was a difficult chapter to write for many reasons, chief among them my inability to remember a lot of shit and having to go back and reread stuff for myself. If there's anything you guys remember that sticks out as missing or unclear, then please let me know and I'll do my best to fix it.

Anywho, I'll try to get something out before sunday, but who knows if i'll succeed. This chapter is maybe end of vol? Probably yea. Not sure yet. We'll see how the start of the next chapter goes as I write it.