Chapter 664

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1IQspqQ2tkRJFBXxNwcrRYT8jvXzwjt2sRHiFzqIRsnI/edit?usp=sharing 

After three, long months, Baatar’s son was finally responsive again, albeit in a limited fashion, so when Father and Brother Du broke open the wine jugs, he might have drank more than he should have.

Much more, in fact, to the point where his memory of the night consisted solely of lifting a cup to his lips followed by a scathing haranguing from his precious rose as she hauled him off to bed. As such, even though he was no stranger to rude awakenings, the previous day’s joyous tidings left Baatar ill-prepared for surprises. So much so that Naaran’s midnight Sending failed to rouse him from sleep, and the same went for the pounding at his door. It wasn’t until Sarnai smacked his bare bottom with full force that he finally shook the shackles of slumber, jumping to his feet with a growl only to immediately toppled back into the sheets. Wishing he hadn’t moved so quickly, he fought down the urge to vomit and quelled his roiling stomach with sheer force of will before asking, “What is it?”

“Get dressed,” Sarnai said, her voice curt and afraid. “Our son is missing.”

Now there was a sobering statement if there ever was one. After a quick visit to the bathroom to purge himself of liquor, Baatar rushed out into the bustling courtyard to find torch-bearing Sentinels mobilizing while Sarnai, Brother Du, and Taduk comforted Mila, Yan, and Lin respectively. “I don’t understand how this happened,” Yan was saying, unabashed of her tears as she clutched her grandfather’s arm tight. “We fell asleep next to him, and then the next thing I knew, Mama Bun was thumping at the door and Rain was nowhere in sight.”

Mama Bun? Not the Guardian Turtle? Strange. Despite barely leaving the boy’s side during the past three months, the Divine Beast seemed utterly unconcerned with his unexplained absence, sprawled out in the centre of the courtyard and blinking sleepily amidst a pile of snoring bunnies while chaos reigned around her. Odd that she would be so laid back in this time of trouble, and as he stepped closer to inspect her, she looked up and radiated a calming Aura, one of patience and composure. “Stop making such a fuss,” she seemed to be saying, before nestling her chin between two sleeping rabbits. “He’ll be back soon enough.”

Hoping she knew something the rest of them did not, Baatar took charge of the courtyard, for the Mother helps those who help themselves. “Naaran. Bring me up to speed.”

Fully armed and armoured for a fight, Baatar’s old friend appeared out of Concealment, his amber eyes burning with fury and frustration. “The Chief Provost set out with Sarnai’s Mentor and Senior sisters,” Naaran began, his petulant tone insinuating he believed he should be there with them. “Moving as one in hopes of finding a clue regarding the boy’s disappearance.”

Disappearance. Good. This meant they had not yet confirmed this was a kidnapping or assassination. How wonderful it would be if Rain simply wandered off on his own and got lost in the manor somewhere, perhaps falling asleep in the bath-house or seeking solace in the quin stables. “The guards?”

Were Baatar speaking with one of his Imperial Officers, he would’ve had to clarify, but Naaran knew him well enough to understand. “None were drunk or asleep, yet they heard and saw nothing, not even the two standing guard at his door.”

“Window?”

“My station,” Naaran replied, bitter and ashamed by his failure. “Nothing as well. Do you think this the work of a Divinity?”

“Possible, but unlikely.” For more reasons than one. The Imperial Clan had no need to abduct the boy, since a simple summons would be just as effective. As for the Enemy, even if they cared to go to all this trouble instead of having a Divinity kill him outright, there was little chance a Defiled Divinity could make it past the border unnoticed. After Zhu Chanzui’s unexpected appearance in the Citadel, the Imperial Divinities had gone on full alert and remained so all this time, unwilling to be caught off-guard should it come to all out war.

Unlikely did not mean impossible, but if this was a matter of Divinities, there was nothing Baatar could do. Instead, he focused on what he could do and divided the remaining Sentinels into four search parties, ordering each one to head off in a cardinal direction and cast as wide a net as possible, but before they had even set out, the courtyard door creaked open and Rain strode in as if returning from a midnight stroll. Stopping mid-step as if caught by surprise, the boy stood in the doorway with one foot raised as everyone else stared in silent shock. It wasn’t just his unexpected arrival which caught them by surprise, but also his bloodied and battered appearance. Though his expression was stony and neutral as could be, his skin and hair were drenched in clotting blood and plastered with bits of gore and viscera, while his tattered, grisly robes told the tale of a bitter, hard fought battle. The boy had taken at least three life-threatening wounds by Baatar’s count, a thrust to the abdomen, a slash across the throat, and a dismembered left limb, each one spelled out in the bloodstains on his clothes and body. Oddly enough, aside from blood splatter and a few errant cuts, his lower-half seemed mostly untouched, though this was hardly surprising considering his penchant for using his short stature against his foes.

Sarnai was first to break the spell of surprise, letting loose with an anxious cry as she rushed to Rain’s side, only to be stopped by a raised arm barring her path. Naaran’s arm, in fact, having left from Baatar’s side, and his Sentinels followed hot on his heels to encircle Rain in the doorway, their weapons drawn and readied. “You lot stay back,” Naaran commanded, bravely risking death and grievous injury from them all as they glared daggers into his exposed back. “Boy, come quietly and you will not be hurt.” Baatar opened his mouth to interject, but Naaran expected his objection and Sent, “You agreed to this. You are his father, but I am his guardian, and he my ward. Things have come too far to let him stroll in without question. Stand down, old friend. Do not make me ask twice.”

There was pain in the man’s voice, a plaintive plea to not make things worse, and as much as Baatar wished to run to his son’s side and make sure he was alright, he knew Naaran was in the right here. The boy had disappeared in the middle of the night and come back covered in human remains. Though Baatar believed there was a good explanation for this, he couldn’t fault his old friend for his caution, as this was the arrangement they’d made. Being Rain’s father meant he was no longer suited to judge if the boy had slipped and turned Defiled, so he enlisted Naaran to do so in his stead. There was no better person for the job, so it would be best to just leave him to it.

“Come, my rose,” Baatar whispered, wrapping his arms around Sarnai’s, not just to embrace her, but to keep her from doing anything foolish. “All will be well. Let Naaran do his work.” Brother Du didn’t understand what was going on, but he kept Yan and Mila in check with a hand on each of their shoulders as he readied to guard them both. Tearing his eyes away from his son, Baatar checked to make sure the girl didn’t do anything rash, but Charok was there by her side and she had yet to lash out with the spear in her hand, so matters were going as well as could be expected.

Except in all the shock and surprise, no one remembered to account for Song.

Baatar’s little sister offered no questions, made no demands, and even eschewed a heated cry of challenge as she responded to this perceived threat with the hiss of her drawn sabre. Having struck without hesitation, Baatar thought she might take Naaran’s leg off at the knee, but then a mighty chime rang out as sabre met spear, only for the former to rebound sharply off the latter. Undeterred, Song readied for a second strike, but she was no match for a Peak Expert, especially not one of Naaran’s calibre. Using the butt of his spear to sweep Song’s leading foot out from under her, he drew his fist back to drive it into her stomach. A neat and effective way to take her out of the fight without causing undue harm, as Father was lurking nearby and liable to lose his temper if anyone were too heavy handed with his precious daughters, but alas, needs must. Song was Oathbound to defend Rain to the death, so it would be best if she was brought away as quickly as possible so they could make sense of the situation without her interference.

As Baatar was about to shout for Father to bring Song away, silence and stillness fell over the chaotic courtyard a second time, again due to Rain’s sudden appearance. No longer was he standing trapped in the doorway, but had somehow made it past the Sentinel spears barring his path to block Naaran’s punch. No, not block, but stop the strike entirely before it could even begin, the older Sentinel’s arm still cocked while Rain’s was wholly outstretched. Though Naaran’s posture left him vulnerable to a counter, Rain’s attention was solely on Song as he shook his head and said, “No danger.”

Accepting the simple statement without fuss, Song hopped to her feet and sheathed her weapon before offering a silent nod of apology to Naaran, her customary stony and indifferent expression a match for Rain’s. The only sign of curiosity was an oblique glance back as Song retook her place by the bears’ sides. A strange relationship they had, one Baatar didn’t wholly understand, but his little sister trusted Rain without question and seemed unconcerned by his gory appearance.

It was unnerving to see him move so strangely, cocking his head while still watching Song leave before turning to Naaran. The stilted, delayed movements lent an eerie cast to his demeanour, further amplified by his expressionless features and how he seemed to struggle with all natural reactions. One would usually expect him to look at Naaran and then cock his head, not the other way around, but Rain seemed only capable of carrying out one action at a time. Combined with his sharp, jarring movements and how utterly still he sometimes became, he gave off the impression of a realistic, lifelike puppet rather than a living, breathing person.

“Why,” the boy uttered, forgetting to inflect his tone to imply a question, yet another unsettling behaviour. Baatar was happy to have his son back, but he would be lying if he said he had no reservations.

Recovering from his surprise with admirable haste, Naaran glared and said, “I ask the questions here. Release me.”

...How was this possible? Naaran should’ve easily been able to break free from Rain’s clutches, but despite his strained muscles and reddening cheeks, it was clear the older Sentinel’s fist was stuck in Rain’s iron grip. The boy was also exerting no small effort, but Baatar hadn’t noticed because of Rain’s lack of expression, and to everyone’s surprise, they were seemingly equally matched.

After a moment spent parsing through the words, Rain complied with Naaran’s demand and let his arms drop to his side. Literally drop, as in he stopped holding them up and ignored them as they swung about like dead weight. “What,” Rain uttered, again forgetting the inflection, his arms swaying as he let momentum play out and giving off the illusion that they were limp, unfeeling appendages.

“Where did you go?”

“...Out.”

“What did you do?”

“...Fight. Kill.”

“Who did you kill?”

“...Dunno. Enemy. Ally.”

“Whose blood is that?”

“...Mine. Theirs.”

So far, the boy had given little to nothing of use, and repeated questioning bore no fruit. There was something wrong with the boy’s head, leaving him unable to do more than utter a few words at a time. He was also easily distracted, lapsing into silence and staring at nothing for long seconds before trying to wander off, only for Naaran to stop him in his tracks and repeat the question. The Guardian Turtle squeaked quietly from the courtyard, unwilling to emerge from her pile of sleeping bunnies to make her way to Rain’s side, but Aurie tried to slink past the Sentinels more than once until Song finally brought him away.

Seeing Rain’s forlorn eyes watching the wildcat pad away consumed the last of Baatar’s patience. His old friend was merely doing his job, one Baatar asked him to do, but despite his lack of expression, the boy seemed so tired and vulnerable, as if drained and ready to collapse on his feet. “Enough,” he growled, releasing Sarnai and interrupting her mid Sending as she threatened to beat him bloody with his own dismembered limbs. “The boy can answer the rest of your questions after he has bathed and rested.”

Unperturbed by the underlying promise of conflict laced in Baatar’s tone, Naaran met his glare and Sent, “You are not considering the implications of his appearance. By his own admission, he left the manor to fight and kill. Why? If his life was under threat, why would he leave instead of alerting his guards? Who were these enemies he fought, and how did no one else notice their arrival? Where did the conflict take place? Is he remaining silent because his mind is unable to deliver instructions to the location, or because he does not wish to tell us for fear of what we might find? Stand down old friend. Do not force this issue, not here, not now.”

“What do you think happened then?” Baatar retorted, cognizant of the silence surrounding their private exchange. Naaran’s Sentinels were moving to support him, while Baatar’s family made ready to defend Rain. “That he strode out, tortured innocents, bathed in their blood, and came back hoping to wash up unnoticed?”

“The Enemy rarely operates by what you or I consider sound logic.” Glancing at Rain, who was still standing there with his head cocked, arms dangling, and eyes distant, Naaran continued, “Do you not see how unnaturally he behaves? It goes beyond awkward and stilted, to the point where it appears unfamiliar and almost inhuman.”

“He was comatose for months and unresponsive for these last two weeks.” Baatar knew he sounded defensive, but what other tone should he take when his son was being accused? “Much like with Sarnai’s body, Taduk said parts of Rain’s mind might have deteriorated due to lack of use, and is hopeful he will recover soon enough with time.”

Shaking his head, Naaran eyes revealed the depths of his pain as he saw hints of the past in Baatar’s behaviour. “You defend him so staunchly because you have your suspicions, but you hope against all hopes that you are wrong. So you look past the troubling signs and cling fast to the belief that things will improve, all while watching the world crumble before your very eyes.” Glancing away and up into the sky, Naaran heaved a soft sigh, no doubt remembering his own grievous losses. “You are blinded by your love for your son, just as I was blinded by mine, old friend. Leave me be so that I might spare you from a lifetime of pain and regret.”

Though Baatar suspected he knew what Naaran’s answer might be, he had to give voice to the question. “What do you suspect has happened to my son?”

“I fear the worst because I have lived through it,” came Naaran’s reply, his way of softening the blow that had yet to come. “By the boy’s own admission, the Enemy is capable of invading his Natal Palace, and our foe has even successfully subdued and taken over at least one Defiled Warrior, that of Gen from Sanshu.” Meeting Baatar’s gaze with a pained expression, Naaran asked, “So what if this is no longer your son, but a stranger puppeting his body?”

Baatar’s first instinct was to scoff and deny such a thing was even possible, though he knew well enough that it was. He just didn’t want it to be, because that meant his son was dead and a monster had stolen in to wear his face. It made sense, in a twisted way, but Baatar simply could not believe it, because he knew his son too well to be fooled by a complete stranger. When Rain first regained awareness, little Tali was the first to notice, and children were harder to fool than adults when it came to things like this. She would have sensed something amiss if it’d been anyone other than Rain, as would the rest of them, or so Baatar believed, but this was akin to hopes and prayers, of little use with calamity bearing down upon them.

Objectively speaking, Naaran was right to suspect Rain. The boy slipped out of the manor unseen by multiple Expert guards and engaged in battle and bloodshed without anyone noticing, which was only possible if he used Concealment and somehow avoided detection from multiple overlapping Domains, a feat few could accomplish. Guan Suo and the smaller Divine Turtle for certain, and Sarnai’s Mentor perhaps, but other than those three, Baatar could not name a fourth. What’s more, Rain’s impressive speed and strength could not be explained solely by the medicinal baths, not to this extent at least, where Rain’s lean, extended arm was able to overpower Naaran’s thick, Chi Reinforced fist. No, in order to do this, Rain must have been using both internal and external Reinforcement to a staggering degree, a feat he was previously unable to accomplish.

“So what do you propose?” Baatar finally managed to ask, already knowing the answer, yet unable to bring himself to give the order.

“If he requires time to Heal, then we give him that time, but in isolation. Away from our families and loved ones, where he can do minimal harm if the worst should come to pass.”

That was the only way. Turning his gaze to the boy, Baatar’s heart sank at the possibility of having already lost his son. Rain deserved better than such a lamentable fate, but such was life. Though Baatar believed this was still Rain, he could not fault Naaran for his caution, not after what he went through some decades ago. The boy was tired and disoriented, but questions would not hurt him, nor would Naaran do anything that would. Just as Baatar was about to step back and let his old friend continue, Rain straightened his head and looked up to meet his eyes. “Is ‘kay,” the boy said, his tone flat and expression blank, but eyes welling with love and concern. “Word. Jumble. Answer. Hard. Suspect.” The boy’s frustration was evident, reaffirming Baatar’s trust in his son, because there was nothing more like Rain than frustration. After a moment of inner struggle, the boy failed to come up with anything else to say and lowered his head in defeat. “Sorry. Understand. Love you.”

The boy’s Aura told Baatar that he knew. He wanted to go with Naaran and be locked away, but Baatar could not bear to stand it. Ignoring his old friend’s silent warning, he embraced his son and held him tight. Stroking his blood-matted hair, Baatar whispered, “Nothing to apologize for, boy. You are among family, and it is here you will stay. Go wash up and rest. Everything else can wait.”

Rain’s hug was telling indeed as he clung fast to Baatar’s waist, reluctant to leave the sheltered embrace. It wasn’t until Yan and Mila came to fetch him that he finally allowed himself to be led away, but not before hugging Naaran as well. “Sorry,” he repeated, before meeting the man’s eyes, and Baatar could see the sympathy overflowing in his son’s gaze. “Sorry.”

As everyone left to stand guard over Rain, he was left alone in the courtyard with Naaran. Still reeling from Rain’s apology, his old friend took a moment to collect himself while Baatar pretended to be both blind and deaf, for no man liked to be seen crying. “You should not have let him go,” Naaran grumbled, his voice heavy with heartache. “Even if there’s nothing wrong and that is truly Rain in there, this was the wrong decision. We risk too much leaving this mystery unsolved.”

“Then we must hope my Mother finds something that will shed light on everything.” That was about as close to an admission of fault as Baatar would allow, because he would have agreed with his old friend if it were anyone other than Rain.

“I did.” Appearing out of Concealment beside them, Mother fixed Baatar with a stern look, one which made him feel twelve years old again and fear for his backside. “Your sword. Show it to me.” In a testament to how well she’d raised him, Baatar’s body obeyed before his mind even registered the demand, presenting her his sword in the upraised palms of his hands. To his surprise, Mother sighed and pulled out a cloth bundle before unravelling it to reveal a similar sword, one recently stained in blood and viscera. “Old husband,” Mother called, and Father arrived with a speed that belied his size. “Both of you. Look at this, and tell me what you see.”

At first glance, Baatar thought Mother had commissioned another short sword for Rain and was jealous she’d taken this opportunity away from him, but unless she knew of his recovery in advance, there was no possible way she would have known to bring it along on this trip. Most of the blood staining the blade had been wiped away, but Baatar could tell it was covered from tip to tang at one point, as the weapon was lacking a hilt and pommel. No surprise there, since there was no need to waste valuable Spiritual materials forging those when a mundane alternative would work perfectly fine, but the sword in Mother’s hand had been used without either. It was a subtle clue, but one they all picked up on immediately, because even though the tang was covered in blood, it also had hand-prints showing it had been gripped in battle. Oddly enough, the hand-prints were formed over the blood, as if the tang had been coated in it before being grabbed, as opposed to a single ‘clean’ hand print where someone held the sword and fought.

Someone threw this blade and it went clean through a body before returning to the wielder’s hand, a trick Baatar was most fond of.

While he was puzzling out how the weapon had been used, Father was busy turning the weapoin about in his hands and inspecting the sword’s physical properties. “Length, width, thickness, balance,” he rumbled, staring down the tang to inspect it’s alignment, “It all checks out. No doubt about it, this is the sword I forged for the lad.”

“Why would anyone make a copy of the boy’s Spiritual Weapon?” There was something about standing in the presence of both his parents that made Baatar want to rely on them, because were it anyone else here with him, he would have internalized the question.

Shaking his head, Father continued studying the sword in hopes of finding some telling flaw or mark. “Ye don’t understand, son. This ain’t no copy. This is the sword I forged him, right down to the little imperfection in the guard. See that bump there?” Pointing at a section along the guard that looked no different from the rest, Father said, “That happened because me tongs shifted while I was working. Got distracted by me girl calling me away fer dinner, so I hurried to finish and didn’t notice the flaw until after it all settled. And this here? See how the light almost bends along this section of the sword? That’s an imperfection that cropped up because the Heavenly Ore ye gave me didn’t fully mix with the steel. I told ye it could happen before I made it, didn’t I? That’s why I said yer best bet was to give the boy a shortsword instead of adding more steel to make a longsword or short spear. Heavenly Ores don’t always take too well to steel, and ye can never tell until it’s finished. Ain’t a doubt in my mind, this here is the boy’s weapon, same as the one I forged him in every possible way.”

Baatar saw nothing of the sort, but Father was the Divine Blacksmith and he trusted his judgment. “But how can that be? His Spiritual Weapons were destroyed.”

Shrugging, Father smiled and rumbled, “Apparently, the little miracle worker found a way to fix it.”

Nodding in agreement, Mother marched to the bathroom, where the Sentinel guards parted for her like sheep for the sheepdog. Inside, they came across Rain sitting naked on a stool while Sarnai and Mila scrubbed away at his arms and Yan stood ready with a bucket. Zheng Luo was also present, covering her eyes with her hand in a comically girlish attempt at modesty, though Baatar noted if she really didn’t want to look, she could have waited outside, turned away, or even just kept her fingers together instead of parted like the ribs of a fan. “This is your sword,” Mother announced, holding it out for Rain. A statement, not a question, since there was no question about it.

“Peace.” There was nothing forced or uncanny about Rain’s smile, the first Baatar had seen since he regained awareness, and one that warmed his heart.

“How is it here? It was destroyed.”

“...Oneness,” Rain replied, his smile falling away after the customary pause he needed to parse through the question. “Me. Sword. Same.” One with the Sword. How... fitting an answer, albeit not exactly useful.

After trying and failing to get Rain to expand on his answer, Mother’s patience wore thin and she asked, “Why did I find this lying in an empty, blood-stained field?”

“...Forgot.”

“How could you forget? The blood has yet to dry!”

“Phrasing, Mother.” Sensing her frustration, Baatar helpfully added, “He answers questions very literally. I believe he is saying he forgot to bring the sword back.”

Glaring daggers at him for being right, Mother took a deep breath and tried again. “Where did the bodies go?” And it was here, Baatar learned what Mother was afraid of. “Did you... Devour them?”

The silence that followed aged Baatar by a lifetime, until Rain finally answered, “...Dunno.”

And after another equally arduous pause, he added, “...No.”

Mother was struggling with her conscience now, Baatar could see it clearly. She too wanted to isolate Rain lest he bring disaster down upon them all, but seeing little Mila tenderly scrub his bloodied hands made it all but impossible to do. Mother was the strongest Warrior Baatar knew, but he was also a parent, and he knew how difficult it was to break your child’s heart. Unable to bring herself to give the order, Mother turned to Baatar and Sent, “Head directly north from here. Bring your father, Naaran, and Little Du. See with your own eyes what I saw, and perhaps together, we will find the strength to do what needs to be done. North,” she repeated, her gaze fixated on Rain and not in the same way Luo-Luo’s was. “You cannot miss it.”

Stomach sinking at her ominous tone, Baatar did as he was told without question. Cloud-Stepping out of the manor with the others hot on his heels, it wasn’t long before they arrived at what could only be the scene of Rain’s battle, and what they found chilled their blood. While Father and Brother Du gawked in silence, Naaran made a sound that was halfway between horrified and impressed. “A few minutes back, something set the warning bell to chiming. Not a proper peal, but a low hum, loud enough for me to hear out on the roof.” Scanning the upheaval with a critical eye, he nodded to himself and said, “I suppose this would do it.”

For here they stood, at the edge of a cavity of overturned dirt and grass, the ground broken and overturned by a colossal use of force. Though the cavity was not particularly deep and only stretched about twenty metres in diameter, the footprint in the centre made it clear this was no natural occurrence, but rather the work of a powerful Martial Warrior.

“The Mountain Collapsing Stomp,” Brother Du proclaimed, and there was nothing but joy in his voice. “The boy’s done it. He unleashed the Mountain Collapsing Stomp here, there’s no doubt about it. I said he’d have to be a Peak Expert by thirty to marry my precious Yan, but the boy might have actually done it.”

Even better news was how no one lived in this area, as it was earmarked for future development and expansion. The boy had plans for it, something about soldier housing or an entertainment district, or perhaps both since it was ill-advised to have bored soldiers stationed so close to civilians. Rain often made plans with more than one outcome in mind, and Baatar had long since learned to trust in his vision, but that was neither here nor there.

No, the important thing to note was that Rain had done this. There was no proof this was his work, but the alternative was that he fought here against Mitsue Juichi and won, which was ludicrous to the extreme. If the boy was capable of this much widespread destruction, then anyone staying in the same building with him was risking death. Yesterday, seeing him throw himself down by the riverside and refuse to budge made for an amusing sight, but what would have happened if they really tried to pry him away? Would he have lashed out in anger, or allowed himself to be moved against his will? Difficult to say, as Rain’s troubles were mental in nature, making it difficult to anticipate how they might affect him. Thus far, he seemed content to indulge in his pets and spend time hugging and cuddling the people he loved, an outlet for all the happiness and joy he was experiencing, but what would he do if faced with anger or hatred?

“Well, this sets my mind at ease,” Brother Du declared, stretching his arms with a yawn. “I’ll leave it to the youngsters to comb through all the dirt and grass in search of clues. One of the benefits of age and infirmity.”

“How?” Baatar snapped, angry that he would make light of this. “How can this set you at ease? The boy can barely string two words together, yet possesses enough strength to bring the manor down upon all our heads. Does this not concern you?”

“Hmm.” Stroking his beard in surprise, Brother Du considered the question for a moment before declaring, “No.” Shrugging, he explained, “If the boy is unable to control himself, then whatever will be, will be, but I think you give him too little credit. In my opinion, his mind is working fine, and his issues stem from the connection between mind and body.”

And just like that, the fog lifted from Baatar’s mind, for what Brother Du said made perfect sense. “Of course! His frustration! He knows what he wants to say, but he cannot make himself say it. If he were simple-minded, then there would be no frustration.”

“That and he lured his foe out here so that he could do battle away from the manor and District.” Stifling a yawn, Brother Du gestured about at the empty plains, further emphasizing his point. “If he’d fought in the manor or close to it, others might have gotten caught in the chaos. His logic is flawed, as it would have been better to alert us, but his intentions are still good. Inside that awkward, expressionless body, Rain is still himself, so I’ll lose no sleep resting in a room close to his.”

Ashamed for not believing more in his son, Baatar stood silent as Brother Du bade them all farewell. Father and Naaran stayed behind, with the latter setting off to do as Brother Du suggested and comb through the dirt and grass. Patting Baatar on the shoulder, Husolt said, “Come now son, no need to look so hangdog about it. Like yer Ma, your first concern is always your people first, and your family second. It’s a noble calling, leadership, that it is, and it ain’t fer everyone, but you bear it better than most.” Shrugging, Father added, “Though between you an’ me, I’d think long and hard before telling the lad no. It ain’t likely he’ll throw a tantrum and stomp us all flat, but no sense temptin’ fate, if ye know what I mean.”

Smiling at the half-jest, Baatar leaned against his father’s broad shoulder and took comfort in the man’s powerful presence. “Care to help me search through for clues? There are still many mysteries yet to be solved. Who Rain fought, how he reformed his blade, and perhaps even Insight on how he came this far without being noticed.”

“Bah, if that youngster Du can claim the benefits of old age and head back to sleep, then I, yer Father, could have stayed in bed and never stirred.” Grinning as he thumped Baatar on the back, he wished him good hunting and left. Heading over to join Naaran, he offered no apology or excuse and instead set to work beside him, working by torchlight to go through the entire swathe of dirt. For long hours, neither one of them found anything besides the odd splash of blood, and it wasn’t until the sun was rising that they finally uncovered their first clue. “Over here,” Baatar called, drawing his weapon to carefully dig something out of the dirt. “Careful. If this is what I believe it is, then we should not touch it barehanded.”

For there, in the dirt, was the severed tip of a black metal blade, so similar to those wielded by Wraiths. “Odd,” Naaran murmured, though Baatar was confused.

“What is so strange about it? The Enemy dispatched killers to end my son’s life, and he saw them off without assistance.”

“If Rain fought Wraiths here,” Naaran replied, bundling the shard of metal up in a handkerchief, “Then why did he not say as much?” Shrugging, Naaran added, “Just seems strange.”

A good point, but Baatar had no answer to give. “Perhaps he was not sure if they were Wraiths?”

“Difficult to mistake those pale, ugly bastards for anything else.”

True, but Baatar was too relieved to care anymore, just happy that his son was not only conscious again, but now a Martial Warrior far beyond any of his peers. How did Rain’s Mountain Collapsing Stomp compare to Mitsue Juichi’s? Baatar should have asked Brother Du before he left. What of the Spiritual Weapon? Would Rain be able to reform the others? Could he make more, without need of Spiritual Heart or steel? What were the limits of his newfangled strength?

Whatever the answers, Baatar looked forward to helping guide Rain to discover them himself. Even Alsantset was not so far along the Martial Path that she needed help finding her steps, but Rain had jumped so high in so short a time, he was bound to have questions in need of answers, which meant Baatar could finally put his undeserved title of ‘Mentor’ to good use.

Chapter Meme