Not an extra chapter or delay notice

I rearranged chs 524 and 525, more or less chopping 524 in half and putting 525 in between the two halves. There's been little to no editing done, because I've just been agonizing over this shit for the last few hours.

I'd be much obliged if you all gave it a quick skim and lemme know your thoughts on the change of pace. Better, worse, or same, I'd like to hear it.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/17dyOvf-gAZLMvYhvmDEOORcAfQZjGlIcR9GYxPR7k5M/edit

I love the smell of napalm in the morning.

Okay, technically, it’s not napalm, and technically, it’s evening, and technically, I’m breathing through my mouth to avoid the nauseating stench of burning flesh, but the sentiment is still the same.

This. Is. Awesome.

Over two kilometres away, the conflagration burns bright enough to illuminate Sinuji like midday, a massive funeral pyre custom-made for the million-strong Army of Defiled engulfed within. As the scorching heat permeates through my thick, winter cloak and sets my skin to sweating, I do my best to peer into the flames and make out Not-Gen’s death-throes, but the dazzling incandescence is too much for my mortal eyes to handle. Then again, it doesn’t look like the Martial Warriors are doing any better, with soldier and slave alike shielding their eyes from the destructive brilliance of Hongji’s explosive welcome.

It’s a breath-taking sight, a grand spectacle of epic proportions which this world has never seen, a fiery inferno wrought of oil and Chi wreaking havoc on the Enemy’s forces. While I take pride in being the one to first suggest this idea, Hongji wasn’t kidding when he said I was thinking too small, though he over-exaggerated when he said he’d craft a blaze visible from Nan Ping, I’ll allow it for the sake of well-deserved dramatic effect. It’s safe to say that Chen Hongji has made history here today in Sinuji, killing a million Defiled warriors despite being absent from the fort itself. My only complaint is that the deafening crackle of flames drowns out the screams of the Defiled, but it’s a small price to pay for this scale of massed devastation.

I gotta say, even though all of this could’ve kept me from being crippled and broken the last time a Defiled army visited Sinuji, having seen the results firsthand, I’m glad Hongji stayed his hand and didn’t blow his fiery load on Gen’s last pitiful entourage of three-hundred thousand. We dealt a grievous blow to the Enemy here, with one million Defiled reduced to cinders and ash, including at least fifty Demons and the eight-hundred year old body-snatching boogeyman who led them, not to mention the hundred-and-fifty thousand so-called Chosen of Heaven, along with their costly Runic Armour and prized Spiritual Weapons. I suspect Zhen Shi’s true body is still alive and well somewhere in the Western Province, but he’ll need a new meat-puppet to play with since this one will soon be scattered to the wind.

The Emissary of Earth and Flame, done in by copious amounts of oil and elbow grease. Poetic, in a way, or maybe ironic. Either way, I’m happier than Pong Pong in a pool filled with shrimp and thoroughly enjoying the light show.

Honestly, I have no idea how Hongji set this all up. For the sake of secrecy, only the highest echelons of command were privy to the details, and the work was undoubtedly carried out by oath-sworn slaves. My best guess is that Hongji dug a network of tunnels underneath the open fields, or maybe even used the tunnels dug by the Enemy’s mole-rat Demons against them. With those in place, then it becomes a simple matter of flooding the tunnels with pitch and oil, letting the gasses build up to explosive proportions, collapsing the tunnel entrance to create an appropriate firebreak, then setting the whole thing off in an explosion of scorching hot death via a Chi-fuelled fire-bird from Tenjin.

If only I knew how to take all this destruction and bottle it up into one, tiny, metallic, self-propelling cylinder...

A shame only a handful of people know they have Hongji to thank for all of this, though I’ve no doubt the Empire will praise his name for decades, if not centuries to come once news of his brilliance emerges. Everything regarding this plan was understandably kept secret for the sake of security, and I wasn’t privy to the planning process since it was all kept strictly to a need to know basis. Even Watanabe wasn’t informed of these preparations, or so I inferred from his panicked attempts to get himself out of Sinuji ahead of the Defiled Horde’s arrival. All the cloak and dagger was absolutely worth it though, because if Zhen Shi even had an inkling of the warm welcome we had waiting for him, he would’ve never brought such a tempting target to roast on the fields of Sinuji. Nian Zu only informed me of Hongji’s painstaking preparations a few days ago, after the Defiled Horde was first spotted, and I’ve been understandably giddy ever since. It’s been hard keeping this all to myself, especially with all my friends and family beside themselves with worry. I almost let the cat out of the bag more than once while entertaining the long stream of concerned visitors earlier today, but at least now I know I can count on Tam Taewoong and the three most prominent Healers in Sinuji.

That said, the reaction from the soldiers of Sinuji is nothing like I’d expected, with none of the cheers or celebrations I’d envisioned these past few days. Shocked silence I can understand, but as I tear my eyes away from the Defiled corpse-fire, I find the surrounding soldiers staring at me in unchecked horror. No, not me, but at Tenjin beside me, who has yet to notice as he takes in his handiwork with pride and satisfaction.

Masahige is the first to regain his voice, his subdued question barely audible above the roaring inferno. “How could you? You’ve killed us all...”

“...What in the fuck are you babbling about?” More than a little miffed, I jerk a thumb towards the fire and say, “Last I checked, it wasn’t our asses in the fire out there, and with the giant stone-studded dirt path between us, there’s way the flames can spread this way.” It’s not like I was expecting any thanks, but what’s with the accusations?

Cringing as he tries to look at Tenjin and fails, Masahige sobs, “A Divinity has acted and broken the treaty. We’re doomed, all of us doomed.”

Oh, he thinks Tenjin is a Divinity who wiped out the Defiled with Heavenly Energy. Laughable as it might be, I can see how they might come to such an erroneous conclusion, but as I open my mouth to clear up the misunderstanding, the earth lets loose with a thunderous roar and shudders with violent fury. Crashing headlong into Kuang Biao’s steely armour, I clutch his arm for support and look up just in time to see five towering earthen pillars rise up from amidst the flames. Towering high about the incandescent blaze, the pillars sprout into the night sky like ponderous mountains growing in front of my eyes, their massive, streaming forms shuddering beneath their own weight. One moment, it seems as if the mountains will grow unto infinity and crush Sinuji beneath their ponderous mass, but the next, they burst apart in surging tide of dirt and debris. The earthen tide obscures the night skies for all of a second before landing atop the fiery conflagration with a resounding crash, setting the ground to trembling once more as it belches clouds of cinders, smoke, and soil in every direction as far as the eye can see. My heart skips a beat and I join the other defenders of Sinuji in holding my breath, silently hoping my eyes deceive me and things are not as they seem. One minute, then two, then a third passes without development, and for the briefest of moments, I think everything is going to be okay, but then the dust clears and all of Sinuji gasps as our fears are made true.

The Defiled army survived. Not uninjured and not whole, but as the bodies dig their way out of the dirt, it’s easy to see there’s still a hell of a lot more Defiled than there are Imperials in Sinuji.

...

That’s fucking cheating!

Seriously, this is bullshit. We lit the biggest bonfire this world has ever seen, and some crazed motherfucker piloting a meat suit puts it all out with a wave of his fucking hand. It’s been four months and change since I last saw Not-Gen, but Zhen Shi has already figured out how to put Gen’s other Blessings to good use. How is this even remotely fair? Gen gets three functional Elements to work with, Earth, Fire, and Metal, while I’m here stuck with Water. He throws fireballs, raises mountains, and crafts awesome metallic claw-hands while the best I can do is hydrate turtles with bathwater. Hey, who knows, maybe if I complain enough, I’ll eventually Awaken to the Blessing of Salt. Fuck you, Mother in Heaven, you’re a real bitch.

Opening my mouth to voice my objection in a less childish manner, I’m once again interrupted but this time by Kuang Biao himself. “Keep quiet and out of sight,” he Sends, positioning himself in front of me while simultaneously urging me back. “You’ve pissed them off enough. No need to open your mouth and make yourself a target. Even I can’t save you from a Divinity.” Good point. Shrinking back as best I can with my walker, I look for a safer place to watch the drama unfold, but considering what I just witnessed, I doubt anywhere in Sinuji could still be considered safe. How the fuck are we supposed to fight against someone like Zhen Shi while he puppets a twenty something year old Gen?

...

Wait...

I think all the shock has made me stupid.

“What Divinity?” I ask, peering out at the field through the crook of Kuang Biao’s arm. So what if it makes me look scared? Anyone in their right mind would be too.

“The one who just put out the fire.” The added ‘idiot’ is implied, because I’m pretty sure Death Corps aren’t allowed to disparage their masters, but Kuang Biao adds, “And what did I say about keeping quiet? Handle the coward behind us before he incites massed panic.”

Reluctantly tearing my eyes away from the Defiled, I turn to see Masahige clutching his head with eyes wide open. “I told you,” he whimpers, rocking back and forth on his feet. “Told you, you’ve doomed us all. The treaty is broken and now we’re all dead. We’re all going to -”

Considering he could literally break me like a twig, I discard my first thought which is to slap Masahige across the face and instead direct Green One to do it with a nod. Startled out of his stupor at the impact, the lieutenant snarls and reaches for Green One with a snarl, but is promptly manhandled into submission with ease by my Death Corps guards swarming him from all sides. “Get a hold of yourself,” I snap, trying not to laugh at the sight of him being held up by the scruff of his neck. Truth is, it’s not really all that funny and mostly sad, but terror does strange things to a man’s mind. “You are an Imperial Warrior, one trained to defend the Empire against the Defiled.” Pointing at the Defiled army as they stagger back into formation amidst the smoke and embers, I state, “There stands the Defiled.” Holy shit there are a lot of them. At least half survived, maybe more. Fuck my life. Pointing at Masahige’s feet, I add, “And this here? This is Imperial land. We are the first line of defence, and behind us is everyone we love and cherish. Our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, our friends and countrymen, all of whom will die if the Enemy has their way. Stay on task and let Divinities worry about Enemy Divinities, just like you let our Experts deal with their Demons. Your job is to deal with the Defiled, so until the Mother sees fit to claim your eternal soul, you will stand here and defend this ground until your dying breath. Do you understand, soldier?!”

Luckily for me, Masahige’s training kicks in and the ingrained discipline overpowers his fear. “Yes, Great One,” he yells, forgetting he technically outranks me. “This one will stand, and this one will fight!” Though tinged with hysteria, Masahige’s shout ripples down the line, echoed by many a stalwart soldier, and soon enough, a cheer rings out and is picked up but thousands of Imperial throats, a wordless howl of defiance in the face of the Enemy’s overwhelming display of power. Many of the soldiers around me shower Tenjin with reverent gazes, their eyes filled with adoration for this supposed Divinity standing in their midst, and I thank the Heavens I didn’t disabuse them of the notion earlier. Discomforted by their veneration, Tenjin does his best not to squirm or make eye contact while Tursinai clutches her belly and buries her face in Song’s shoulder to keep from ruining things with her uproarious laughter.

Not gonna lie, I really wish I were as ignorant as the soldiers around me and believe Tenjin were an actual Divinity. Guess I should’ve brought Jorani up to the wall. At least then I could stand behind him and feel safe knowing GangShu would keep both of us alive.

Now?

Now... there’s nothing I can do except leave it all up to fate.

And fate, as history has proven, is a real bitch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon their arrival in Sinuji, Goujian’s chest had swelled with pride and reverence as he gazed upon the walls of Sinuji and the frightened defenders upon them. Soldiers of the Dog Emperor one and all, they quailed in terror before this all-powerful host gathered before them, and as well they should. Even without the Transcendents and Defiled auxiliaries, the hundred-and fifty thousand Chosen of Heaven were enough to trample the fort beneath their boots, but such precious lives could not be squandered out of hand. The sons and daughters of Heaven standing with him were a rare and limited breed, those few who had seen through the lies of the Empire and broken free of their constraints to accept the hidden Truth, and while more were coming to the Light each passing day, it would still take years, if not decades, to gather an army strong enough to sweep through the Empire unchecked.

Even this million-strong mixed force wasn’t enough to topple the Dog Emperor from his jade throne, but it was a start, for soon, the good citizens of the Empire would come flocking to their cause. Today in Sinuji marked the first time the Chosen of Heaven arrived not as rebels, traitors, or deranged madmen, but as revolutionists here to liberate the Empire from the clutches of a corrupt regime and lay the foundation for a newer, better Azure Empire, one in which the Truth would be disseminated to all instead of known only to a select few. For too long, the Imperial Clan guarded the Truth like jealous misers and hid the secrets of Heaven for fear of being ousted from power, but in doing so, they upset the natural order of the world itself. New waves overtake the old, such was Heaven’s Will, but the Imperial Clan defied fate for millennia through their wicked and tyrannical ways. Having invoked Heaven’s Wrath, a reckoning had now arrived in the form of an unstoppable Army of Chosen, an unstoppable force lead by the Divine Son of Heaven himself.

Such were Goujian’s thoughts as he watched young Emperor Gen greet his wayward subjects and share his vision of the future, right up until that laughable little fire-bird transformed the world into heat and agony.

Everything went white as the liquid in his eyes instantly boiled away to nothingness, and then there was darkness. Opening his his mouth to scream, he instead violently heaved as the heat sucked the air right out of his lungs and left his tongue and throat singed. Then, the agony rescinded as his nerves were seared to a crisp, flesh and bone replaced by charred remains of ash and soot, and only then did he finally have the presence of mind to deploy his Domain. It’d only been fractions of a second, if that, but trapped within this fiery conflagration, this minuscule delay was enough to spell the difference between life and Death.

Heavens... Why have you forsaken your children? Your Chosen?

Darkness ensued, for a moment, second, an eternity, Goujian knew not, but eventually the agony returned in full force. Wracked with pain and coughs, he struggled and flailed about until Vyakhya’s soothing voice sounded in his mind. “Be still, child. Seek calm and embrace the agony. You are the master of your mind and body, and pain merely a function to warn you of injury, so do not allow it to consume you, to control you. Let the pain melt into your mind and fade into the background as you focus on calm, much like you would parse through the sounds of a noisy crowd to listen to a single voice.”

Though he continued coughing up dirt and burned flesh, Goujian followed the instructions like a drowning man grasps to whatever might buoy him. How long it took, he could not say, but when he came to his senses, his terrified panic had been replaced with grim determination. A quick scan of his body uncovered a most disheartening tally of injuries, for he was more burnt corpse than living man, unable to see, hear, smell, taste, or feel anything at all. A mere husk was all that was left of the once-imposing Confessor, and were it not for Vyakhya’s adept ministrations, even what little remained would have been lost to this world. “Leave me be,” Goujian Sent, after taking far too long to latch onto the correct signature. “I’ll live.” Just barely, and recovery would be a long and arduous journey. “Don’t waste your strength on me and save as many others as you can.”

It was only logical. Runic armour, Spiritual Weapons, rations, and supplies, all of this could easily be replaced with a mere turn of a hand, but the Chosen were difficult to replace. So long as they still drew breath, recovery was only a matter of time, and every last life was precious. A hundred and fifty thousand of his comrades had gathered with him to take the fight to the Empire, but how many still remained? A tenth? A twentieth? A mere handful?

While mourning the loss of his precious comrades, his focus slipped for only an instant, but even that much was enough to bring the agony back in full force without Vyakhya there to aid him. How easy it would be to give in to his despair and move on from these ruined remains, but Goujian was never one to surrender. His entire life had been an uphill struggle, from his humble beginnings mired in poverty, through his tumultuous rise as the Confessor, all the way to now with his desperate efforts to abolish a corrupt government and install young Gen upon a new throne. Nothing had ever been easy, but he had endured and persevered through it all, just as he would stand firm in the face of this most recent tribulation.

The Chosen of Heaven had been dealt a grievous blow today, but they were not yet defeated.

“How can you be sure?” Goujian asked himself, his voice echoing inside the void. “You know nothing of what happened and barely still draw breath. Does young Gen still live? What of your Disciple, Yuanyin? Disappointed you might be, but you still love the boy like a son, the last son you have left. Yield to fate. Such is life.”

Yes... Such is life, trials and tribulations without end. He barely survived this one, if this ruined form could be considered survival. Even with the Heavens to guide him, how many years or decades before he recovered to full strength? Assuming he ever recovered at all. The fire had ruined him, left him blind, deaf, and helpless in a cruel, savage world, and young Gen was not a man ruled by sentiment. Would he keep a useless old fool alive? Most certainly not.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him as the darkness closed in, and in his agony, Goujian heard the faintest of whispers.

“Surrender.”

A simple statement, but one filled with promise and temptation, the sweet relief of salvation and the quiet promise of oblivion. Yes... perhaps it was time to surrender to fate. Goujian had persevered through the worst of it, had done his best to rid the world of corruption, and towards the end, he’d even seen through the lies to find the Truth. This was more than most could claim, and it would have to be enough. There was no hope, not for him, and thus, no reason for resistance. Lungs labouring for effort, he drew in a single breath and readied himself to submit, because the trials and tribulations of Heaven were too much for this man to bear.

“I...”

Chapter 525

In his darkest moment of despair, mere moments before succumbing to fate, Goujian had an epiphany.

Walk the razor’s edge.

So often, the Uniter would repeat this phrase, but only now did Goujian truly understand the wisdom hidden within this simple phrase. Young Gen had said it himself during his debate with Vyakhya: the Imperial method of Balance was flawed from the first step, yet Goujian still continued down this errant Path in hopes of stumbling back onto the correct path, but he had already deviated too far. So blinded by his preconceptions, he couldn’t even recognize the Truth when it sat staring him in the face, having come across the answer so many months ago when it was imparted unto him by the Heaven’s themselves while he lay hidden beneath the floorboards of a smuggler’s ship.

“The difference between medicine and poison is often merely a matter of dosage, and such is the case with Heavenly Energy.” Those were Goujian’s words then, spoken as he knelt before Wen Zhong, his oldest son, in a show of contrition. “Where the Defiled take too much and lose themselves to emotion, we were taught to take too little by closing our emotions off and converting Heavenly Energy into Chi. Balance, true Balance is not about control of one’s emotions, but surrender to them. Embrace love and joy, give in to anger and hatred, for only then can one be wholly in tune with nature and command the Energy of the Heavens.”

Too much was as bad as not enough. Walk the razor’s edge. Different ways of saying the same thing, and so Goujian had done, but what he’d neglected to remember was that there was more to life than merely love, joy, anger, and hatred. There was pride and loathing, pleasure and sorrow, relief and regret, so many facets of the human condition which he’d neglected out of fear of losing Balance, but the Balance he sought, the so-called True Balance he clung to, was still the same lie. Was young Gen not proof enough? The boy spent his days and nights mired in lust and revelry, and Goujian’s Imperial-tinted eyes saw it as blasphemy, but young Gen was closer to the Truth than any others save perhaps the Uniter himself. Goujian also indulged from time to time, but he saw such acts as necessary to adjust the scales of emotion and reach a healthy equilibrium, ensuring love and hate, anger and joy, lust and discipline were all equally represented. That was how he approached True Balance, a cold, logical approach based on the flawed Imperial premise, but humans were not creatures of logic. No, human were creatures of emotion, and True Balance wasn’t about managing one’s emotions until positive was equal to negative, but experiencing all emotions in full, following the highs of joy and lows of despair wherever they might bring him without ever succumbing fully to their control.

The razor’s edge indeed. A margin of error so slim it might as well not exist, yet Goujian neither balked nor shied away when faced with this challenge even though he knew the risk. He stood upon a precipice, and he would either surmount this challenge or stumble and fall, but at this moment, as he lay burnt and defeated upon the fields of Sinuji, he cared not for his fate. Success meant casting off the final shackles of Imperial indoctrination to become a true Chosen of Heaven, while failure meant succumbing to his emotions and becoming an inhuman Transcendent, but regardless of the outcome, Goujian would continue to serve Heaven’s Will.

What more could a man like him ask for?

It took more effort than Goujian expected to loosen his grip on his emotions, so accustomed to pressing everything he didn’t like back into the deep, dark, recesses of his psyche, but once uncovered, it all came flooding out at once. Parsing through to experience them one by one, he started with his earliest childhood memory, a memory he repressed more than any other, of a time before he spent every waking moment fighting and scrounging for food. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old at the time, a peasant child living in a peasant hovel, but he’d been happy there, or he had been until the night he watched his father beat his mother to death with his bare hands. Goujian had a different name then, a name he’d abandoned alongside his dying mother and enraged father as he ran out into the streets and never looked back.

Even after so many years, the memory still filled Goujian with so much pain and misery. Would things have changed if he’d gone running for help? His mother had loved him so, but he just stood by and let her suffer instead of doing something, anything. Their home was small, the kitchen close by, and many a knife or improvised weapon to be found, yet all he could do was watch until it was too late and run.

Oh mama... Your unfilial son deserves death a thousand times over...

The guards hung his father, but never bothered looking for Goujian, and thus began his life as an orphan, a life filled with struggle and hardship. He learned to fight on the streets, not in the way a Martial Warrior fights, but in the manner of a street tough, with sacks of stones slung like a heavy club and sharpened sticks thrust into soft bellies. Few expected a child so young to be so ruthless, but Goujian was quick to anger and quicker to kill, possessed of a savagery few could match which he no doubt inherited from his murderer father. As word of his reputation spread, he found his way into a street gang, as a beggar, cut-purse, look out, and child assassin, killing men twice his age using stealth, guile, and wit. Some he lured with promise of pleasure, others he tricked with feigned fear or innocence, but he soon became known as a child who would do whatever necessary to fulfill his mission.

The years passed quickly and he became a young man, one steeped in the blood of his rivals and enemies. He never let an insult pass and killed as easily as turning a hand, but he also lacked ambition and never sought to try his hand at more profitable work. Fighting and killing was a way of life, and it was all he knew, a means to ensure his continued survival, so each day, he woke up, filled his belly, and went to sleep hoping to wake again the next morning. Goujian had touched upon True Balance then, he saw this now, but in his desperation to survive, he had erred and come dangerously close to turning Defiled. Not that anyone suspected, or that he even knew at the time, but this was what ultimately saved his life in the end. Were it not for the taint upon his soul, Mahakala would have never taken notice of Goujian, and the monk wouldn’t have been there to save him when he was gutted by a wandering Martial Warrior who didn’t like the way this ‘street rat’ eyed him.

Thus began a new chapter in Goujian’s life, following his saviour through the Empire on a journey of self-reflection. The lessons, the arguments, the trials and tribulations, all of it paled in comparison to the companionship he found in this strange and atypical monk. Eating meat and drinking wine was only the start, for he would beg for alms and spend the coin on women and drugs, and Goujian was witness to it all. The monk never let Goujian partake of course, and truth be told, he had little interest in doing so, but the most curious part always came the day after, when Mahakala would repent for his sins through self-flagellation, often beating himself bloody until he could barely swing his barbed flail anymore. When questioned on his behaviour, the monk would simply offer a sheepish smile and say, “How can a man appreciate light if he never experiences the darkness?”

A teacher for a day is a father for life, and Mahakala taught him on and off for decades, the relationship continuing even after they had a critical falling out and Goujian set out on his decades-long path which culminated in becoming the Confessor. The darkness lurked in all corners, and Goujian dreamed of being the man to exterminate it, to purge it from the light, but Mahakala called him a fool for thinking this was even possible. Two sides of the same coin, he’d called it, and now, so many wasted years later, Goujian finally realized he’d been right. What would Mahakala have thought of this divide between the Abbot and Vyakhya? Where would he have stood? With his Junior Brother, the Abbot, or with his Disciple in everything but name, Goujian?

He would never know, not for certain, because through his actions, Goujian brought about the death of his teacher.

Such sin, such regret.

The familiar phrase tore away the last vestiges of his restraint and Goujian fully succumbed to his grief. First his mother, then a man he saw as a father, and even the youngsters he’d taken under his wing and come to love as his own, all these deaths lay upon his head. Sweet BoLao, sent out on her own too soon without support, only to die at the hands of the vile enemy, a grave error on his part which cost him the life of his most talented successor. To compound his sins, whilst seeking vengeance for his adopted daughter, Goujian callously caused the death of his teacher, for he was the reason Mahakala had come to Sinuji, and it was there he met his demise at the hands of the Undying Zhu Chanzui. Lastly were Goujian’s sons, his four precious, misguided sons, all of whom died by his own hand. There was stubborn Wen Zhong who’d been with him the longest, and the stern Sochun who was always looking out for his juniors. Curious Sun-Sin never truly shook off his wild roots, yet became a most excellent inquisitor because of his nature, rather than in spite of it, and empathetic Mapan who always saw the best in people despite being constantly exposed to the worst. Each of Goujian’s sons had their own strengths, but he’d taught them too well and let the poison of Imperial lies seep too deeply into their bones. He’d seen the truth, but they could not accept it, and thus, they sought to dissuade him by giving up their own lives.

So instead of allowing them to die by suicide, Goujian killed them with his own hands.

Why?

...Because even in this darkest of hours, the Heavens guided Goujian’s actions.

His mother, his teacher, and his disciples were dead, but not gone, for they lived on in Goujian’s memory. Their souls had moved on to the cycle of reincarnation, but this grief, anguish, joy, and love he experienced whilst reminiscing on their time together was not only proof of their existence, but also as a means for him to gain strength. The grief and remorse cut deep and pained him so much he almost welcomed death as a release, but he would not allow it, for death meant an end to it all. Not only his life, but the lives of the people he held dear, for his memories would die with him, and painful as they were, there was still joy to be found amongst them.

Such as the time he stumbled across the depraved work of Defiled bandits and discovered a survivor amongst the corpse. The sheer elation of saving that boy’s life made the decades of Goujian’s misguided crusade worth it, for that boy became Wen Zhong, his eldest and most talented son and Disciple. There was also the memory of teaching Sun-Sin to speak, a grown boy of fourteen who’d lived his entire life out in the wilds. Oh how frustrating it’d been to get the boy to sit still, but how Goujian had beamed with delight when after days of effort, the boy pointed at himself and said, “Sun-Sin.”

Then there was Yuanyin, Goujian’s son who still lived, a son he’d neglected for too long because it pained him to look upon his son and remember those he’d lost. How could he be so selfish as to die and leave him utterly alone in the world?

For his mother, his teacher, his children, and more, Goujian clung to his sanity throughout the despair, and when all was said and done, all he felt... was hunger. Scorched and blistered as he was, he needed sustenance to Heal his flesh and mend his wounds, but the heat had vaporized the fat from his bones and left little for him to work with. Food, he needed food, but where was he to find it? Any supplies they brought with them were now dust in the wind, and with the majority of their army being comprised of cannibalistic Defiled, Mao Jianghong hadn’t seen fit to supply them with much in the way of rations.

...Of course.

What he grasped, Goujian couldn’t say, but there was little sustenance to be found from the charred bit of meat which crumbled to ashes in his mouth. Still, even a fly had meat, so he persevered, chewing and swallowing until there was nothing left of the meagre handful he’d obtained, which only now felt more like a clump of dirt than actual flesh. Blindly grasping about in search of more, he felt someone place something within his hand which he promptly brought to his lips. Meat, burned and grisly, but more than suitable for his needs, and he chewed flesh and sucked marrow until nothing remained, even going as far as to gnaw on the bones and crunch them apart to swallow into his belly. Still yet to be sated, he waved about for more, and more he was given, but this was too inefficient for his needs. Transcendents have no need to chew, he remembered, not because they swallowed corpses whole, but because they rendered meat and bone into pulp without mechanical effort, but through manipulation of Heavenly Energy. There was no reason why Goujian couldn’t do the same, and even as the thought crossed his mind, the Heavens provided an answer.

A complex combination of Honing, Resonance, Deflection, and a few other skills he lacked a name for, but even then, he grasped the crux of the skill almost instinctively. The morsel melted as he dropped it into his mouth, turning into a fragrant, succulent fluid which was pleasing to the tongue, and he quickly gestured for more. Morsel after morsel passed his lips, and he used the resulting sustenance to mend his battered body, starting with his other arm to better speed his progress along. Intense itching broke out across Goujian’s newly reformed skin, with each brush of the wind sending fresh waves of agony through him, but such was the ways of Healing. It would take time to adjust and acclimate, because...

...Because he was only human. But did he need to remain so? Young Gen certainly didn’t.

Strength, he needed more strength, and a more powerful body would be a good start. Fur? Scales? No, simple skin, for he still had his pride as a human, but toughened and thickened to the texture of leather and without the too sensitive nerves which had yet to adjust. Stronger muscles too, not simply larger, but also denser. He’d cut open many a man and never found one with muscles more difficult to cut than a mundane wolf’s, proof that the human body was inferior in many ways, but Goujian was no longer constrained by mortal limits. Skin, muscles, and all that was left was bones and organs, the former which he hardened to the point of steel without impacting his flexibility and the latter he protected through a myriad of methods which were Imparted by the Heavens.

Natural weapons like horns and claws he left off, for he still had his trusted hooked sword, his symbol and namesake, as much a part of him as his hands or feet. With the improvements planned out, all that was to supply himself with enough sustenance to carry them out, and he set to consuming whatever his mysterious benefactor provided. To his great surprised, his body Healed much faster than expected, his flesh and skin forming in great swathes as he continued his efforts without rest. His arms reformed and legs followed soon after, and within minutes he was healthy enough to sit upright, his burnt husk flaking off his back as he continued his feast, his body growing heavy and dense as his new muscles took root.

As for his eyes... he purposely left those for last, because even though he understood the need, he still thought it best not to test the limits of his newfound conviction so soon.

Swallowing the last morsel and holding a hand up to refuse more, Goujian tilted his head to Heavens and gingerly opened his eyes one at a time. Even in the darkness of night, the stars were still almost too bright to gaze upon, and he quickly lowered his head to keep from going blind. A simple ailment to fix given his new prowess, but he was never one to make more work for himself than necessary, for there was always more to be done. Blinking the light out of his eyes, his blurred vision focused and he found young Gen standing before him with a proud smile upon his lips, as if he were a senior witnessing his junior’s success, and in a way, he was. “I’d hoped you would come to understand,” Gen said, nodding as he took in Goujian’s transformation, but his smile turned to a frown as he noticed Goujian’s sword in his hand, the scabbard having burned away with the rest of his clothes. “Still, this sovereign sees much promise in you, and I... I will mention it to my Mentor, who I am sure will take great interest.” The boy chuckled before handing Goujian a shard of pottery. “Moving onto matters at hand, the fire was mundane in nature, oil, gas, and spark rather than a Divinity's attack, which is most... troubling.” Screwing his face up in annoyance, he scoffed and added, “The Imperial Clan would never devise a stratagem such as this, for they would deem it too dangerous to give such destructive power to lesser beings. Seeing as a Khishig ignited it all, I wager this was all the work of Falling Rain.”

All this was moving so fast Goujian could barely keep up. “Er...”

“This sovereign does not blame you for your failure to uncover this plot in advanced,” Gen continued, though Goujian never even considered the possibility that he himself were to blame. “But do you see why Falling Rain is too dangerous to let live? Even crippled, he strikes a grievous blow to our cause, and this grievance must be redressed. Come,” he added, extending a metallic hand to help Goujian stand. “There is work yet to be done.”

Yes... There was work to be done. The Chosen of Heaven been tempered in fire, and while many were lost, all that remained were hardened steel. With Young Gen at the forefront, Goujian and the Chosen would form an unbreakable spear, one they would use to drive through the Dog Emperor’s throat and usher in a new era of prosperity for all of humanity.

With his future Emperor’s help, Goujian sprung to his feet with a smile and replied, “By your will, my liege.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frantically trying to remember the last time I saw GangShu and praying the dreamy rat bastard is nearby, my muted panic is interrupted by yet another localized earthquake, except instead of pillars of dirt, I watch in horror as a veritable wall rises from the earth and hurtles forward to consume Sinuji. Clouds of charcoal and smoke are propelled towards us by the cresting wave of soil and soot, congealing into a thick, ashy fog escorting the solid mass behind it. Two kilometres passes in the blink of an eye and the wave soon blots out the starry sky, but the ashen clouds sparkle like a miniature, star-studded nebula, twinkling with the light of a million glowing embers.

And then everything explodes and a shower of dirt, pebbles, and viscera rains down over our heads.

Cradling my ears and tucking my chin to my chest, I weather through the worst of the dirt storm with help from Dastan and Sahb, their Runic Shields raised overhead to block what they can. Coughing and sputtering to keep the dirt out of my lungs, I come to my senses and find a ragged beggar sitting on the parapets before me, with one foot tucked beneath his knee and one elbow propping himself up with his free hand holds his pipe to his lips. He puffs once, then twice, then exhales softly, spewing out a ridiculously long stream of milky white smoke. Spreading faster than I can follow, the pipe smoke wafts away the dust and ash wherever the two might meet, clearing the air in a matter of heartbeats and leaving Sinuji’s outer wall utterly pristine. Throughout it all, Guan Suo continues to laze upon the parapets and smoke his pipe, his white-ringed and red-furred tail leisurely swishing from one side to the next.

...You know what? I’ve decided. From here on out, he can steal as many meals as he wants and I’ll just smile and ask if he wants more.

“You!” Halfway between the Defiled army and Sinuji stands the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen, her back hunched and wrinkled skin hanging loosely from her cheeks. Even from this distance, I can see her gap-toothed grimace directed towards Guan Suo, though I wouldn’t dare mention it to her face considering she’s poised atop a stony plateau which wasn’t there when I last looked.

“Me,” Guan Suo replies, as indifferent as always while puffing away at his pipe.

“You were there that day, at the winery.”

“Yep.” Blowing out a ring of whitish smoke, it forms into Common Characters which spell out his name, only backwards because it’s meant for the Enemy. “Name’s Guan Suo. Most call me the Smiling Slaughterer. You make another move, and you’ll call me death.”

Only now do the pieces fall into place, and I’m not sure what to be more shocked by. The fact that I’m looking at a Defiled Ancestral Mole-Rat or that Guan Suo is probably Mila’s biological father. “Names. Pei. A human fabrication, one I will not fall victim to.” With an ugly sneer, mole-rat lady’s buck-teeth gnash in frustration as the ashen clouds coil around her, no doubt Guan Suo’s unsubtle threat. “Blessed by Air and Fire, you think this makes you strong enough to disregard the treaty? Strong enough to kill a peer without paying a price?”

Instead of answering, Guan Suo taps his pipe on the parapet stone and empties it with deliberate ease, only to pack it with the same casual disdain. Puffing once before answering, he holds the bowl in hand, points the stem at his foe, and asks, “You daft or something?”

It’s easy to see where Mila inherited her surly demeanour from, though it’s much cuter when she does it.

“First off,” Guan Suo drawls, his pipe back between his lips and the clouds thicker than ever. “I prefer to call it Smoke. None of this vague Air and Fire business, that ain’t what I do. Second, you ain’t my peer. I’d tell you to call me grand-daddy, but if I had a grand-daughter ugly as you, I’d kill myself in shame.” To punctuate his point, the ashen clouds lift the mole-rat lady into the air as the earthen plateau implodes beneath her feet, only to unceremoniously drop her without warning. Landing with a crash, the Defiled Ancestral Mole-Rat snarls with bestial fury as her skin smoulders and cauterizes beneath the ashen smoke, but a whitish cloud sits before her face, arranged in a single character known to even the most uneducated of peasants.

Death.

The blood drains from the mole-rat lady’s face as she struggles to free herself from the smoke, but Guan Suo continues, “Third, I’m not the one here violating the Treaty. You acted first, so I’m well within my rights to kill you here and now.” Blowing out yet another long stream of smoke, he smacks his lips and adds, “The half-fox was right. You might’ve been a Divinity once, but now you nothing but Defiled filth. Time was, you’d have probably already figured it out. The fire from before? Aside from the spark which set it off, that blaze was entirely mundane. If it’d been mine or another’s, you wouldn’t have had to gone to so much effort raising dirt to snuff it out.”

Their exchange is probably incomprehensible to most Martial Warriors in Sinuji, but being a Water-Blessed individual myself, I’m able to follow along. If the blaze had been Fire Chi, all mole-rat lady would’ve had to do is emit Earth Chi of her own and the two would’ve cancelled out, like how I negated Gen’s fire-bolts using Water Chi on Unity’s blade. It’s not about elemental affinity, but rather equal but opposing forces cancelling each other out, like waves on a string or ripples in a pool. I mean, it would’ve taken a metric shit tonne of Chi to conjure a blaze that big and an equal amount to put it out, but it still would’ve been easier than raising literal mountains of dirt to blanket the earth.

“Impossible,” the mole-rat lady screams, her rage ringing in my ears even as her skin sloughs off from Guan Suo’s relentless and seemingly effortless assault. “Lies and deceptions, another human construct which impedes my Path.”

“Fool.” Waving a hand in Tenjin’s general direction, Guan Suo says, “Introduce yourself, young firebrand. Let her see who she’s accusing of breaking the Treaty before we send her to the Father’s Maw.”

Where I might’ve hesitated before making myself a target for a pissed off Defiled Divinity, Tenjin doesn’t miss a beat. “I am Tenjin,” he declares, infusing his voice with Chi and pride while simultaneously illuminating himself with a bird of flame circling overhead. “Son of Healer Tokta and Weaver Khorijin, Husband to Sentinel Tursinai, and twenty-nine year old Fire-Blessed Sentinel of the People.”

“Firebrand Tenjin!” A soldier shouts, and the cry is echoed across Sinuji. “Firebrand Tenjin! Firebrand Tenjin! Firebrand Tenjin!”

The cheers continue for a long time before dying off, and Tenjin stands tall throughout it all, with Tursinai in her rightful place beside him. Truth is, she’s much stronger than he is and can beat him with one hand tied behind her back, but there is no jealousy or resentment in her eyes, only genuine pride and admiration. Tomorrow, her husband’s name will be known across the Empire as the man who dealt a blow so devastating, the Enemy mistook him for a Divinity.

Firebrand. Not the worst title, and beats ‘Undying Savage’ by a fair margin.

What? I’m not his wife. I’m allowed to be jealous.

No longer alone on the parapets, Guan Suo is joined by a heroic figure clad from head to toe in sky-blue Runic Armour, a full set from boots to helm. Looking resplendent beneath the starry night sky, GangShu’s armour shimmers as he strikes a pose and says, “Now that that’s all been cleared up, I reckon it’s time ye execute the bitch.” Undoubtedly leering beneath his full-face helm, GangShu adds, “Ye only skirted the Treaty last time around, but ye still almost killed me boy. Turnabout’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

“Fuck yer Treaty.” The blackened clouds eating away at the mole-rat lady dissipate into nothingness as a portly, lumbering figure appears at her side, dwarfing her and everyone else in existence in both height and width. “Ye want a fight? This grand-daddy be happy t’ oblige.”

That slurring accent. Those droopy ears. That fat, bulbous face. Even from such a distance, his identity is unmistakable, or at least it is to me. For months, I suffered at the hands of his progeny, and to this day, the memories still haunt me in wakefulness and in sleep, but now, I finally get to lay eyes on the bastard responsible for my torment.

The Immortal Zhu Chanzui. Defiled Ancestral Pig, Mahakala’s murderer, and a bastard who deserves to die a slow and painful death.

Two Defiled Divinities against two Imperial ones. While Guan Suo is undoubtedly superior to mole-rat lady, I can’t help but remember a conversation we had when I thought the scraggly bastard was just a half-red-panda, one which is far more frightening now that I know how powerful he really is. “Newborn calf like yourself might not fear the tiger,” Guan Suo had said, “But even I’d think twice before crossing blades with that one.”

Oh hell... GangShu was amazed Big Poppa Piggy beat Mahakala, which means he’s probably not confident about beating either one of them, and the Enemy still could pull out Anathema to use against us. The only bright side is that the sun is down which means the black goop should stay dormant until morning, but it’s possible light isn’t the trigger, but heat, which makes it that much more dangerous for everyone involved.

Besides, who knows how many more Divinities are hiding in the shadows?

As if in answer to my question, and the Abbot shuffles out to join GangShu and Guan Suo on the parapets, drumming out a steady beat on the wooden fish in his hand. “Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo,” he intones, looking none-too-regal in his plain, grey robes. Even the blocky wooden fish is lacklustre and uninspiring, as if carved by a five-year old who’d never seen a fish before in his life, its eyes too bulging, lips too thick, and body too square. “This monk’s junior brother used a curious phrase, one which resonates with the Great Path. ‘To err is human, to forgive Divine’. Such wisdom, such insight, this monk is ashamed to admit his inferiority, but is this not also human nature?” Shaking his head with a sigh, the Abbot draws himself up to full height for the first time ever, transforming from humble monk to burning warrior without changing a single thing about his appearance, drumming out a slow, plodding rhythm from his fish drum which resonates across the battlefield. “Zhu Chanzui, this monk only human, so he cannot forgive you your crimes. The blood of my Senior Brother stains your hands, and for this, you must die.”

Nice. The Abbot isn’t a pleb like I’d feared, but as heartening as it is to know we hold the upper hand in this clash of Divinities, the pessimist in me can’t help but remember yet another troubling conversation I had in the past. On his deathbed, Mahakala said he was stronger than the Abbot, and considering he lost to Zhu Chanzui, the best odds I can give are 55-45 in our favour, assuming all present Divinities have been accounted for. Not-Gen could still be lurking around somewhere, and seeing how he’s being puppeted by an eight-hundred year old monster, that’s a third Divinity to match our numbers which means the outcome looks bleak.

Yanno, I’m kinda starting to regret setting all of this into motion and wish we could just fight a million-strong horde of Defiled with sword and spear. It sure as hell beats all this Divinity power-level guestimation bullshit, but alas, the decision is out of my hands. This is what I get for trying to fight smart. I bet if the Tyrant ever gets working cannons, the Enemy Divinities will just throw a shit fit and destroy them all.

It’s true. Might makes right, and right now, I am all sorts of wrong.