Chapter 410 (LITERALLY ZERO EDITS)

I totes haven't even looked at it a second time, so this one is roughhhhhhhh. I'd recommend reading ALL the chapters again when they're released on RRL, since I'll shine and polish them before posting there.

Anywho, with this, hopefully the next ch will even be on time. *GASP*

Also, no spoilerinos in Discord plz. I'm tired RN, so I'll figure out all the specific discord stuff later. If you wanna gab about the ch or have typos to submit and don't wanna use GDRIVE, then comment here or PM me please.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1B7_6ycMOlLg4Ss5ZRx2DhJlpvAcHsEt0FQvgOJKsJmE/edit?usp=sharing

The signal arrow’s piercing howl made Jorani’s skin prickle and his hairs stand on end. Though he’d heard it before in practice, it was a whole different beast when heard in the early morning darkness while camped in hostile territory, for the whining wail warned of enemies abound and heralded the coming of bloodshed and death. Steadying his quin with one hand and readying his Spiritual Weapon in the other, Jorani took a deep breath to mentally prepare for this upcoming clash with the Defiled. No matter how many battles he took part in, this part never grew easier. He couldn’t understand how people like Dastan or the Bossman were so eager to match blades with the Defiled, how they could revel in the chaos and slaughter, or how Ral could just sit there without a care in the world, his silly grin gone but not a trace of fear to be seen. A coward through and through, it seemed like fear and anxiety were built into Jorani’s very being, an integral part of him which would never change.

The signal arrow’s howl died down as it shot off into the distance, and only then did Jorani realize his scouts had yet to move, gawking westward as they strained their eyes in an effort to pierce through the gloom and grasses. Choking down a string of expletives, he shifted his quin over to Erkin and lightly backhanded the gape-mouthed fool on the shoulder to quietly remind him to take charge. Though more than competent as a team leader, Erkin developed a tendency to freeze in the face of adversity after taking command of the entire squad. Jorani blamed himself for not putting enough thought into choosing his successor, but after days of agonizing over the decision, he had yet to come up with a second choice who could do better. Unlike Wang Bao’s former Butchers or Ulfsaars cutthroats, Jorani’s people were made up of sneak-thiefs, lookouts, gangsters and the like, hardly the type used to taking charge.

Overwhelmed by his responsibilities, Erkin did what he always did: he looked to Jorani for help. Doing his best to look supportive, Jorani mouthed, “You can do this. Follow the plan.” And soon, because judging by the enraged roars and rustling grass, the Defiled were preparing to charge and Jorani didn’t want to be standing in front of them when they did. Their job was to alert the camp, which they did, then break into two groups to split the charging Defiled and lead them diagonally away from the camp, so that the waiting defenders could charge into their exposed flanks. Simple and effective, this basic strategy had served them well time and time again these past few days, and hopefully, it would work again today.

Luckily, with only a modicum of support, Erkin rose to the occasion. “Crossbows ready,” he ordered while fumbling to follow suit. “Er… Spread out and do not engage. Uh... ready for tactical retreat!” Once reminded, Jorani’s scouts let the their training take over as they followed Erkin’s orders, looking more like tried and true soldiers with each passing day. The repeated rigors of battle in the past few days was forging his rag-tag group of ruffians into an organized and disciplined fighting force. Though still a far cry from matching the likes of Dastan’s cavalry or the shabbily-dressed Protectorate, it would only be a matter of time before his people could hold their heads up high as true soldiers and experienced veterans of the Empire.

The thought should have comforted Jorani, but instead it left him with sleepless nights and gut-wrenching terror. His people were bumbling fools who were wholly unqualified yet somehow had made it through their latest ordeals largely unscathed. What if there were other veteran forces who were equally incompetent? Or worse, other commanders faking it just like he had? If this were true, then the Empire was doomed even without the need for Ancestral Beasts to take the field.

Putting aside his doubts and insecurities, Jorani turned his quin about and joined the orderly retreat, his crossbow loaded and ready to fire back at the soon to arrive Defiled. Having learned from his mistakes, Erkin said, “Remember, the advanced Sentries are still out there, so hold yer fire til ye see the whites of their eyes.” As if to prove his point, a handful of quin-riders burst from the grass and joined them in their measured retreat. Noticing a riderless quin running alongside them, Jorani’s stomach twisted into a knot as he looked down the line in an effort to find out who was missing. Not only were the advanced Sentries the sneakiest and stealthiest soldiers the squad had to offer, they were also the people Jorani worked with the most, so each loss weighed heavily his on heart. Though casualties had been few and far between thus far, the seemingly inexhaustible hordes of Defiled was wearing them down slowly, so the death toll would only increase with time.

Jinoe. Ciro. Kimi. Ronga. Awdar... One by one, Jorani went down the checklist until he figured out who the missing scout was through process of elimination. Unwilling to believe it, he looked up and down the line in search of the familiar face, but Siyar was nowhere to be found. Much as Jorani wished otherwise, it appeared that the one-time smuggler had met his end at the hands of the Defiled, a loss they could ill afford. Not only was he the best scout in Jorani’s – no, in Erkin’s squad, Siyar might even be the best scout in the retinue, so long as you didn’t include the Protectorate or the Bekkie bodyguards. Not only that, but the bossman had gifted Siyar with a Spiritual Weapon only a week ago, and now that weapon was lost. Replacing it would be costly since Spiritual Hearts didn’t grow on trees. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate since some Spiritual Hearts were grown from trees, but it took thousands of years for a plant to produce one, a time investment few could afford.

Swallowing his grief, Jorani used it instead to fuel his anger in preparation for the battle ahead. On Erkin’s orders, they split into two groups to spread the Defiled thin, with one group heading north east while Jorani joined Erkin and Ral heading south-east. Seconds after their split, the Defiled finally came into sight, a horde of bare-chested savages wearing human-skin head-wraps. There were so many of them today, close to a thousand chasing behind him and an equal number chasing the other group. Seeing so many Defiled, Jorani wasted no time and fired at the closest Defiled, his bolt piercing the screaming primitive through the heart and stopping him in his tracks. Taking no satisfaction in the kill, Jorani urged his quin to run faster while he painstakingly worked the lever forward, drawing the string back and releasing the next bolt into the groove. There was a time when he could work the lever with one hand, depress the trigger with the other, and unload twelve bolts in as many seconds, but but now he needed both hands and several seconds to reload a single shot. While the old rate of fire felt better, they lacked the stopping power of these retooled crossbows, a trade off he was more than happy to accept.

With plenty of targets available, his second bolt claimed another kill, but he couldn’t tell for his third, fourth, or fifth shots, their trails lost in the mayhem and confusion. Then there was no more time to fire as the rumble of hoofbeats sounded from the west, so Jorani put his crossbow away and took up his Spiritual Weapon, coiling the length of rope around his forearm, wrist, and hand as he’d done so many times before. To his horror, none of the other scouts followed suit as they continued reloading and firing bolts at their Defiled pursuers. With no time to adhere to the chain of command, Jorani shouted, “Cease fire! Cease fire! Friendlies incoming!”

Thankfully, whether out of habit, sound judgment, or because his incomprehensible shrieking confused them, the other scouts holstered their crossbows, and not a moment too soon. With an earthshaking crash of steel, grass and Defiled alike were flattened before the charging horsemen. The bossman was nowhere to be found, which meant he was leading Lang Yi and the Death Corps to crush the other group. The bossman made every one of his squad leaders and their subordinates memorize these ‘game plans’ and all their variations, a demand which seemed excessive at first but had quickly paid off. Since the retinue had a dearth of Senders, this mean everyone was on the same page as it were, without the need for squad leaders to shout themselves hoarse while giving battlefield orders.

Thought the bossman’s intimidating presence would be sorely missed, Dastan led in his place, driving his massive Guonei Charger to trample through the Enemy. Dozens of Defiled died every second as the elite horsemen rendered flesh and bone to red pulp and white gristle, but soon, the power of their charge was spent and gone. Were they faced with sane, rational foes, Dastan’s charge would have broken them, but the Defiled were far from rational as one could get. All the death and suffering only served to fuel their blood-lust and they ignored their losses to close in around the horsemen, instinctively moving to pin them in place through sheer weight of numbers and nothing else. Knowing they were doomed if forced into a battle of attrition, Erkin took charge and rallied his scouts. “About face!” he howled, barely pausing before launching his quin headlong into the Enemy. “Support our comrades and help them break free!”

For all of Erkin’s flaws, the man was no coward.

Unlike Jorani. Though he knew what needed to be done, he’d faltered for the space of a second and was one of the last to join the counter-charge. Ral hadn’t hesitated, the big oaf was neck in neck with his new commander as they crashed into the Enemy, his massive quarter-staff smashing Defiled aside with with swing. After Jorani fell from grace, he told Ral to stick close to Erkin and protect him because their new commander didn’t have a Spiritual Weapon, and as always, Ral obeyed Jorani’s orders without question. Even though it’d long since become a familiar sight, Jorani still found his circumstances hard to stomach. That should be him up there, fighting side by side with Ral while leading his unit to rescue Dastan’s encircled cavalry, but instead, he was here at the back, his Spiritual Weapon still yet to draw blood.

He had no one to blame for his fall from glory besides himself.

Even Jorani’s mount beat him to the punch as the quin killed two Defiled before he landed his first blow of the day. Though most of his weapon was coiled about his arm like a pseudo-shield, he wielded a short section no longer than his arm like a flail and lashed out at the nearest Defiled. The Honed rope smashed through a leather head wrap, leaving ruptured skin and tattered flesh behind, as if he wielded a sturdy spiked club instead of flimsy cord. This was the result of almost a year of training follow an Insight he received while cutting trees back at the Northern Wall. Early on, he’d envisioned himself clearing out clumps of massed enemies with every swing of his weapon, but sadly, he lacked the strength and skill to control it properly. Were he to loosen the binding and fight using a longer section of rope, Jorani was absolutely certain he’d become a menace on the battlefield.

To friend and foe alike.

Worried he’d accidentally lash one of his fellow soldiers, Jorani guided his quin to the edge of the fray, where he could let loose with minimal worry. Twirling his weapon overhead, he loosened his grip and released a full meter of rope to bring death to his foes, clearing the area around him with ruthless efficiency. With each pass, his weapon render everything it touched into bits of blood and gore. Rather than cut clean through his enemies like a sword or blade, his weapon slid across their skin, gouging deep channels and leaving gaping wounds behind.

So it continued for a few heartbeats until one Defiled woman read the timing and ducked beneath his weapon. Piercing eyes filled with hunger and malice, she bared her in an ugly grin and leaped towards him, her bone dagger aimed at his throat. Wrenching his arm about, agony shot through his shoulder as he forcibly redirected his rope to hammer her down. Connecting with a thunderous crack, his weapon gouged a bloody channel that ran from shoulder to butt cheek, but more importantly, defeated her forward momentum. Falling short with a wail of pain and anger, the woman moved to push herself up, but even as Jorani scrambled to finish her off, her scream was cut short as his quin crushed her skull with an almost careless stomp of its foot.

Patting the creature’s long, sinuous neck, Jorani made a note to treat the animal better and make sure it knew he was a friend. Perhaps it was time he gave the animal a name, but a proper one like Slayer, Voracious, or Eviscerator. Then again, Ral named his quin Squeaky, and silly as it was, Jorani had to admit the name fit.

Following this brief interlude, Jorani returned to killing Defiled, though this time he kept his quin moving so not to have a repeat of what just happened. Blood and gore sprayed about as his weapon scythed through the Enemy, but still they pressed on. Nothing short of a killing blow could stop a Defiled Warrior, but even these crazed lunatics seemed reluctant to accept a strike from Jorani’s weapon head-on. One warrior thought to grab the rope, but Jorani gave his weapon a light tug and ripped the flesh from the foolish Defiled hands, exposing bone and tendons to the morning air. Despite his failure, the now-handless Defiled’s actions had bought his companions a half step closer to Jorani, and the pressure was mounting fast.

In an act of sheer desperation, Jorani brought all his strength to bear and released the full length of rope. Darting out like a slithering snake, Jorani timed his Chi with the exact moment his rope stretched taut and Amplified. With so much force behind the strike, his weapon no longer bent or slid upon impact and instead cut clean through everything it touched. Bisecting multiple Defiled with each pass, Jorani’s weapon sang as it sprayed blood and gore about, but he wasn’t done yet. Angling forward, his weapon tore through the air behind him and over his allies heads before dipping down to cut a swathe through the encroaching Defiled before him. To ensure there wouldn’t be a repeat leaper, he commanded his quin to dart about, either from side to side or forward and back at random intervals. With each pass, Jorani snapped the line and Amplified it once again, each rotation moving faster and faster as there were fewer Defiled left to obstruct him. Soon enough, the nearby Defiled had all but retreated out of range to wait him out, throwing the odd stone or weapon at him in the interim.

This was his moment. Though they had yet to flee, Jorani’s whirling weapon held the Defiled back and prevented them from surrounding his comrades. Thankfully, Jorani’s efforts were noticed and Dastan bellowed orders to disengage, leading his cavalry and Erkin’s scouts away through the opening Jorani created. Off they rode into the darkness to regroup for another charge, but now Jorani was stuck with a tricksy dilemma. If he left now and escaped with Dastan and the others, the Defiled would head straight for camp, but according to the bossman’s game plans, all the shift guards would already be out fighting the Defiled, and not enough time had passed for the sleeping soldiers to muster.

So he had no choice but to stay here and keep the Defiled occupied until Dastan and Erkin could regroup for another charge. How long would that take? A minute maybe? Could he last a whole sixty seconds standing here by himself? A minute didn’t sound like a long time, but wevery second felt like an eternity as Jorani’s arms grew heavy and his Chi reserves ran low. He couldn’t keep the full length of his weapon rigid and circling about without using both Reinforcement and Amplification, but if he eased up or shortened the length then the Defiled might decide to eat their losses and charge in headlong. To make matters worse, since he couldn’t take his eyes off the Defiled horde, Jorani had no way to see Dastan’s charge coming, which meant that even if he could hold out until their return, he wouldn’t know when to stop swinging, meaning he might accidentally kill a few of his rescuers.

Enough whinging and whining. One minute. That’s not too long, you can do this. Fifty-five seconds now, probably. Worst comes to worst, you send the quin away, surrender to the Defiled, and pray they kill you slowly. At least that way, you can buy enough time for the camp to wake. That old, rat bastard, insisting you take this stupid rope just because everyone called you ‘Hangman Jorani’. Why didn’t you asked for a sword or spear or something? Sure the rope’s unique and powerful, but it’s also a terrible choice for a first Spiritual Weapon. Okay, Lady Tursinai’s Spiritual Weapon is sort of similar and she only has the one, but not only is she a Bekkie Genius, her weapon has a sickle attached to it, which is pretty much just a curved short sword.

...

How much longer? Why weren’t you keeping track of time? Fifty seconds? Maybe forty-five if you’re lucky.

While inwardly berating himself, Jorani made sure to keep a confident sneer pasted across his face, praying the Defiled wouldn’t notice his sweat-soaked tunic or trembling arms. He wasn’t going to last the full minute, perhaps not even half that, he knew this now. A knot formed in his throat as he desperately considered his options, but no matter how he approached the question, he couldn’t think of a way to escape unscathed without sacrificing his fellow soldiers. In truth, most of the soldiers in camp were more useful and talented than Jorani, whether they be Wang Bao’s Butchers, Ulfsaar’s Cutthroats, the Death Corps, or the Protectorate. Hell, even some of Lang Yi’s peons were strong enough to make Jorani feel threatened, to say nothing of their scary, silent leader himself.

There was no other option. As the bossman would say, this was the play.

Stilling his efforts, Jorani stood in place and let the rope’s remaining momentum play out, the silver cord coiling around arm in one continuous spiral. Not only did it look somewhat impressive, it also bought him a few more seconds as the Defiled collectively flinched in preparation of an attack. Gratified by their apparent respect for his Martial Prowess, Jorani took a moment to reflect on his life before surrendering to the Enemy.

Despite knowing death was near, Jorani smiled. Truth be told, for a street-rat from Sanshu, he’d done pretty well for himself.

As he opened his mouth to speak, the Defiled collectively roared. Hooting and hollering in their harsh, guttural language, they raised their weapons and stomped their feet in what appeared to be derision. While he didn’t understand the language, Jorani had seen enough angry audiences to know the Defiled were upset at him, though they also seemed oddly delighted at the same time. A handful of them jostled and shoved their way to the front where a brief and mostly bloodless tussle ensued, until eventually one broke free from the rest and stomped towards Jorani, and which point he finally understood what was going on.

They didn’t know he was too tired to keep going. They thought he was challenging them to a duel.

Relief flooded through him as he saw a chance to survive, but it lasted only for a brief moment, right up until he took a closer look at his opponent. A hulking beast of a man, the Defiled Champion made Ral look normal-sized in comparison. Hefting a bone club larger than most men, he bared his teeth in an animalistic grin, revealing sharp, blackened teeth beneath them. What Jorani first thought was a dirty sash turned out to be a thick, hairless tail, lashing left and right as he circled his prey. Yellowed eyes peeked out from his human-skin head-wrap as his Aura erupted outwards, conveying a promise of pain and misery aplenty.

Frozen in place, Jorani couldn’t even utter what would’ve probably been his last words.

A good thing too. It’d make for an awkward afterlife if his last statement was ‘Fuck me and the Mother’s crusty cunt’.