Savage Divinity

“Come, soldiers of Sanshu. We have been honoured with an appointment to the vanguard, so let us ride forth to glory!”

Smothering the urge to scowl or spit, Dastan watched the new arrivals cheer and after their towering, silver-tongued leader, the barrel-chested Chu XinYue. Just shy of thirty years and already a Major if one could believe it, which Dastan most certainly didn’t. It was undoubtedly nepotism which secured XinYue his current rank, promoted beyond his expertise thanks to a loose relation to a corrupt City Magistrate. Leadership abilities aside, nothing about the rotund, red-faced man-child suggested he could kill or even slow the weakest of Demons unless it stopped mid-battle to consume his girthy corpse. Swaddled in silks beneath his dazzling black and gold armour, XinYue certainly looked the part of heroic warrior, and it made for a touching tale to hear how the nephew of the Unstoppable Golden Vanguard had taken up his uncle’s mantle, but it was all pomp and pageantry without substance. To start, he wasn’t even that closely related to the Magistrate, and after hours sweltering beneath the summer sun and a brief and intense clash with the Defiled, the hefty hero no longer looked so imposing. His colourful silks were soaked with sweat and blood and his polished armour streaked with dirt and viscera, but even whilst immaculate, his appearance failed to hold up to inspection. A discerning eye could easily find where the golden breastplate had been stretched and mended to make room for XinYue’s broad belly, and no amount of facial hair could conceal his bulbous nose or chubby cheeks.

Better if he switched his open-faced helmet for a full-faced one, assuming he could find one large enough to fit his fat head.

Most damning of all, Dastan had seen Magistrate Chu Tongzu before, a heavy-set, pot-bellied fatty who made XinYue look positively dainty. Forget riding in the vanguard, Chu Tongzu would be lucky to find a horse strong enough to carry him without breaking its back, which was why the mantle had to be passed down even though the Magistrate was in the prime of life. The greatest blacksmith in the world couldn’t stretch his old armour to fit his current frame, but even a middling politician could spin dog shit into solid gold. A fat man handing down his armour to a less-fat relative became a passing of a mantle from ‘seasoned veteran’ to ‘rising dragon’, and an unqualified Field Officer sent to curry favour was instead a young Major humble enough to serve and protect the Imperial Consort, Falling Rain.

Gluttonous and shameless, truly a winning combination.

At least XinYue’s heavy-cavalry were stalwart and dependable. A hundred veteran Elites with forty-three Spiritual Weapons, thirty of which were pole-arms crafted for mounted combat, this was a retinue to be proud of, one Dastan had once dreamed of commanding. Those dreams were dead and gone now, for he’d lost the boss’s respect with his repeated blunders during their first foray on the front lines. Less than a quarter of his original retinue remained, the last of his comrades from the defunct Golden Highland’s Coalition, a detail which had not escaped notice. More than one new arrival had called him the ‘Golden Highland’s Golden Boy’, muttered like a curse as he passed by, and his people had all gotten worse. In the eyes of the victors, Dastan and his comrades were traitors or possibly even Defiled in hiding, untrustworthy despite their Oaths because they stood on Yo Ling’s side during the Battle for Sanshu.

No one cared to remember Dastan Zhandos had rebelled for a good cause or that he’d been tricked into serving his Defiled Masters. All that mattered was he stood against the victors and alongside the Enemy.

Considering how events unfolded, Dastan didn’t blame them for their enmity. Though he regretted his decision to stand with the Coalition after learning they’d allied themselves with Butcher Bay, his core principles remained unchanged. Something had to be done about the rampant corruption and inequality in the Empire, and Sanshu had been the shining example of greed and discrimination. City walls were meant to shelter the weak and vulnerable from the dangers of the wild north, but Magistrate Chu Tongzu drove them out and turned Sanshu into a haven for the wealthy alone. How many lives had been lost to wild animals and bandit raids in the years since? No one would ever know because no one cared enough to keep count, but Dastan had seen the conditions those poor people lived in and to this day, the scenes from the Purge still haunted his nightmares. It rankled his nerves to see the fat greedy Magistrate emerge a hero from the whole debacle, especially since his decisions were largely responsible for Butcher Bay’s rise and the subsequent fallout.

Were it not for his Oaths, Dastan would’ve happily traded his life to bring down Chu Tongzu, for this was a travesty which he could not stomach.

No, he couldn’t think like this. Circumstances had changed and Sanshu was on the mend, so from the looks of things, Tongzu had merely been a puppet, one now dancing to Marshal Yuzhen’s more amicable tune. Killing the man would be pointless and might even interfere with the good Marshal’s hard work, so Dastan reined in his temper. Choking on dust, shame, and vitriol, he fell in with his cohorts at the end of the column and lamented his failures for the umpteenth time. Though schooled in the art of command, Dastan had erred greatly in melding with his feeble-minded Natal Soul during battle, for the diminutive fellow had no head for strategy, a trait which carried over whenever they worked in harmony. The Natal Soul quite literally lived for battle and its reckless desire to close with the Enemy caused Dastan to figuratively lose his head more than once. Many a sleepless night had been spent tossing and turning in deliberation over Vichear’s warnings of madness and loss of control, but rather than claim the Natal Soul took over, it would be more accurate to say Dastan had been infected by its boundless enthusiasm which caused him to charge headlong into danger without regard for risk or reward.

When they were one, all he wanted to do was fight and kill, which cost him the lives of his men and the privilege of command.

A demotion which came too late, if he were being honest. The boss was a kind man, but Dastan should’ve been stripped of command after returning from their first patrol. If not for Jorani’s timely rescue, he would’ve lost the boss’s entire heavy cavalry detachment which was only the greatest of his blunders. In the weeks since, Dastan had yet to discover a means to temper his Natal Soul’s passion with caution and resorted to confining his Natal Soul within his Palace, but the damage had been done. Even before XinYue arrived, Dastan expected he would be replaced, though he believed the boss would take direct control or pass it to Daxian. Even Sahb would be a better choice than XinYue.

Perhaps if the fat bastard died in combat, Dastan would have command back...

In light of his previous fears and current difficulties, Dastan stopped teaching others to form Natal Souls after Vichear strong-armed the information out of him. He considered broaching the topic with his peers or even the boss himself, but cowardice and uncertainty stilled his tongue. The boss might not even be aware of his condition and bringing it up could send him into a spiral of self-doubt or worse, something the Empire could ill-afford in these trying times. Ulfsaar and Wang Bao couldn’t be relied upon, for Dastan had inadvertently lied when he claimed this method was a Bekhai secret, so telling them it might be flawed could send them or Neera spilling their guts to the boss. He hadn’t seen BoShui or Vichear in months, which left only Sahb to compare notes with, but the unremarkable man had experienced none of the same problems. To hear him tell it, his Natal Soul was blank and emotionless, more statue than sentient being, not unlike the man himself. Both methods had their advantages and disadvantages, for while Sahb’s blank puppet of a Natal Soul did not affect his emotions or thought processes, it also laid dormant without direction, while Dastan’s childish and simple-minded Natal Soul was always practising the Forms and had long since surpassed him in mastery and Insight.

Knowing his mount would follow Sahb’s lead, Dastan closed his eyes and looked in on his sweet mental son, hard at work sparring against his conjured, shadowy opponents with axe and shield. If Dastan were to solely focus on becoming a duellist, then his Natal Soul was undoubtedly superior, but it rendered him unsuitable for command. While unable to provide passive Insights into the Forms, Sahb’s Natal Soul left his mind unaffected and also gave him unprecedented control over Chi. When joined, he could Reinforce a single part of his body, Amplify on command, Hone only a single edge of his axe, or even Send a single message to multiple people at the same time, provided he had direct physical contact with each recipient. Dastan was tempted to test the waters and craft a second Natal Soul based on Sahb’s archetype, but he decided to hold off until he had a chance to speak with Vichear in person.

This was too dangerous a topic to entrust to ink and parchment, as any letter he wrote would likely be intercepted and copied by agents of meddlesome nobles.

The familiar questions rattled through his mind, one after the other. What sort of Natal Souls did the others have? Was there an archetype superior to all others? Nothing could be gleaned regarding those not stationed on the front lines, but Ulfsaar’s Natal Soul was undoubtedly a murderous beast, powerful without compare but almost utterly mindless and consumed with rage. At least the hulking half-bear seemed to have things under control, but the rest were unknowns; Wang Bao grew stronger with each passing day and Neera stood at the precipice of greatness, while tales of BoShui’s heroic accomplishments were the talk of Sinuji, though admittedly mostly due to the entertaining rivalry between him and Tam Taewoong, yet their improvements were mundane enough that it couldn’t be attributed to a Natal Soul without further proof.

As for the boss? Dastan hardly saw any evidence of a second personality anymore, leaving him to worry if he’d wandered off course from the proper Martial Path and merely stumbled upon something that worked.

Putting his worries aside, Dastan intended to withdraw from his Natal Palace when he noticed something strange about the shadowy enemies. As he drew in for a closer look, the Natal Soul finally noticed Dastan’s presence and paused its sparring to smile and wave. Frozen in mid-attack, the oddly familiar sparring opponents came into full view and he winced in embarrassment, for his tiny mental son had been hard at work cutting down replicas of a Chu Tongzu and his horde of XinYues. “You can’t do this,” he admonished, and the miniature him had the good sense to look ashamed. “Even though I dislike them, XinYue is our superior officer and the rank must be respected, while Tongzu is the boss’s ally and no longer our concern.”

Cheeks puffed in vexation, the Natal Soul refused to meet Dastan’s eye but Chu Tongzu’s features shifted to match Major XiaoGong’s, Dastan’s one-time idol turned Defiled filth (and later Demon under torture), while all the XinYues in the arena became faceless Defiled grunts. A chill ran down his spine as he considered the implications of this discovery, his mind spinning from the circular reasoning. Was his Natal Soul influencing his emotional state, or was his emotional state influencing the Natal Soul?

Too many questions with no answers to be found.

Upon returning to the waking world, he was greeted with the distant, but unmistakable clash of steel. Though he ached to put heel to flank and race out to meet the Enemy, sound travelled well over the flat plains of Sinuji and the battle could easily still be several kilometres away. Burdened as they were by barding and rider, even five kilometres would be too far for the horses gallop, while a canter would see them arriving only half-dead. This knowledge and the fact that he no longer held command kept his zeal in check and he kept his horse at a slow trot along the back of XinYue’s cavalry.

Though less than a quarter hour had passed, it felt like an eternity before the battle came into sight, close to two thousand of the Enemy surrounding a massively outnumbered clump of Imperial infantry, perhaps four or five hundred in total. Though savage and barbaric, the Defiled were far from stupid, and a good third of their numbers splintered off to intercept the new approaching threat, intent on preventing the two Imperial units from joining together. Thus, one battle became two, so while the other Defiled and Imperial forces battled it out, a hundred and twenty-eight heavy cavalry faced five or six times their number in scattered infantry. On paper, the numbers might look daunting, but Dastan knew it would be a complete slaughter in their favour. They would lose twenty to thirty soldiers, but this splintered Defiled force was certain to die to the last.

“Soldiers of Sanshu!” XinYue’s Chi-infused voice interrupted Dastan as he was about to sound the charge, and a good thing too. He’d embarrassed himself enough in front of the boss and there was no need to do so again with these new arrivals. “Form a loose square. Crossbows to the front and fire when ready. Spears and pole-arms behind them, and the rest of you to the back.”

Putting his axe and shield away, Dastan readied his crossbow and made his way forward, all the while flirting with the idea of putting a bolt through XinYue’s chest and claiming it as an accident before rebuking himself for a fool. With the Enemy standing before them, this was hardly the time for infighting. Keeping his finger off the trigger until his crossbow was pointed at the Enemy, he loosed his first bolt at the oncoming Defiled and didn’t bother to watch while reloading. With so many targets to choose from, he could hardly miss unless he tried, and even if he didn’t score a clean kill, better to fight a wounded warrior than a healthy one.

Dastan’s people were the only ones carrying crossbows, for each and every one of them were low-born and proud of it. So what if the crossbow was a peasant’s weapon? They were all peasants and held no delusions of grandeur, so they would be fools to pass up one of the only advantages they had. In the space of thirty seconds, their twenty five crossbows fired three or four times each and claimed at least one kill per crossbow, which wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but still twenty five less Defiled to kill in melee combat and many more wounded. What did it matter if the Enemy died by bolt or by blade? Dead was dead, and only an idiot noble would quibble over the details.

Even though he refused to arm his people with crossbows, at least XinYue was willing to let Dastan’s people use them. A shame, really. He’d been ready to rage at the fat man for being a stubborn, wilfully ignorant fool, but how was he supposed to relieve all his suppressed resentment if his replacement was actually a reasonable and competent commander?

“Hold fire! Crossbows hold, lances forward. Charge!” Already several meters ahead, XinYue led from the front with his maul held high, glimmering in the afternoon sun as he waved it about like it was made of paper despite being over a meter long with a handle thicker than Dastan’s wrist. The lances followed on his heels and the rest behind, forming a loose triangle as they charged the Enemy without uttering a word. Not that it would have mattered if they screamed their lungs out, for the thunder of hooves drowned out all else as Dastan fumbled with crossbow, shield, and axe while simultaneously struggling to keep up. His weapons in hand, Dastan reached for Balance and merged with his Natal Soul moments before the front lines crashed into the Enemy. Ready to spill blood, he made to veer off and find someone to kill, but XinYue’s voice cut through the din of battle. “Stay close!” he shouted, so clear it sounded like he was standing directly beside Dastan. “Follow! Into the teeth of the Enemy! Victory or Death!”

Growling beneath his breath, Dastan closed the gap to keep within a horse-length of the soldier in front of him. Stranded in the middle of his soldiers, he sat surrounded by allies in every direction while the chaos of battle raged unseen in the distance, leaving him with nothing to do except follow orders to ‘stay close’. Seconds passed by and he looked down to see his horse trample over pulverized corpses while they sank deeper and deeper into the mass of Defiled, the same mistake Dastan made during their first patrol. Truly a man with more courage than sense, one who was going to get them all killed thanks to his idiotic -

Without warning, the surroundings changed and Dastan realized they were free of the battle, though still galloping at full speed. Slowing after a few hundred meters, XinYue set their pace at an easy walk, still moving away from the battle behind them but on a wide circle around. Straightening in his saddle, Dastan turned around and finally understood what XinYue had done, and his appreciation for the man’s skills shot up a few notches. Rather than charging in a straight line, XinYue had led them on an easy curve, cutting a bloody swathe through the thin, blockading line of Defiled and across the rear of their beleaguered allied forces. Not only did their passing cavalry ease the pressure on their allies, the Enemy force which had gathered to intercept them was now bloodied, reeling, and out of position to reengage since XinYue was now leading his cavalry to the opposite side of the battlefield. Unwilling to leave the heavy cavalry free to pick and choose their targets, the Enemy had no choice but to splinter off another third of their numbers to meet the second charge, relieving even more pressure from their allies while the Enemy manoeuvred to meet them.

A simple concept in theory, but not so easy to keep one’s head in the heat of battle. A single moment of hesitation might have seen the entire unit bogged down and surrounded, but the results spoke for themselves.

“Wounded to the centre,” XinYue commanded, and Dastan immediately gave way, edging through his people to stand on the right flank. “Fresh warriors to the sides. No crossbows.Follow close and wait for my command.”

The seconds slowly ticked by and Dastan brimmed with impatience, thinking they were to hit the Defiled before they could form up. Loose infantry were like paper in the face of a proper charge, but XinYue continued at their slow, almost lazy pace around the edge of the battlefield, presumably to give the horses time to rest and cool down. Again, Dastan found himself disagreeing with his new commander, for while they lacked stamina compared to Acasian Trotters, Guonei Chargers were bred for battle, his own mount barely panting despite the exertion. They should spread out, perhaps two or three lines deep to maximize impact and charge in. The Defiled would scatter before them and they could withdraw and regroup for another charge, then another, until no Enemy was left standing on the battlefield.

One minute became two, then three, but still XinYue did not order the charge. From his new position, Dastan had an unobstructed view of the battle, and it pained him to see the Imperial forces being ground away by the surging Defiled. Dastan didn’t even know the name of the allied commander they’d come to rescue, for even the bannermen had abandoned their standards to add their blades to the defence efforts. How much longer could the poor bastards hold out? They were clearly on their last legs, so why was XinYue still twiddling his thumbs? Perhaps the commander was a rival and he intended to watch them die, the initial attack only made so he could honestly claim he made an attempt. Dastan wouldn’t put it past him, for nobles were a -

The familiar twang of arrows sounded and the boss’s bunny banner appeared on the other side of the battlefield, surrounded by a horde of voracious quins. Deceptively fast on the charge, the roosequins closed the gap in a matter of heartbeats and tore into the vulnerable backside of the Defiled, wreaking havoc with fang and fury.

“Victory or Death!” For the second time, XinYue waited too long before ordering the charge, already well ahead of the pack. As he watched the others racing to catch up, Dastan realized XinYue had delayed his orders for good reason. In their scramble to support their heroic leader, the lancers naturally closed in and formed a loose wedge without need for drills or preparation, which he supposed was the formation XinYue desired. The cavalry were a spearhead and he was its tip, penetrating deep into the flesh of the Enemy while the edge parted flesh and bone, with each subsequent rider adding to the mass and momentum of their charge.

The last vestiges of resentment melted away as Dastan accepted his inferiority, for even if XinYue was an undeserving Major, he was still the superior choice for commander by far. Giving himself over completely to his Natal Soul, Dastan threw away the shackles of leadership and hacked and cleaved to his heart’s content, following XinYue’s orders without a shred of hesitation.

Why should it matter whose orders he followed? In the end, they all served under Falling Rain, and it was he who would reap the rewards.

Chapter Meme