Savage Divinity

Thrilling as all this combat might be, I can’t let it distract me from my goal for tonight, which is to show I still have enough support to stand on my own.

Which doesn’t really make sense, because by definition, I’m not standing alone if there are people supporting me, but whatever. So far, my team is killing it in the sparring ring, with Song knocking it out of the park with eight consecutive victories, followed by Fung and Wu Gam’s resounding exhibition match, and topped off with Huu’s remarkable debut into the public eye. Thrilled as I am with how things are going, after taking a moment to think things through, I’m worried we might still be in hot water after all.

For starters, Song will be seen as merely a slave and her accomplishments written off, not because it wasn’t impressive, but because the public doesn’t want to admit that a slave might be worthy of admiration. That’d be too much like treating a slave as a person, and we can’t have that. It’s a slippery slope, I tell you. First you admire them, then you see them as human beings, and next thing you know, people will be clamouring about things like ‘human rights’, ‘freedom’, and all that other nonsense. No, better to treat all slaves like tools to be used and discarded, because then slave owners don’t have to worry about silly things like shame and morals.

As for Fung and Wu Gam, neither one is politically powerful or popular, so even if I have their support, it doesn’t affect the political landscape insofar as the powers that be are concerned. You’d think the doting Mama Gam would count for something, but then again, I had Guan Suo literally standing behind me since passing Ping Yao, and that did nothing for me. Or maybe it did, and the grumpy Divinity is why I got mixed up in the Legate’s plans in the first place. Who knows?

Then there’s Huu, but he’s one of the People, so aside from showing that there’s another thriving young Talent in our ranks, his presence changes nothing, which means even though my team has dominated the sparring matches thus far, overall I’m still sitting at zero points for the night on the political scoreboard. Hell, Gulong scored more points for the opposition by not being a complete wastrel, because even though he’s got a temper problem, there are plenty of hot-headed young warriors who grow up into hot-headed adults, and most of them never go full Defiled, so yea.

Which begs the question: why didn’t anyone bring this up while we were planning all these sparring matches? BoShui and Zian have yet to go up, but I don’t think either of them could do anything to shift the balance of power in my favour, because they’re too young and inconsequential. What’s the point of all this sparring? Everyone else seems to think it matters, but I don’t get it. Sure, it shows that I’m surrounded by young Talents, but with how things stand, it almost feels like no one short of a Peak Expert really matters, which means...

...

.......

It means Gerel is my only hope? Tch.

...I kinda regret antagonizing him so much, but in my defence, it’s really funny to see his entire head turn red in a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

The banquet spars continue as I stew in anxiety and dejection, but the participants are mostly second-rate younger talents or of minimal consequence. Well, second-rate might be a bit uncharitable, as they’re still well above your average Martial Warrior, but it’s like watching regional amateur boxing matches after multiple thrilling world-title bouts. The participants are scions of wealthy and/or influential families, but largely of no political consequence since they’ve either already taken a side or have remained staunchly neutral. Seoyoon and Geom Chi both make an appearance, as do two or three more Society adherents, and a good number of unknown Southerners also show up, but again, this doesn’t really affect me on a personal level, so I’m not all that invested. Still, I make an effort to appear interested while trying to puzzle out which one of them might be an Imperial lackey, but my efforts prove fruitless on both accounts.

I wish I could talk to Luo-Luo without our discussion being noted and listened to. It’s poor form to erect a Sound Barrier in front of so many people, and half of them can probably read lips regardless. I should ask her to put extra effort into Sending practice, so she can hold my hand and pass along any pertinent information which comes to mind.

Whilst debating if it would be okay to ask for twenty-two servings of every dessert so my guards can have a taste, a new challenger arrives in the sparring ring whose name finally draws my attention. Striding down from the back of the banquet hall is none other than Tam Taewoong, which more than anything proves that the banquet organizer is an utter twat. Not only was Taewoong front and centre for both titular battles of Sinuji, he is currently the junior officer with most time served on the front lines. There stands a dedicated soldier who fought and bled for months on end in an effort to keep the Empire safe, yet somehow the powers that be deemed him not important enough to be seated towards the front. Hell, rumour has it Taewoong only received an invitation at Chen Hongji’s adamant request, as the two of them have an amicable relationship after working together for so long.

Truly nepotism at its finest. One only needs to look at Tam Taewoong’s closest rival to see it in effect. For years, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Ryo Geom-Chi and eventually tied for the Number one Talent of Central, but while the former works his ass off and gets shunted off to the nosebleed section, the latter spends exactly zero hours on the front lines and gets seated in the front row, all because of a difference in family name.

“Tam Taewoong,” he begins, after saluting the Legate. “Second Grade Warrant Officer.”

That said, he turns to the crowd and locks eyes with BoShui before clapping his armoured gauntlets together. “You won our last match, and have progressed by leaps and bounds ever since, but I would appreciate a chance to regain my honour.”

“There was no honour lost,” BoShui replies, striding out in full battle gear despite the festivities. “Tam Taewoong is a Warrior worthy of the highest respects, far worthier than many of my peers sitting around me.” It’s not fair. When BoShui insults people directly, no one says a thing, but I do it and it’s like an echo chamber of ‘you dares?’. I suppose that’s the benefit of looking the part, not to mention having curb-stomped no small number of older warriors looking to put BoShui in his place. While I was busy upping my step count, BoShui was kicking ass and taking names, both on the front lines and in the Citadel as a means of garnering support, not just for me but for his Clan as well. In the end, he’s had about as much success as I have, which is to say none, but part of that is because he commissioned a quarter-million copies of ‘The Storm over Sinuji; a saga of Falling Rain’ and handed out his fanciful journal entry like it was an excerpt from the bible. No one came out and called him a liar, but I’m the protagonist of the tale and even I can barely believe his version of events.

Seriously, he makes it out like my clash with Gen was a battle between the Gods themselves, with Mother and Father duking it out over the fields of Sinuji. BoShui is many things, but a literary artist, he is not.

Still, he’s a good man and a good friend, so I cheer loudly after his formal introduction and settle in to enjoy the show. Taewoong wastes no time in taking the offensive by unleashing a lightning-fast combination of jabs and hooks while dancing around his larger opponent. In response, BoShui stands his ground while parrying each attack with frightening ease, his hands in place to stop Taewoong short long before he comes close to connecting with his intended target. It’s like watching a boxer hitting mitts at maximum speed except Taewoong isn’t aiming so much as BoShui is intercepting the attacks, using a combination of proper positioning, rapid reflexes, and what I think is some form of reverse Deflection to draw Taewoong’s punches into his waiting palms.

Then Taewoong kicks things up a notch and my mundane eyes fail me once more, with both warriors fading into a barely perceptible blur darting back and forth in front of the stage. While I can’t make out the specifics, it’s clear as day that BoShui is holding the upper hand. Taewoong is faster by far, darting about while throwing ten punches for every one of BoShui’s, but the effect is minimal. BoShui either blocks or parries the attack with minimal movement, while Taewoong is forced to stall his offensive and skirt aside every time his burly opponent throws a punch, slowing the tempo for a fraction of a second which is enough for me to perceive things. It’s the difference between an assault ship and a battle carrier, which means that even if the carrier never hits, it can still sit around and shrug off all the hits until the ship either finds an exposed weakness or, more likely, runs out of ammo.

A year ago, these two were so closely matched, BoShui only eked out a victory due to sheer, dumb luck. Today, he stands head and shoulders above Taewoong, so much so that the match doesn’t even seem fair. It’s all thanks to Domain somehow, because it augments everything that came before it, not only making it easier to use External Chi, but also enabling the use of so many tools which were previously unavailable. The reverse Deflection is one of them, because while standard Deflection is considered an Internal application of Chi, whatever BoShui’s doing is undeniably External. There might also be some form of External Lightening going on, because that’s been one of BoShui’s weakest areas, yet he’s still able to move around fast enough to keep up with Taewoong. Then there’s the sheer reaction speed, which seems borderline inhuman, but maybe all Martial Warriors are this fast and I’m only noticing it now because I’m crippled.

I wish I could see what’s going on.

And just like that, I can.

How many times has it happened before, usually in the thick of battle? Time slows and the world moves forward at a snail’s pace, giving me ample time to observe and react to everything and anything in my path. I always attributed it to adrenaline surging through my veins, but this time my heart-rate is sluggish and lethargic after a hearty, eight-course meal. Thump-thump goes my heart, and a dozen punches are exchanged in the process, but on the next ‘thump’ time slows to a crawl and the blurred warriors focus into crystalline clarity. Taewoong throws a jab, then another, drawing BoShui’s guard high, then feints with a right hook before delivering a left blow to the abdomen. Not the first attack to slip through, judging by the state of BoShui’s robes, but he weathers the blow with ease. Undaunted by the attack, he calmly steps in to close the distance and unleashes a fearsome right straight, but Taewoong is two steps ahead and cleanly dodges the attack while simultaneously responding with a clean cross-counter to the chin.

Which BoShui neatly blocks with his left, but not without feeling the sting, his cheeks rippling from the Reverberating impact which passes cleanly through his guard. A lesser man would’ve fallen flat on his face once the pulsating wave of Chi-delivered force reached his brain and rattled it about like a maraca, but BoShui is no slouch when it comes to Reverberation himself and negates the aftershocks with an internal Reverberation of his own. Of course, I only know this because he’s still standing and able to defend himself, but it’s a textbook example of the benefits of a Natal Soul, since I doubt BoShui could have saved himself if not for having partitioned his mind into two separate but equal working units.

And still the match continues, with Taewoong hesitating ever so slightly before pressing the advantage and unleashing yet another devastating combination attack, aiming low now that BoShui is guarding high to land another three clean hits. No, not entirely clean, as BoShui’s Domain is blunting their force, but if not for that, this match would have long since ended. A scything hook sails well over Taewoong’s head and affords him the opportunity for two more hits, but then his luck runs out as BoShui corners him against the stage and leaves him with nowhere left to run.

A one-two combination to the chest brings Taewoong to his knees, and only then does my heart complete the earlier paired beat before time resumes it’s normal flow. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The State of Enlightenment. I’d honestly forgotten all about it. At one point, I think I even started confusing it with Insight, but they’re two separate things. Insight is downloading info into your brain, while the State of Enlightenment is more like bullet time, allowing Martial Warriors to react against opponents moving at inhuman speeds, but only now do I realize it is a Chi skill like any other. This is how BoShui was blocking all those attacks, because he’s trained his State of Enlightenment to a higher level than anything I’ve ever experienced. It makes sense that it would improve with use, because otherwise battles between Martial Warriors would eventually just be decided by who strikes first.

...I hope it doesn’t take Chi or Heavenly Energy to use. Same with my anti-Concealment spotting efforts, because if I keep burning through my reserves, I’ll probably go full cripple again, and I’d really rather not. Recharging involves getting way closer to Demons than I would really like, dead or otherwise, so it’d be nice if I could avoid that for as long as possible.

While I muse about the State of Enlightenment and my Chi reserves, the banquet hall comes alive with applause in celebration of their incredible match. BoShui extends a hand to help Taewoong to his feet, and both men are smiling as they take their places in front of the stage, but I’d be lying if I said Taewoong didn’t look sorely disappointed. It doesn’t help that Watanabe gestures for them both to stand in place while holding a hand up to indicate he has something to say, and thereby keeping Taewoong in the spotlight after his close defeat. “Well fought, young Taewoong, well fought. Your opponent has the advantage of being one step further along the Martial Path, but this is hardly an insurmountable hurdle for a man such as you.” Watanabe doesn’t even look at BoShui, who similarly pretends as if the cowardly Colonel isn’t speaking, but neither side seems willing to back down. “My esteemed father can’t help but note,” Watanabe continues, after it becomes obvious BoShui isn’t going anywhere, “That a young man such as yourself has no Mentor. Just now, he lamented at how a fine Warrior such as yourself has been inhibited by this criminal lack of guidance, though one could argue that your choice of companions might have also hindered your growth.”

And there it is, spelled out as clear as day with a pointed glance in my direction. It’s an offer from Juichi to take Taewoong in as a Disciple, so long as he cuts ties with me and the Ryo family, delivered in front of the most influential people of the Empire. Cowardly is what it is, not the offer itself, but how Juichi doesn’t have the balls to make the offer outright, because he’s afraid of losing face if Taewoong should turn him down. Most nobles would’ve done the same, but I can’t help but look down on Juichi for tiptoeing around the subject like a shy boy too scared to ask his crush out to dance. Barely even giving him a second to think, Watanabe immediately pushes Taewoong to accept. “Choose carefully young man. You’ve come this far without guidance, but talent and intuition will only take you so far. Already, you are falling far behind your peers, as you just experienced firsthand, so do not waste your best years muddling along the Martial Path.”

Laying it on real thick there, Watanabe. That ain’t even true. Taewoong’s doing fine.

“Imperial Consort,” Shuai Jiao intones, startling me in my seat. “You disagree with Colonel Watanabe’s opinion?”

Shit. Was I shaking my head? I suppose I was. Or sneering. I have a tendency to do that when presented with bullshit. Resisting the urge to glare at the under-dressed Living Legend for putting me on the spot, I clear my throat and gather my thoughts before trusting myself to speak. “Well, I wouldn’t say Taewoong is ‘falling behind’ his peers or ‘muddling along’ the Martial Path. BoShui is one step further along the Martial Path, but as anyone who has taken that step would know, it’s a significant one.” Pretty sure Watanabe has Domain, else he’d never have made Lieutenant Colonel, but most people in the room don’t, and wouldn’t understand how vital Domain really is. “Without that advantage, Taewoong would have won the match.” I meant to leave it at that, but after a few seconds of oppressive silence, I can’t help but add, “I mean, even with the disadvantage, Taewoong technically should’ve won. He thought the fight was over with that last cross-counter, so he hesitated because he didn’t want to cripple his opponent, but if this were a life and death battle, he was in perfect position to follow up with a left hook to the temple.” Offering BoShui a shrug of apology, I bite my tongue as Luo-Luo nudges me to keep quiet, because there’s really no benefit to going on.

“Sharp eyes, Imperial Consort,” Shuai Jiao mutters, “Sharp eyes indeed. Your thoughts mirror my own in this, though I have more to add.” Ignoring the glares from an irate Juichi, Shuai Jiao nods at Taewoong and BoShui both. “Fine young warriors, dragons among men, but somewhat lacking in the Forms. You both focus too much on striking, on aggression, on pushing ever forward, and you’ve lost sight of one simple fact: hands can make fists to pummel with, but they can also be used to grasp.” Accentuating his point by making a grabbing motion, he moves his hand about in a variety of pantomimed grappling movements and I can almost picture him tossing his foes around like rag dolls with a flick of the wrist. “A vast array of tools lay at your disposal, and you cast the bulk aside in favour of pummelling your foes into submission. A waste of potential, but it is the duty of us elders to correct the mistakes of our juniors. Tam Taewoong, Han BoShui, I, Shuai Jiao, invite you both to visit at your earliest convenience, so I might pass along some minor teachings and help smooth the way forward along your Martial Paths.”

Great... Now I have to worry about BoShui and Tam Taewoong becoming best friends too, not to mention the Legate’s golden boy and Shuai Jiao’s stupid man-bun toting Disciple, Yong-Jin, looking oh so distinguished in his almost-but-not-quite golden robes and fancy red vest. Psh. He’s not that handsome, and I bet his personality matches his Blessing, wooden and boring. I’m short and weak, but at least I have a sense of humour.

...What is wrong with me? Why do I keep getting jealous of dudes?

BoShui and Taewoong are both quick to accept Shuai Jiao’s invitation, as the borderline-ascetic is notoriously reclusive while also quite possibly the strongest of Central’s three Colonel Generals. Rather than reject Juichi’s offer outright, Taewoong kneels and bows in his direction, holding his head low for the count of nine seconds, whereas he’d be offering nine kowtows to a Mentor if he accepted the offer. A very politically apt answer, because not only was there no actual rejection, Taewoong even responded positively to Juichi’s offer without actually accepting. This is the sort of stuff I could never do, because quite frankly, I’d never think to try it. It’s just not a response that would appear in my natural thought process, and I totally thought someone would have to step in to save Taewoong if he didn’t accept.

Regardless of the courtesy, Juichi still seems none too pleased, deliberately turning aside from Taewoong so as not to acknowledge the bow. I don’t know what that says about him on a political level, but it feels like he’s being childish when he should instead be the bigger man here. Then again, what do I know. Maybe this is a top-tier face preservation trick Imperials don’t want us plebs to know about, and everyone else thinks this is proper behaviour. Either way, I probably pissed off the Mitsue family even more by butting in, but Taewoong’s a good man and he deserves better than being gas-lighted into accepting a Mentor.

As BoShui and Taewoong make their way back to their seats, Zian strides forth to take their place, and the crowd erupts into a deliberate hush of whispers and gossip. Sort of defeats the purpose when you know most people present can Send, and it’s a wonder how anyone can keep a straight face while being so blatantly obvious about it, but Zian ignores it all while making his introductions. “Situ Jia Zian,” he begins, speaking over the bustle. “Son of Lu An Jing and Situ Jia Ying. Twenty-six years old, Third Grade Warrant Officer, Young Magistrate of Shen Yun, and Disciple of Situ Jia Yang and Twinned-Dragon Jukai.”

The last bit elicits a handful of realistic gasps, as naming more than one Mentor is akin to adultery, but worse, because the people of the Empire don’t really put much stock in marital vows. Ignoring the scandalized mutters, he faces Ishin Ken-Shibu and cocks his head. “Here I stand,” he says, offering the barest hint of a mocking smile, “A friend of Falling Rain’s. Come, show us what you can do, Painted Dancer Ishin Ken-Shibu.”

Man... I will never be half as cool as Zian. Just the way he says it, ‘Painted Dancer’, like it’s a proper title instead of an insult. Plus the stones on him, challenging a man eight years his senior and standing near the pinnacle of his generation, while knowing the drama at the opera house might very well have been engineered to make this very match happen.

Fuming with so much anger it’s a wonder steam isn’t shooting out of his ears, Ken-Shibu takes his place across from Zian as the two warriors flourish their swords in similar manner. “Good, good,” Ken-Shibu says, his rouged lips curled in a snarl as his bejewelled headband chimes ever so softly. “These past few weeks, I’ve heard so much about the disgraced Young Patriarch of the Situ Clan. Too much, in fact, for it sickens me to think there are those who might compare one such as you, with someone like me. Had you kept quiet and stayed hidden in the crowd, I’d have left you be and challenged the Fire-bird instead, but since you called me out, then I would be remiss not to put you in your place. Falling Rain’s lapdog thinks himself the match of Ishin Ken-Shibu? Hmph. Your father died young and failed to teach you proper manners, so I will do so in his place.”

“You talk too much,” Zian replies, affecting an air of casual indifference which I can tell is fake, but only because I know him better than most. “I asked you out here to spar, not to hear you sing. Whenever you’re ready.”

It’s a wonder Ken-Shibu’s face paint hasn’t cracked with how fast his veins are throbbing. “The dog acts fiercest when his master is present,” he growls, speaking through shockingly white teeth, which makes me wonder if he paints those too. “But remember, swords and spears have no eyes.”

With no further preamble, Ken-Shibu finally launches his attack, going from zero to blur in the blink of an eye. Too excited to care if I use up a little Chi, I seek the State of Enlightenment and will time to slow around me. Technically, my brain is just processing images and information faster and time continues at the same constant speed as always, but it’s so much cooler to call it slowing time, because that’s exactly what it feels like. Where before they were two blurs, Ken-Shibu and Zian are now two distinct blobs, still moving too fast for me to really focus, but somewhat visible at the very least. Round and round their four swords go, connecting in a symphony of harsh, metallic notes, yet more telling are the absent notes which don’t sound out when their swords just barely fail to meet. The anticipation of a note makes it’s marked absence that much more conspicuous, and for a fraction of a second, I wonder if there’s something wrong with my hearing, but no. Zian is actively avoiding head on collisions and using the missing impacts to throw Ken-Shibu off his game.

Which is... freaking brilliant.

Because they move so quickly, much of what Martial Warriors do is based on flow and timing, and a lot of their information regarding this comes from sound and physical feedback. By avoiding the expected outcome of connecting blades, Zian is messing with Ken-Shibu’s sense of flow and timing. He expects an impact, and the absence of one forces him to readjust. It’s like when you miss a step and your foot plummets further than expected, and your brain seizes up for one infinitesimal fraction of a second as you process this unforeseen circumstance. While walking, it’s no big deal, but in the middle of a fight, even the slightest delay can turn a sure victory into crushing defeat. Zian is doing this multiple times per second, and while Ken-Shibu is handling things well thus far, it’s obvious he’s struggling to keep up. Conversely, Zian is as cool as a cucumber, his features ice cold and expressionless as he sets Ken-Shibu dancing to a new tune.

And what a dance it is, not just of swords, but of steps as they trade blows with unnatural grace and superhuman agility. I told Ken-Shibu it was stupid to spin around in battle, but he and Zian seem hell-bent on proving me wrong as they twirl and wheel about in a deadly dance of steel. Two Warriors cut from the same cloth, they are the physical embodiment elegance and finesse, circling and gliding across the sparring grounds as if the stone-tile floors were made of ice and their bodies light as air.

But even though they share many similarities, their differences are just as pronounced. Ken-Shibu is silk, fluttering weightlessly upon the wind and drifting aimlessly about, going this way and that with little to no rhyme or reason. In stark contrast, Zian is a bird in flight, cutting through the air to get wherever he wants to go, whimsical nature versus predatory beast. Watching Zian fight puts me in mind of what happened before the opera, when Roc launched himself off the rooftops to flutter down and perch on my arm. Knowing without knowing, that’s Zian in a nutshell, placing his feet and directing his sabres exactly where they need to be, without deviating from his intended goal by even a hair’s breadth. He isn’t planning and calculating so much as seeing, anticipating, and responding without needing to think, because the optimal actions have been ingrained into his mind and body from countless hours of practice.

I can still see the Oriole Form in Zian’s movements, but they’ve become something more than they are, rising to a higher level than I can possibly emulate. These are Human Forms, Movements based on us bipedal, hairless apes, optimized maneuvers which bring out every ounce of speed, power, agility, coordination, and flexibility our bodies have to bear, and the results are shocking to the extreme. Three minutes into their frantic exchange, Zian takes control of the tempo, made possible by a simple half-step he took forty-five seconds ago which put his opponent into an awkward position. Back and forth the two warriors go, but it’s clear Ken-Shibu is slowly being herded to his demise as Zian picks apart his defences and forces him onto the back foot. There it is, the stutter-step I warned him about, and Zian wastes no time taking advantage, his boot scything out to catch Ken-Shibu’s cloth shoe in transit and sweeping the Painted Dancer off his feet.

Gotta hand it to Ken-Shibu though, he’s no pushover. Rather than futilely resisting the foot sweep, he performs a one-legged back-flip to narrowly avoid it. More impressive is how he keeps his guard up even whilst in mid air, slapping aside two quick thrusts which would have ended the match and left him with a vicious cut on each cheek. Zian was going for style points instead of safely ending the match, and while it didn’t work out, I still gotta give him props for trying. More importantly, the blatant disrespect has got Ken-Shibu in a tizzy, and he lands soft as a feather before charging forward in a frenzy. Caught off guard by the unexpected aggression, the balance of power shifts away from Zian as there are no more missing notes to be found, for it is all he can do to stave off Ken-Shibu’s murderous offensive.

The back and forth is no more as Zian is driven back, with Ken-Shibu’s longsword punching holes through his defences while the shortsword seeks to kill. Somewhere along the way, Ken-Shibu reverses his grip on both swords and the change in angle and reach throws Zian for a loop. The longsword comes dangerously close to taking off his leg, but Ken-Shibu angles it back at the very last moment because he has no intention of letting his foe off so easily. No, he wants Zian’s life, which becomes clear as his grip returns to normal. Arms outstretched and swords positioned to strike Zian’s head from his neck, Ken-Shibu’s blood-thirsty grin is ghoulish to behold, a pale, painted spectre of death incarnate.

Then Zian’s sabres swing up from below and lop Ken-Shibu’s arms off at shoulders in a crimson spray of blood.

A shrill shriek fills the air as the Painted Dancer staggers away, his face twisted in pain and surprise. Hongji’s table flies off the stage and chaos breaks loose as the wooden furniture explodes into splinters, revealing a furious Ishin Shigen charging into the fray, but the slight delay buys enough time for Nian Zu to leap off the stage and meet him in a roar of wordless challenge.

“Stay your hand!”

Just like that, the chaos comes to a standstill, with Nian Zu’s mace mere inches from slamming into Ishin Shigen’s unprotected face. As the State of Enlightenment fades away, I blink in confusion and try to make sense of the scene before me. I saw the table flying out and Nian Zu leap out to meet Shigen, but when did the rest of the audience break out into wholesale violence? Broken tables and shattered porcelain litter the ground, with the crowd clearly separated into pockets of allies and enemies with bloodied blades a plenty. It feels like I closed my eyes for a minute and missed it all, but I don’t think I even blinked. Standing atop his table, the Legate snaps his fan open to reveal the Imperial Sigil, and everyone present drops to their knees and lowers their heads. I follow their lead a half-second later, but it’s long enough for the Legate to grow annoyed and shoot me a glare, which I pretend not to notice while lowering my head.

C’mon man, gimme a break. Vanilla human here, so cut me some slack for having a slow reaction time.

“See to the wounded,” the Legate commands, followed by the tell-tale snap of his closing fan. “Remove all the remaining furniture from the room. Since the greatest powers of the outer provinces cannot be trusted to get along, then there is no sense letting good tables and chairs go to waste.”

The thought of so many nobles getting their chairs and tables taken away is actually pretty funny, but I can’t afford to laugh. The last thing I need is for the Legate to fixate his rage on me. For long, uncomfortable minutes, the massive banquet hall is filled with the sounds of frantic servants moving furniture as quickly as they can while doing their best to avoid looking at any noble in particular. I know this because I peeked, and after thinking it through, decided it’s probably because they don’t want to be seen by any Scrying Martial Warriors and accused of taking delight in their hardships. Poor guys, they’ll probably still be accused of moving furniture too slowly and get whipped or something. It’s a hard life being a pleb, but hopefully that’ll change sooner rather than later.

“Disgraceful.” Dripping with scorn and disapproval, the Legate’s rebuke echos through the banquet with startling clarity as the din of workers dies off. “Tonight was to be a celebration of the Empire’s staggering victory in Sinuji, a victory made possible by the united efforts of the outer provinces, yet you lot have turned it into a viper’s nest of discord and dissension.”

Psh. He’s one to talk. As if all this isn’t happening because the Supreme Families are pitting us against each other.

“Mitsue Watanabe.”

“Yes, Imperial Legate.”

“Where are the heroes of Sinuji?”

“...Sir?”

I would give anything to see the look on Watanabe’s face right now, but the Legate hasn’t given us permission to look up yet. “When I instructed you to organize this banquet,” he says, his voice radiating with cold, restrained fury, “I told you this was a celebration of our victory in Sinuji, yet I see only a handful of Warriors who served there in attendance tonight. Fifteen-thousand soldiers survived the battle of Sinuji. You mean to tell me none of them deserve recognition for their efforts? That not a single soldier accomplished anything of note in battle? That there were no surviving officers besides yourself, the Colonel General, and a single Warrant Officer alone?”

“Uh... no Imperial Legate, but... but fighting is but a small part of our victory in Sinuji. Training, supplies, construction, administration, all this and more is vital to the ongoing defence of the Empire.”

“Do you think me a fool? If this is what you believe, then why are the Southern delegates seated so far away? Why are your closest cronies all crowded together at the front?”

“...A thousand apologies, Imperial Legate. Mercy Imperial Legate. This one was wrong.” A slap rings out. “This one was wrong.”

“Imperial Legate, this humble one requests permission to speak.” Mitsue Juichi, sounding real heartbroken over his son. I wonder if the Legate used some Aura-voice thing to scare Watanabe, or if he’s just that spineless to begin with.

“Permission denied, Colonel General. Speak again and I will have your tongue.” Well, I suppose that’s proof that Juichi isn’t working for the Legate, which means he’s got a different Imperial backer. Something wooden clatters against the stone floor, and I peek under my arm to see a scroll unfurling itself across the stage. “That,” the Legate snaps, “Is a list of commendations, promotions, and prizes I intended to hand out at the end of tonight’s festivities, but seeing how there are only five intended recipients present, I see no point in doing so. Do you, Colonel?”

“...No? Imperial Legate.”

“Hmph.” Flicking his sleeves, the Legate falls silent while his Death Corps march about the stage. When their boots fall silent, he says, “See to it that the heroes of Sinuji receive their due, and dock yourself five years salary to help with the expense. Overlook a single person on that list and I will have your head. Colonel General Nian Zu.”

“Yes Imperial Legate.”

“A man of your years should have long since learned restraint. You will forfeit your prize and pay the Healer’s fees to mend what your younger clansman has wrought.”

“By your will, Imperial Legate.”

“Raise your heads.” Already seated in his palanquin, the Legate looks none too pleased by the night’s events, though I have no idea why he thought things would go differently. “Situ Jia Zian?”

“Yes, Imperial Legate.” Despite his dishevelled robes and unkempt hair, Zian still looks the part of a heroic young noble, albeit a tired, bloodstained one.

“Well fought. With Warriors like yourself holding the line, the Defiled will find no ingress into Imperial lands.”

Yanno, besides the one province they already have. Weird though. The Legate barely paid attention to any other fights, so this is a pretty big statement. Is Zian gonna get a job offer too? God dammit, do I have to worry about a ZianXLegate ship now? No, he’s my reformed friend, and you can’t have him!

Glowing with pride, Zian offers yet another salute and basks in his moment of glory. “This one thanks Imperial Legate for his high praise.”

Snapping his fan open once again, the Legate addresses the crowd. “Hear me. Situ Jia Zian, Han BoShui, and Tam Taewoong are to be provisionally raised to the rank of First Grade Warrant Officer. Ishin Ken-Shibu is to receive the rank of Third Grade Warrant Officer. Ryo Geom-Chi, Huushal of the...”

The litany continues for a good while, and even ends with Song getting a gift of gold, though the Legate only refers to her as ‘Akanai’s daughter’, for plausible deniability, I guess. Who pays it out, I have no idea, but Song seems pretty pleased and everyone I’ve marked as an enemy is definitely not, so overall, I’d call this banquet a win.

Which I should know better than to do, because that’s just tempting fate. As the Legate’s palanquin makes its way out of the banquet hall, the Seneschal Sends instructions demanding I meet with the Legate at my earliest convenience, with only my Death Corps guards to escort me.

This is my fault, really. I called it too early, and now I’m paying the price.

Still, all in all, it was a pretty fun banquet, and I didn’t even have to get drunk to enjoy it. Not too shabby, I’d say, not too shabby at all.

Chapter Meme