Sitting in hopeless despair, Xiao HuoLong worked at his bindings, glaring at the surrounding guards while choking on his gag. That stupid bitch Shrike, her reputation was worthless as a eunuchs cock. Ambushing the Major, sending her Aspirants away, allowing soldiers led by children to overtake her, even abandoning him in her haste to escape, it was all an unmitigated disaster of epic proportions. The woman wasnt fit to manage a gaggle of whores much less a force of warriors.
Then again, she seed a little loony, a quiet desperation in her eyes whenever she spoke of Rain. No sign of the Spirits within her as others might have suggested, but it only ant there was sothing profoundly wrong with her. The ease with which shed accepted his accusations surprised him, but hed been in no position to question his good fortune. Now he was no better off than before, still in the hands of the enemy, helplessly waiting for death. At least he had hope his death would be clean, without all the unpleasant torture and ceremony the Aspirants so loved to take part in.
A procession of soldiers made their way into camp and HuoLongs stomach flopped as he recognized the Shrikes mounts, knowing there was no longer any hope of rescue, no matter how slim it might have been. The Shrike needed him but these brats were likely to kill him out of hand. In fact, he hoped theyd do it soon, instead of using him as a tool to hone their skills, hoping to further their own reputations.
Resigned to his fate, HuoLong hunched over and waited, presenting what he hoped to be a calm and unruffled deanour while inwardly lanting his fate, doing his best to ignore the Spirits and their whispers of surrender. Theyd been quiet of late, sensing his agitation and displeasure with them, but now they were back in full force, promising power should he only accept it.
Nattering bastards, only now in his darkest monts did they reappear, hoping to tempt him into dancing to their tune. Too busy with their chosen with no ti to spare for Laughing Dragon, a loyal believer for decades. His self-control and discipline filled them with disapproval, preferring Gens unrestrained devotion, but what did they expect? Laughing Dragon had no army of believers to guard him from the enemys wrath, only a few dozen Firebrands all lost to him now.
All because the Spirits failed to grant him power and abandoned him in his ti of need. A pox on them all.
Choking on his impotence and filled with regret, he watched as Falling Rain was brought down from the horse, the incompetent fool still unconscious. Another of the Spirits chosen, the brats strength filled HuoLong with envy. In what way was Laughing Dragon lacking?
A healer set to work on the forrly ignorant Enlightened and HuoLongs hopes were piqued, sensing the Spirits still at play within the boy. Perhaps now, knowing what he did, the boy would want a ntor, a teacher, soone to show him the way. If only he could speak with Rain in private, offer his experience in hiding his true nature and dealing with the urges. Perhaps there was still hope to be had. All he needed to do was convince Rain there was a place for him by his side. They could tell the world Laughing Dragon was being used to root out the Defiled, a tool in the battle against the Enemy, much like the Shrike was planning. Instead, they would rally the Enlightened to their cause, biding their ti until they were poised to strike and overturn the Empire.
After the better part of an hour, Rain rose from his slumber. No smiles or cheer, rely nodding in thanks to the other Officers, clasping hands and saluting, playing his part to perfection. Yes boy, worm your way into their friendship, bring these young talents into the light. A wondrous path lay before him, a hero of the Empire, poised to bring great change to the world.
How glorious it would be to have his own na, Xiao HuoLong, echo in eternity. He could see it now, history looking fondly upon Laughing Dragon, the man who made it all possible. The man who guided a young talent into overthrowing the dog-emperor and his heathen followers, scouring the Mother and her believers from the land. Eagerly chomping at his gag, he stared expectantly at Rain, deferential yet unbroken, respectful yet proud.
Leaning over him, Rain looked on with disinterest. Why is this filth still alive?
The single sentence crushed all of HuoLongs hopes and aspirations, crumbling beneath the weight. One whelp answered, a snobby brat in fine silk armour. Well, I wanted your opinion. After all those innocents died in the Purge, it seems a disservice to allow this one to die easy, but knowing your distaste for torture... The whelp shrugged. Up to you how he dies.
I wont dirty my hands torturing him myself.
You wont have to. My manservant is a man of many talents. He handled DuGu Rens... execution.
I see. Rains haunting amber eyes pierced through HuoLong without a shred of rcy. Kneeling down, he removed the gag and sneered, his anger burning within. An act likely, no rcy for the Defiled, the boy had to further his own cause and couldnt bother to save a re Laughing Dragon. Because of you, thousands died in horrific manner, which isnt entirely your fault, but how many died at your hands in a similar manner?
More than I can count, he replied honestly, unable to muster a shred of defiance. Ive been at this for decades, cant rember them all. Barely rember those from the village I found ye in.
You disgust , and it pains we lack the ti and tools to properly 'reward' you. Standing up, Rain turned to the snobby brat. Have your manservant handle this, but ask him to keep things quiet. The rest of us need to sleep, weve a long day ahead. There are more Defiled to be killed and I wont stop until the Province is cleansed of their filth.
His body gone slack, HuoLong allowed himself to be dragged away, ignoring the fevered appeals of the Spirits still trying to convince him to surrender. He was no fool, he knew what followed would rely be death in another form, his transmigration nothing but a ploy to bolster Rains reputation. Fuck the Spirits and fuck their cause, at least this way, he would die as Xiao HuoLong, the Laughing Dragon, his own man.
It would have to be enough.
As the unremarkable torturer placed a funnel in HuoLongs mouth and lifted a pot of boiling water, he knew it wouldnt, letting loose with his first and last scream of the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Standing in the hallway, Charok swallowed his fear and cald his nerves with a slow breath. He knew this wouldnt be easy, but upon his arrival, he found his legs turned to quivering iron, refusing to budge another step as he imagined all the horrors awaiting him on the other side of the door. With each passing day, the mood at the Wall grew darker as their losses mounted. Although the people living here were hardy folk, well versed in hardship and mourning, few lived through such trying tis. From several prominent vantage points, the endless hordes of Defiled could be seen camped outside the walls, a dizzying sight even to a seasoned warrior like Charok. Losing a Major General, four Brigadiers and eleven Colonels in a single night was a bitter pill to swallow, without even ntioning the greatest loss of all.
Not only the Bridge, but most people living in the province had never known a ti without the Unyielding Nian Zu standing guard, watching over them with his fad mace poised to strike down any Defiled who sought to pass. From his single-handed defence of the eastern gate as a lowly Captain, all the way to his desperate bid to retake the outer walls after the forr Commanders grueso death, the stories of Nian Zus prowess quickly beca things of legend as his exploits spread through song and poem.
From lowly servant to rugged veteran, all were disheartened by the noted absence of their invincible guardian. With the remains of his ruined manor sitting in clear view, the peoples faith in their renowned hero waned, most believing him dead or worse. A dark cloud hung over the city as tongues whispered of abandoning the Wall to flee for safety, though where safety might be found was a matter of debate. Jia Yangs refusal to reassure the masses only fuelled the gossip and if you asked the common man, the Bridge was dood to fall. Sothing had to be done, sothing to shift the tides and lift the spirits, and Charok knew exactly what it was.
He rely wished soone else would do it in his stead.
Alas, no one else could, so he wiped away his sweat and gathered his courage before forcing himself to take the last step and confront his Father-in-Law. To Alsantset, Baatar would always be her Papa, the sweet, gentle man who made silly faces and told her bedti stories as a child, doting on her every whim. To Charok, Baatar would always be the Iron Captain, the stern, disapproving, peerless warrior who had to be emotionally blackmailed into accepting their marriage. No matter, Baatar was a man who respected strength and so long as Charok presented himself with strength, then his argunt would be heard.
Rapping the solid oak door twice, the resulting tap-tap made him wince, sensing the coming criticism for his soft knocking. Feeble and inadequate, unbecoming of a warrior, but knocking again would only be rude, so he stayed his hand and closed his eyes in resignation, waiting for permission before entering. Holding his breath as the seconds dragged on, Charok was left to imagine how everything might go wrong, his last nerve fraying as he struggled to stand in place, the thought of fleeing at the forefront of his mind. No one would know, not even the servants remained now, all sent away to offer privacy in this difficult ti. Only the vision of Alsantsets tired smile kept him here, exhausted from defending a province which considered her little more than chattel if not for her battle prowess. It was ludicrous how she risked her life to defend those ingrates, but when the choice was between having arrogant lunkheads or murderous Defiled as neighbours, it wasn't a difficult choice to make.
He would never understand her love for battle, but he accepted it as part of her, wishing he could be happy fighting at her side, but the life of a rcenary made him miserable, and she knew it. They decided to try living as her parents did, him staying ho while she travelled the world half the year, returning to him in the winter. It wouldn't work, he knew it now, the waiting made him more miserable than any amount of battle ever could.
Coming back to the present, he realized hed been waiting for minutes, or near enough. Frowning as he knocked again, this ti with a firm thump-thump, he realized his error and prayed he wasnt interrupting Baatars sleep. Horrified, the thought of retreat crossed his mind once more, but it was too late. A weary voice called out, Co in, and Charok could do little but comply, sheepishly opening the door despite his earlier plans to co out strong. Already off to a bad start, Charok spied the flash of disappointnt on Baatars face, quickly hidden by his customary steely neutrality. Ah, its you. Is the girl on her way?
Ah no, its uh... just . Alsantset is at ho resting. With the twins. Dont stamr, Baatar hates that. She, ah, shes exhausted from fighting. Defending the Wall, he corrected, as if it needed to be clarified. I brought food. Make more obvious statents fool. Rice and at for you, and ginger chicken soup for Sarnai.
Feeling out of sorts, Charok placed the food on the nightstand and took a seat, waiting in silence as Baatar delicately sat Sarnai up, holding her in his arms. With painstaking caution, Baatar blew on the soup before slowly placing a spoonful into her mouth, the image of a dutiful husband caring for his wife. Using the respite to collect himself, Charok studied the fearso Baatar, only now noticing how worn and subdued the older warrior appeared. Dark rings creased the skin around his eyes with wrinkles sprouting across his forehead overnight. His usual confidence nowhere to be found, Baatars desperation hurt to watch as he whispered sweet nothings to his comatose wife. His wolf ears, normally upright and pointed, laid flat against his head as he sat with hunched shoulders and drooping eyes, Baatar looked to have aged a decade in re days, diminished by his grief.
The entire scene was so intimate it felt wrong to intrude, and Charok turned away to offer a modicum of privacy. His heart tightening in his chest, he stared out the window and idly wondered how he would fare were he in Baatars place. Poorly, he decided. How cruel a trial the Mother laid out for Baatar, to see the love of his life hale and healthy, warm to the touch and breathing as if asleep, yet to be told she would never wake again, the spark inside which made her a person cruelly snuffed out while only her body remained. Here, hope was nothing more than a false promise, luring Baatar deeper into the depths of despair as he cared for a living corpse and prayed for a miracle.
An unenviable situation.
Thank you for the food, but you need not stay. Baatars gruff voice sounded out, snapping Charok out of his reveries. Smoothing out his wifes blankets, the old warrior continued speaking without a glance. Ive no need for a nanny. If the girl is so worried for my health, she can co nag herself.
She didnt send here. His words were a mistake, Baatar staggering as if physically struck. Sighing, he crumpled into his chair and shook his head, his eyes never leaving his wife. They lapsed into silence once more, minutes passing before Charok finally found the courage to speak again. Sothing needs to be done.
Another mistake he realized too late as he found himself lifted in the air, Baatar snarling ferociously as his fingers clamped around Charoks throat. No one will harm her while I still draws breath. This I swear.
The only reply was a strangled gurgle, unable to free himself from Baatar unyielding grip. Realization flashed through Baatars ice cold eyes, quickly replaced by panic and remorse as he released Charok none to gently. My apologies, he muttered, smoothing out Charoks clothes. I lost my head. You werent speaking of Sarnai, were you?
Sputtering as he massaged his throat, Charok shook his head, face red from exertion and sha. Though itd been years since he left the Banner, hed foolishly believed his strength had grown in recent years, his control of Chi improving by leaps and bounds. How foolish a fancy, before Baatar, he was still no different from a child, unable to resist even in the slightest. I ant about the Wall. Straightening himself out, he forced himself to look Baatar in the eyes without flinching. If youve given up on defending the province, then you should give the order to retreat.
Ive not given up. The snarl was back, the wolf snapping at him even as he collapsed back into his chair, so full of rage and sorrow, a caged beast ready to lash out. Id have thought of all people youd understand. Ive more important matters to attend to, Sarnai needs and the Wall will hold in my absence. Even with Jia Yang at the helm, the officers on the Wall have decades of experience serving under Nian Zu. Good n leading good soldiers, theyll hold no matter what that buffoon does.
Understanding dawned on him as he watched Baatar dismiss reality with a wave of his hand. No one told you? Teng Wei Sheng is dead and with him his entire cadre of officers. Han BoHais advice is outright ignored when not ridiculed and his troops placed on reserve so Jia Yang can claim all the glory. The battle is going poorly. In the last day, the Defiled have almost taken the walls thrice and every soldier has been called to action as the Enemy continues their attack, unabated day and night. They seek to waste our strength and overwhelm us before sending in a wave of Demons, dozens of them gathered on the horizon in plain sight, filling the soldiers with despair. Your daughter isnt at your side because of lack of empathy, but because she is desperately fighting day and night, holding back the tide which threatens to overwhelm us all.
Brow furrowed, Baatar slumped even further in his chair as he glanced at his wife, reluctance on display. Thrice? Are things really so bad? Why has Ghurda not taken things in hand, she is no less able a commander than I.
Ghurda suggested Alsantset order an evacuation, but your daughter is loathe to abandon your post. Charok refrained from pointing out Baatar abandoned it first, and how unfair it was for him to dump his burdens on her. Talented though she may be, she isnt like you, a leader of soldiers. Shes a duellist, a solitary warrior, unused to cooperating with a partner much less coordinating tens of thousands of troops. Yes, youve lost a wife, but she lost a mother and yet still she fights. She fights for her fathers honour, not her own, holding your place in your absence, hoping to see your dreams co to fruition. Put an end to your mourning, or at least put it aside for now. You need to take command and be the hero she believes you are.
Holding his hand up, Baatar lowered his head, eyes closed in concentration. Belatedly, Charok realized he was Sending to soone, perhaps Ghurda or Alsantset, verifying the situation. After long minutes, he sat up and took Sarnais hand again, ignoring Charok in stony silence. Just as he was about to try again, a knock ca at the door and a trio of servants stread in as Baatar rattled off a list of instructions for Sarnais care while donning his armour.
Pride swelling in his chest, Charok followed Baatar out the door and to the stables where their quins sat harnessed and ready. As they rode towards the Wall, they were soon joined by an escort of Sentinels, Alsantset among them, her smile no longer tired and resigned, but radiant and hopeful as she clasped his hand in silent thanks. Their escort swelled in size as Han BoHai joined them, a magnificent sight to behold as Major General Baatar rode through the streets, back straightened and shoulders raised, finally ready to aid in the defence. Though night was upon them, their procession didnt go unnoticed, many citizens still awake, unable to sleep for fear and trepidation. Muted cheers and subdued optimism greeted them, Baatars re presence inspiring confidence, his recent exploits not lacking when compared to Nian Zus early career. Nian Zus chosen successor, finally here to save the day.
The sounds of battle grew clearer as they moved up the stairs, passing a steady stream of dead and wounded flowing down towards the hospices. Baatars re presence kindled their spirits, the soldiers saluting as he passed, their eyes burning with hope and ambition, confident he would lead them to victory. It was his way, a born leader of n, the Iron Commander Baatar.
As Baatar burst into a eting room, Charok delighted in Situ Jia Yangs conflicted gaze, the stubborn fool unsure whether to laugh or cry. Fortunately, Jia Yang knew the situation was desperate and settled for a simple reproach while accepting aid. How fortuitous, the Bloody-Fanged Wolf has finally deigned to grace us with his presence. You are appraised of the situation I gather? Suggestions?
Drawing himself up, Baatar appeared every speck the hero Alsantset made him out to be, resplendent in his silver and black armour. As Commander of the Wall, heed my order: sound the retreat. Evacuate the citizens.
Silence fell upon the room, not a single person in earshot daring to draw breath.
Perhaps, Charok mused as he watched despair threaten to overco his wife, it would have been better to let sleeping dogs lie.
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