Chapter 334 same as always, unedited, unmemed, AND UNFILTERED!!!!!!!! (Patreon)

Sorry had to do it. Alrighty, enjoy!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1A2OYkvcwWp7IqqO5aquO9RIn-ZQs6BKgu8JdgO1WTcI/edit?usp=sharing

Chest swelling with pride, Dastan stood tall at the boss’s side, thoroughly enjoying the looks of confusion and consternation from the other retinues. Every time he heard someone call Falling Rain the ‘Undying Savage’, Dastan’s ire would rear its head and he’d be forced to quash it down, but after this stunning display of political acumen and foresight, who would dare call the boss a savage now? This ‘savage’ was more learned than most scholars, a seemingly endless font of quotable remarks and so adept with numbers he could pass for a budding mathematician. Not only that, but most times the boss could look at an issue and instantly discern the root of the problem, providing critical insight on how to best solve it, if not outright explaining the solution itself.

Had he not seen it all firsthand, Dastan would have thought there were two or more Falling Rains. How else could one man find enough time in a day to train, study, manage his retinue, and sleep?

Thus, it wouldn’t be arrogant or pretentious for Dasta to say the other eight young talents of the Empire were wholly lacking in comparison. Not only was Falling Rain more talented, harder working, and smarter, the boss had also eaten more hardships than the other talents ate meals. Perhaps an over-exaggeration, Dastan amended, glancing at Wu Gam, Yong-Jin, and the two Oath-sworn bodyguards from the South, but not by much. Falling Rain’s empathy for the people of the Empire stemmed from having seen and experienced their plight, and he worked tirelessly to improve their lives in a multitude of ways.

Dastan still remembered the boss’s brilliant speech given deep under the earth on Yo Ling’s island, condemning the Empire’s lack of change and innovation, as well as the ‘systemic abuse’ of the lower class. The boss dreamed of a day when the balance of power would shift from the few and back into the hands of the many, and that day would not be far now, perhaps only a generation or two away. Dastan might even live to see it’s culmination, and if so, he would die a happy man. Cheap paper was only the beginning. By the time literacy became commonplace, uncle Diyako and his colleagues would have the boss’s printing press all figured out, allowing for widespread distribution of information, and exposing the crimes of the powerful for all to see. No longer would the nobles of the world be able to silence their detractors, not when thousands of tongues spoke out against them.

And if that wasn’t enough to make the Emperor rethink his ways, then perhaps millions of revolutionaries armed with crossbows and catapults led by Martial Warriors of humble origins would do the trick.

With the gift-giving portion concluded and the Legate’s intention for a public sparring match made clear, Dastan was confident that by day’s end, the whole of Central would know of Falling Rain’s exploits, and within a week, the entire Empire. Brilliance and altruism aside, the boss was easily the most threatening contender present for the title of number one talent in the Emperor, and the other eight young talents all knew it. By unspoken agreement, they all readied to challenge the boss, hoping to wear him down with successive challenges and seize the glory which would come from taking down this most dazzling of warriors, but unease and apprehension stayed their hands. None of them wanted to challenge the boss first and lose the opportunity to study him in action. Although the Crier’s rules forbade killing your opponents, interference from bystanders, and leaving or destroying the stage, not much else was laid out, with multiple Healers taking the stage, ready to mend bones and reattach limbs. There were no defined rules for challenges, which obviously favoured Central’s five Hwarang should they choose to work together, but such was life.

Even with the odds stacked against him, Dastan was certain the boss would emerge victorious. While his sparring record was atrocious, on this stage in front of so many warriors of the Empire and all of Nan Ping, not even Falling Rain would dare make light of this. When the Crier finally finished speaking, all three factions fell back to make room for the duellists. The Southerners and Central put their backs to the north and south coast, while the boss’s retinue backed against the docks and the Legate’s dais closing the square off. The whole city fell silent as they waited with bated breath, eager to see which one of these nine young talents would rise above the rest and claim the title of number one talent in the Empire.

Wholly unaffected by the pressure, the boss stepped forward and clasped his hands, addressing his peers with confident smile. “Fellow young talents,” he said, his words and actions narrated by the Crier. “In the interest of fairness, I propose we hold a short, single elimination tournament. We each randomly draw a number and face off in pairs. The winners move on and whoever wins three matches in a row is our champion. Do you all concur?”

Mitsu Hideo was the first to respond. “There are nine of us,” he sneered, tone implying the left out ‘fool’. “How do you propose to deal with the finals? A three-way match?”

“Easily solved.” Pointing at one of his guards, Quyen Dienne said, “he will not take part. Now we have eight.”

“Oh no, this one wouldn’t dare dream of asking someone to sit out. After all, each of us has worked hard to make it here onto this glorious stage.” There was nothing in the boss’s tone which implied any hidden meanings, but Dienne’s face flushed with anger as the audience chuckled at the implied slight. Feigning obliviousness, the boss pointed at Dastan and said, “I was thinking we introduce a dark horse to make things exciting. In the first round, I propose the ninth competitor faces my colleague, former Warrant Officer and current Expert of the Empire, the twenty-three year old Dastan Zhandos.”

Eyes wide with surprise, Dastan’s heart sped up at the thought of exchanging pointers with the top talents of his generation in front of all of Nan Ping. Hands trembling in anxiety and excitement, Dastan stepped forward and bowed, playing the part of servile soldier. Rapping him on the chest, the boss Sent, “Stand tall. You’re representing the North today.” Speaking out loud, he continued, “Should Dastan here win, then he will step down and the numbers will be fine. If he loses, then in the next round, we redraw numbers and the fifth competitor faces someone from the South, who will also step down should he win. Seems reasonable considering Central’s number advantage, yes?”

“And when the Southern... dark horse also loses?” Again, it was Hideo who spoke up, his companions in the Hwarang seemingly ambivalent about the entire process.

Rain shrugged. “Then everyone who reached the finals has fought an equal number of matches, and we either have a three-way match or three separate one on one matches. Look, this is all pointless conjecture anyways, Dastan will win and render all these contingencies moot.”

The blood drained from Dastan’s face and after a moment’s pause, Nan Ping erupted into a clamour as they reacted to the boss’s outlandish claims. While a twenty-three year old Expert might command respect on any other day, the boss’s confidence wasn’t exactly warranted considering present company. The only person Dastan was confident about winning against was Seoyoon, the untried, temperamental young miss of the Ryo household. While Dienne and his bodyguards were unknowns, the rest were all well-known warriors in their own right. Mitsu Hideo and Yong-Jin were experienced soldiers, both tempered in bloody conflict. Wu Gam’s prowess with his Blessing of Earth was unheard of for a man his age, and although Du Min Yan didn’t share his illustrious reputation, for all Dastan knew she might be another Sumila of the Behkai.

Undeterred by the jeers and boos of the audience, the boss had Silva number nine sheets of paper and fold them up, something which would have been seen as an extravagant waste only an hour ago. With the folded sheets in hand, Dastan followed behind Rain as the marched to meet their foes on centre stage, drawing numbers one by one and revealing them to the crowd. When Mitsu Hideo grimaced and revealed the number nine, Dastan’s stomach dropped in fear and he repressed a groan, wondering just what he’d done to deserve such a fate. Aside from being matched against the boss, this was the worst possible outcome and he estimated his chances for victory were a mere one in ten.

And that was being optimistic. A consummate veteran, Hideo’s twin maces were mocked for being inelegant and unrefined in a province which valued style over substance, but his winning record spoke for itself. Only a handful of his opponents made it past the first exchange, and those who did were praised highly for their skill. Ryo Geom-Chi and Tam Taewoong were always one step ahead of Hideo, and while Fung and BoShui held their own against the two former legends, none of them truly gave it their all in the half-drunk spar.

Once all the numbers were drawn, everyone retreated to the sidelines aside from numbers one and two, Du Min Yan and a nameless guard from the South. Curious to see how the boss’s former lover would compare to Sumila, Dastan scrutinized Du Min Gyu’s adopted Disciple. A city-toppling beauty, she moved with a natural grace which was impossible to mimic, studying her opponent from behind long, curled eyelashes. Her alabaster skin was so pale and perfect, she didn’t even power her face, though a touch of shadow on her eyes and a hint of pink rouge on her lips accentuated her natural beauty. Wearing no jewellery or armour, her easy smile and languid stretching made it seem as though she were preparing for her regular morning sparring session instead of about to duel in front of the largest audience the Empire had ever known.

Confident, composed, and irresistibly charming, it’s no wonder Du Min Yan had the boss’s affection. Lovely as they were, Sumila and Mei Lin couldn’t compare to this ravishing temptress who batted her eyes and smiled prettily at her stony-faced opponent. Unsheathing his great talwar, the nameless southerner clasped his hands and bowed towards the Legate before turning back to Du Min Yan in silence, arrogantly resting his curved sword on his shoulder instead of taking his stance. Pink lips turned in a pretty pout, Du Min Yan copied his actions, idly twirling her six-pointed shield and leaving her sword sitting in its sheath which hung off her shoulder. The weapon was too wide for a jian but the scabbard’s shape implied the weapon had a straight-edge and pointed tip. A standard long-sword? While not unheard of, long-sword and shield was hardly a popular or efficient style and for good reason. While one could use a longsword one-handed, it was best utilized like Li Song used her saber, alternating between one and two handed grips to vary range and angle of attack.

With both parties ready to begin, the Crier Spoke for all to hear. “Ready...Bow... Begin!”

In his opening move, the thin-moustached southerner exceeded Dastan’s estimations and then some. With both hands on the handle, he brought his tulwar crashing down towards his opponent in a deadly overhand swing, the blade moving faster than the eye could follow. Similarly defying her already high expectations, Du Min Yan easily dealt defended herself with a casual flick of her wrist, catching the saber on the edge of her shield and diverting it aside almost effortlessly while her empty hand shot forward to lightly pinch the southerner’s neck. The tulwar glanced off the wooden floor in a spray of splinters and the southerner’s stony visage broke into a mixture of rage and disbelief. With a devilish smirk, Du Min Yan asked, “Yield?”, and with a nod, the match came to an end.

A smattering of applause sounded from the audience as the southerner retreated in shame, the loudest of which came from the northerners. Central saw her as a northern upstart of half-beast heritage and knew this victory was Central’s in name only, for in reality, Du Min Yan was a northerner through and through.

Next up was the boss’s turn, matched up against fairy Ryo Seoyoon. While Dastan worried the boss’s flirtatious ways might land him in trouble with the icy and buxom young woman, today’s Falling Rain behaved with impeccable manners, striding up with sword and shield and keeping any lewd glances in check. Far less dramatic than the first match, they exchanged a dozen moves before the boss neatly trapped Seoyoon’s swords and disarmed her without injury, stepping back immediately after to claim his victory. Unwilling to give in, Seoyoon’s proud and aloof appearance disappeared as her lovely, heart-shaped face twisted in rage, baring her perfect teeth in an alluring snarl as if ready to pounce on her opponent and take him down unarmed.

So not an ice-queen but a fiery demoness. Intriguing.

Luckily (or not, depending on the boss’s tastes, which evidence suggested ran the gamut), Seoyoon restrained her self and accepted her defeat, though judging by the dissatisfied scowls shot towards her sword-maidens, it wasn’t entirely by choice. Knowing the next bout would be a farce, since Dienne had lucked out and been matched against his bodyguard, Dastan decided to disregard the bout between Wu Gam and Yong-Jin to prepare for his match against Hideo. Closing his eyes, he smoothly fell into Balance’s sweet embrace, having had an entire year to fix old bad habits. Stepping into his Natal Palace, he took a moment to marvel at its magnificence and reflect on how far he’d come.

From its humble beginnings of a dark, empty void, Dastan’s Natal Palace had undergone extensive changes in the last year. There were the gates modelled after Sanshu’s own, and the large market plaza behind it. Off in the distance sat Dastan’s childhood home, surrounded by beautiful and luxurious buildings filled with all manner of ‘necessities’, with beautiful clothes, wondrous toys, training equipment, sumptuous feasts, and other pastimes more erotic in nature, this was everything Dastan could dream of.

Only it was about twenty times too small for him to fit inside.

His Natal Palace was solely for the Natal Soul’s enjoyment, but that wasn’t to say Dastan enjoyed no benefits. Despite its silly and somewhat adorable appearance, the little creature was an incredible boost to Dastan’s Martial prowess. Taking over the role previously occupied by the Spectres, it helped Dastan passively Reinforce, Lighten and Stabilize his body. Their bond allowed for an unspoken, instinctive coordination between themselves and left Dastan free to focus on other, more timing-based Chi skills like Deflection and Amplification.

The benefits from the Natal Soul didn’t end there either. Peering in on the large-headed and small-bodied facsimile, he watched it train against shadowy enemies with his axe and shield, slashing and bashing his enemies with unbridled aggression and child-like glee. A studious little fellow, it spent most of its time in training and was only too happy to share its revelations and insights, passing them on through their bond without any need for words or actions. As the Palace grew larger, Dastan also found his memory improving, able to memorize short excerpts from scrolls with a single glance or recall his sparring matches in frightening detail.

All this without any effort whatsoever, a frightening boon to Dastan’s skills even without considering the ability to practise Chi skills inside the void. If this was Rain’s personally developed skill, then it was fearsome indeed.

Finally noticing his arrival, the Natal Soul beamed with joy as it soared over to tug on Dastan’s moustache. Fixing it with a mock-serious glare, he said, “Listen here now. You understand the stakes here. This is the most important match we have fought to date. There’ll be no fooling around today, you hear me soldier?” Leaping to attention, the Natal Soul snapped off a military salute and went back to training. After a year of training, the little Soul no longer waved it aimlessly about, executing a deadly combination of attacks with practised efficiency, though it ruined the atmosphere by sneaking hopeful glances at Dastan’s expression to seek his approval.

So adorable. How could this sweet little mental son possibly be plotting to take over Dastan’s life? Vichear was overreacting, maybe the boss had some personal issues to work out, but lately, things seemed better than ever. There was absolute nothing to worry about.

Awoken by a pat on the shoulder from Jochi, Dastan nodded his thanks and unstrapped his Runic shield, removing the leather cover now that secrecy was no longer required. The fourth match had come to an end, with the expressionless Wu Gam standing over a battered and bleeding Yong-Jin, the latter in rough shape as a Healer tended to his internal wounds. The onlookers looked shocked and intrigued, with the competitors still in the match all wearing similar looks of dismay. Glancing at the older Sentinel, Jochi shrugged and Sent, “The little fox is a dangerous opponent, more in tune with his Blessing than any I’ve ever seen. The bout would’ve ended instantly if he wasn’t so worried about killing his opponent. A few more years and Rain might be his equal, but as it stands, I fear our talented leader is outmatched.”

Swallowing his fear, Dastan pushed Wu Gam’s strength to the back of his mind and focused on his only opponent, Hideo. The pale-faced powered young noble was still awestruck by Wu Gam’s performance, but Dastan couldn’t count on that to last. He only hoped to survive the first exchange and not bring shame to the boss and the Zhandos name. Then again, he was nothing but a slave and a little more shame wouldn’t really hurt Dastan’s family name, a family of traitors who’d been so blinded by anger and greed they couldn’t see the simple truth dangling-

“Hey.” Smacking Dastan on the back, the boss smirked and said, “Don’t worry about the crowd, don’t worry about your status, don’t even worry about winning or losing. Go out there and show the world you deserve to stand here, not as my underling, but as my peer.” Chuckling, he added, “Besides, how strong could Hideo be? Wu Gam already showed how ridiculous he is, like a second Mila, so what are the chances there’s a third?”

Musing over the boss’s words, Dastan’s shoulders eased and tension melted away as he shook with laughter. While Mitsu Hideo might be talented, hardworking, and experienced, he was but a mere mortal, nowhere close to the likes of Sumila, Wu Gam, and Falling Rain. Indeed, how could there possibly be so many monstrous talents? Hideo was probably no different from Zian or Song, both of whom Dastan had crossed blades with countless times before. While victory had not always been his, neither of his opponents had enjoyed a flawless record against him, and while they still held an advantage, it wasn’t by much. Even if Hideo was stronger than them, it wouldn’t be by much, which meant Dastan had more than a fighting chance. Slave or not, Dastan had proven time and time again that he deserved to stand alongside the greatest of his generation.

Today, he would prove it to the Empire.

Body loose and spirits high, Dastan strode forth with his axe and shield, ready to win glory for the North. After bowing before the Legate, Dastan smiled at his scowling foe and offered a word of advice. “Concentrate on this match. Worry about Wu Gam if you make it that far.”

“Hmph.” Smashing his maces together with a resounding clang, Hideo sneered and deigned not to reply. When the Crier announced, “...Begin!”, Hideo leapt forward in a powerful charge, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t a combined Form like the boss’s charge, merely an Amplified version of Traverses the Mountain. Expecting as much, Dastan slipped to the right and caught the brunt of the charge on his new Runic shield. While the inscription stopped any Reverberations from passing through, it did nothing to dampen the Amplified swing and sent Dastan skidding across the platform. With his Natal Soul Stabilizing their body, Dastan regained control in time to block the second charge, though his arm went numb at the powerful impact.

No good, with how much Chi the Runic shield drained with each blow, he would last maybe another two dozen blows. He had to avoid the charge and to do that, he needed to be lighter, his reactions quicker, his footsteps faster. Responding to these thoughts, the Natal Soul Lightened his body and Dastan gave himself over to the Forms, his movements so light it felt like was gliding across the platform. Hideo’s next charge barely grazed the Runic shield and as expected, it devoured less of Dastan’s Chi. Light on his feet, he danced around his opponent like a bird flitting about a bull, his mind calm and body loose. An apt comparison, since his opponent focused primarily on the Bull Forms, his twin maces smashing about like horns as he trampled across the stage, leaving splintered wood and spraying water in his wake. In contrast, Dastan only needed Rising Steps from the Oriole Forms to avoid him, dodging blows whenever he could and blocking with his Runic shield when he couldn’t.

Whether Hideo charged, leaped, or slowly advanced, Dastan accepted the challenge and meet him head on, not intending to wear Hideo down or enrage him, but trying to avoid his opponent with the least amount of movement possible. This was nothing more than a sparring match with no one’s life at stake, so why waste such a perfect opportunity to sharpen his skills? Round and round they went as Dastan took Hideo on a merry chase, his axe never striking and his smile never slipping.

After long minutes of dancing about, he finally decided enough was enough. Spotting an opening, a disruption in his opponent’s rhythm caused by fatigue, Dastan made his first attack of the match, slowly slipping his axe through his opponent’s defence and lightly tapping his neck to leave a thin, barely perceptible line of blood. Still smiling, Dastan reversed his grip and clasped his hands. “Thank you for letting me win.”

There was a single second of silence which stretched out into an eternity, and Dastan revelled in his victory, taking in Mitsue Hideo’s shocked expression, the boss’s proud smile, and the Legate’s appreciative nod before Nan Ping erupted into thunderous applause, perhaps even the loudest ovation of the day.

Father, Mother, I, your son, have brought honour to the Zhandos name.