Chapter 411 - Rough and will probably be changed (Patreon)

Not too too happy with this chapter, but it's mostly the Rain part. I may change it to a diff PoV, or do sthing else, I dunno yet. anywho, here you goes. Enjoy!


https://docs.google.com/document/d/1iHEy0SdQfsEO8T0IcyxX-e9dWZzj3rLBdvQ__yAvupU/edit?usp=sharing

As the Defiled pour out of the tall grass and make ready to bring their weight of numbers down upon us, I already know things won’t go as planned. Wishing I knew how to Send at a distance, I choke back a sigh and ask, “Argat, Jochi, you around?”

“Yea boss.”

Nearly jumping out of my skin because Jochi is closer than I expected, I swallow the rude remark I almost made out of reflex and instead say, “Tell Dastan and Erkin not to engage. Lure their Defiled here and we’ll engage them together. I didn’t expect there to be this many.”

“Got it.” Unlike his brother, Jochi keeps the conversation to a minimum when the stakes are high.

Unfortunately, neither Dastan nor Erkin have a Sender in their squad, which means I won’t get a response. I hope the message gets there in time, but it’s probably too late. Well-trained veterans that they are, Dastan’s people mustered up and set out much faster than Lang Yi’s, which can only be expected. Still, Dastan’s probably smart enough to know not to charge one or two thousand Defiled with only fifty riders, right? Once Jochi confirms my message has been Sent, I ask, “Where’s your brother?” Sure would be nice to Send two messages at once. I wish I knew how to Send so I could teach everyone else how to.

“Probably still getting dressed. He’s not at his best in the mornings.”

That and the lack of sleep is probably getting to him. While my retinue has four squads split into three shifts a night, Jochi and Argat don’t have anyone to split shifts with, which means they’re only getting four hours of sleep a night. Tenjin and Tursinai are the same, which means I shouldn’t push them too hard. “Well, I’ll be counting on you then. Have the scouts hang back and hold their fire until after the Defiled charge in. More clumped up targets to pick from. Also, tell Daxian to get his ass into gear and head out and support Dastan. Mister Rustram is to take Squad two and muster south of this position, then either provide support to Dastan or circle around and hit the Defiled in the flank.” Who should I put on the other side? Li Song’s squad is ready now, but I think I need them here. “Have Li Song and Squad three form up beside us, and send the Protectorate north to mirror Mister Rustram. A proper greeting, wouldn’t you say? The Defiled travelled all this way to see us, so it’d be a real shame if we let them left early.”

“Sure is boss.”

Despite my confident tone and relaxed posture, I’m feeling anything but. This is more for the benefit of my soldiers around us, because you can’t underestimate the value of morale. Then again, they’re probably scrub-tier like the other Defiled we’ve encountered, behaving more like beasts than humans as they charge in with reckless abandon. I don’t understand why the Spectres are driving their hosts to the slaughter. I mean, I get that the Spectres are like the embodiment of negative emotions, but what purpose does all this bloodshed serve?

Putting my questions aside, I turn my attention back to the present. Even if they’re Death Corps elites or former slaves hungry for revenge, I worry they might be disheartened by the sheer size of the force arrayed against us, but a quick glance proves my worries unfounded. Both Red One and Lang Yi seem eager to start, bearing a similar bloodthirsty glint in their eyes. Truth be told, I kind of regret putting Dastan, Lang Yi, and Red One for my squad. I thought they’d be the easiest to manage on account of their Oaths, which in turn would free me from the obligations of management, but sadly, this hasn’t been the case. There’s been a lot of tension due to a growing rivalry between the three groups, but try as I might, I don’t understand why they’re all so gung ho about proving themselves or something. If I wasn’t standing here with them, I think Red One and Lang Yi would’ve already ordered the charge.

Honestly, if Li Song and Sai Chou weren’t so dependable, my retinue would’ve probably fallen apart at the seams before reaching arriving at SuiHua.

Taking great pains to hide my inner turmoil, I flash a grin at the soldiers around me, trying to emulate their crazed, mildly-deranged look. “Seems like a shame to wake the others for this,” I quip, and a few nervous laughs sound in response. “Well, what’s done is done. All we can do is kill the Defiled as quickly as we can so they can go back and get their beauty sleep. Mother knows, they need it.” More polite laughs follow, but neither Red One nor Lang Yi crack a smile.

As if prompted by an unspoken signal, a resounding roar erupts from the Defiled horde and they charge as one. Li Song’s squad has yet to arrive, which means I’m stuck here with little more than half a squad to defend the entire camp.

Well, I did ask for a challenge...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anyone who’d ever seen Siyar cloak himself in shadow would always invariably ask the same stupid question.

‘How do you do it?’

Usually, Siyar ignored those idiots, or answered with a shrug and a smirk while imagining sewing their mouths shut. If pressed, he’d claim it was a ‘trade secret’ or made up some nonsense. His favourite was that he’d accepted a reclusive Expert as his Mentor but was Oath-sworn to secrecy and had already revealed too much. Truth was, even if he wanted to explain, he wouldn’t know where to start. How was he supposed to explain something that took him years to learn in a few handful of sentences?

For as long as Siyar could remember, the darkness had always been his ally, always there to help him hide from someone or something. In his early years, he’d hidden from his drunk, abusive father, harridan of a mother, and pervert of an uncle right up until he ran away from home at the tender age of eleven. He didn’t run far, only the next village over, but his parents didn’t spend much effort looking for him, so it was far enough. To survive, he joined up with a gang of runaway children working for a man everyone called Big Egg, on account his bald, irregularly shaped head.

The fifth son of a well-to-do family, Big Egg fancied himself a ‘free trader’, which was little more than a prettier way to say smuggler. In truth, he was a bit player who’d found his niche in Sanshu, a city were only the rich thrived. The Council had a stranglehold on all trade in Sanshu, and they hated competition. They also owned everything from the guards and accountants to the gates and ports, which meant Big Egg couldn’t sneak or bribe way his in like in any other city. He had to be more creative with his methods, so he started using children to move his cargo. Here, the darkness aided Siyar once more as he smuggled stolen goods through pitch black tunnels and crawl spaces only children could fit inside without anyone the wiser.

This lasted for a few months until one of Big Egg’s runners got stuck squeezing out of an exit. Instead of keeping quiet and waiting for Big Egg to send someone to find him, the little idiot’s struggles caught the attention of the guards and the jig was up. The exits were nailed shut, Big Egg got slapped with a fine, and the idiot kid went to the gallows. Undeterred by the setback, Big Egg set another plan into motion, sneaking kids through the gates right in plain sight. All they had to do was covertly join a caravan on its way into the city, and pray their rucksack or dolly wasn’t searched. It worked most of the time, but one child couldn’t carry much without garnering suspicion, so in times of desperation, Big Egg forced them to swallow small items for retrieval the next morning. Many a wealthy noble in Sanshu wore gemstones which had once been sifted out of shit, an experience which had soured Siyar on wearing any sort of jewellery at all.

Not the most glorious of beginnings, but everyone had to start somewhere. As jobs went, the life of a ‘courier’ to Sanshu was pretty cushy since Big Egg had learned his kids were overlooked more often when they looked clean and healthy. Not to say the job was entirely risk free either, since capture by the guards meant the gallows. Worse was if you were robbed by rival gangsters and returned alive. Furious over the loss of cargo, Big Egg’s go to punishment was to have the other children beat the unlucky offender to death. The bald bastard never laid a finger on his kids, because Siyar and his companions were so desperate for a place to belong, they were happy to beat one of their own to death, and with their bare hands, no less.

Children are stupid, which was why Siyar stayed with Big Egg’s gang for three years before parting ways. He had it all planned out in advance and followed through when Big Egg entrusted him with a valuable shipment into the city, a parcel of diamonds meant for a buyer who needed them forthwith. Siyar swallowed those diamonds down, joined a caravan into the city, then knifed the overconfident bastard the second they were alone. It had to be done, Siyar was getting too old to be overlooked by the guards and the rival gangsters were getting wise to his tricks. It was only a matter of time before he was caught so it was kill or be killed, a lesson Big Egg taught Siyar well.

With Big Egg dead, Siyar snuck out of the city and after a quick squat and a long rinse, he offered the diamonds as tribute to join the Sharktooth Syndicate. It was the smartest thing he’d ever done, because birds die for food and men die for wealth. If he’d kept the diamonds or sold them for coin, then he would’ve been robbed or worse, but now he had a crew to watch his back while he honed his skills. He still had to hide, only now instead of guards and gangsters, he hid from soldiers and rival bandits, but he took to the life like a fish to water. Two years later, he helped Kang and Yu seize control of the Sharktooth Syndicate and turned it into a successful smuggling operation, with Kang providing security, Yu handling purchases and falsifying documents, and Siyar making sure the cargo got where it was supposed to go. Though seemingly little more than a glorified wagon driver, his hierarchy in the Syndicate was second only to Kang’s and equal to Yu’s, only Siyar cared nothing for standing, reputation, or making decisions which didn’t concern him.

While their work would never make them rich, it was enough to live a decent life and that’s what they had until Big-Eyed Kang got it into his fat head to be more than just a bandit and smuggler. The muscle-bound idiot didn’t realize it was better to be the head of a dog than the tail of a lion. Siyar should’ve cut and run when Kang and Yu decided to hitch the Syndicate to the Council’s wagon, but he foolishly stuck around out of a misguided sense of camaraderie and companionship.

Turns out, grown-ass men can be stupid too, but this time, Siyar had learned from his mistakes.

When he spotted the Defiled attack coming in the morning gloom, a plan came together in his head. More out of habit than anything else, he already picked out several hiding spots nearby, and one suited his purposes perfectly, a small crevice complete with a sod covering for camouflage. All he had to do was burrow in and stay put until the battle was over and the bossman left, then Siyar would be free and clear with no one the wiser. They’d probably assume he was killed or taken away by the Defiled, so they wouldn’t even bother looking. It was the perfect opportunity to get away, because sooner or later, soldiering was going to be the death of him. It wasn’t personal, he just thought it would be best to leave while he still could, and what better opportunity than this?

Waiting until a fellow sentry fired off the signal arrow, Siyar sent his quin away and brought his water-skin, crossbow, and Spiritual Weapon with him as he bolted for the crevice. Dug into the westward side of an inconspicuous mound, there was just enough room for Siyar to lie prone inside so long as he hugged his sword and crossbow to his chest. Carefully sweeping away the evidence of his passing, Siyar slid into the dark, earthy pocket, placed the sod over the opening like a grassy blanket, and plunged his hiding space into complete darkness. While optimistically confident his presence would go unnoticed by anyone passing by, the ground rumbled with the footsteps of at least a thousand running Defiled, a sound which filled him with concern as he prayed his efforts were enough.

If not, his sword would prove small protection against the horde of Defiled rampaging nearby.

Closing his eyes, Siyar forced himself to breathe and calm down. Staying hidden was 90% preparation, 9% percent mental fortitude, and 1% luck. He’d made the preparations, and so long as his luck held, then all he had to do was stay put until the coast was clear. Not an easy task as his instincts demanded he flee or fight, but reason prevailed and he remained still as a corpse and listened. The thunder of hooves, the crash of steel, the screams of the dead and dying, Siyar parsed through the pandemonium to find out what was going on around him. Dastan was nearby, that much was clear, but after the initial charge, Siyar didn’t hear hoof beats fading into the distance like he’d expected. Not a good sign seeing as there were only fifty odd horsemen against maybe twenty times that number of Defiled. In a situation like this, the heavy cavalry should hit hard and fade away, so why was Dastan intent on fighting fair? Was the bossman and his Death Corps infantry on their way? If so, then they’d better hurry or else...

Seconds passed by but still there was no change. The din of battle continued to sound out and Siyar imagined a landscape littered with his dead comrades, and it occurred to him that he’d assumed the bossman would emerge victorious from this battle. What would happen to him if the bossman lost? The Defiled would probably stick around for a day or two, celebrating their victory with a bit of cannibalism and torture. Clutching his crossbow and sword, Siyar experienced a pang of guilt over abandoning the bossman in his time of need.

Hell, he even felt bad about leave his comrades in the lurch. Bulat and Ravil could drop dead for all he cared, but most of the others weren’t too bad, like Jinoe and Ronga who were always good for a laugh, or tasty Kimi who liked to get drunk and jump into his cot for angry sex, or Awdar who owed him fifty two coppers. Hell, even Jorani wasn’t a bad sort. Sure, he killed Big-Eyed Kang, but the dumb bastard deserved it. Strutting around with a banner behind him like he was hot shit just because he had an Aura, it’s like Kang wanted to get shot. More importantly, both times when Siyar went to the winery, Jorani had his back. The pinched-faced swindler was utter shit at sneaking and not much better in a fight, but he put on a brave face and looked out for his own, which was more than Siyar could say about most.

By the Father’s Syphilitic Cock... When did he become so... sentimental?

Repressing a sigh, Siyar opened his eyes to the darkness of his hideaway. He couldn’t stay here, so he might as well head out and die with the rest. Shifting the sod away ever so slightly, he let his eyes slowly adjust to the moonlight. Quietly sliding out of the crevice, he allowed himself a small smile as he checked his surroundings and manually loaded his crossbow. Sunrise was still an hour away, and while the Defiled could see better in the dark than most, Siyar knew they wouldn’t see him coming.

For the darkness had always been his ally.