Chapter 460 (Patreon)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1h2GdH23JXG5SksKZHHY-24aQrXwcCa70Zqxmn36VDVo/edit?usp=sharing

So engrossed in watching the battle between Experts, Gen didn’t even realize the Imperials had moved until the arrows fell upon him. “Form ranks!” he shouted, for all the good it did him, because the tribal savages were too stupid to understand basic Common. While his huntsmen fell in line around him beneath the hail of projectiles, the idiot Defiled riders were already riding at the Bekhai archers, whooping and hollering as they stretched their line thin in their eagerness to spill blood. Unwilling to sit still while his enemy sat across the field, Gen hollered, “Spears at the ready.” Arrows continued falling amongst his huntsmen, no doubt targeted due to their armour and longbows, but Gen paid no mind to the losses. Difficult as it was to replace them, it would be much easier to train new huntsmen if he could get his hands on those Bekhai crossbows. “Charge!” Putting heel to his stupid gajashia, Gen drove his huntsmen across the field towards Falling Rain, for the amber-eyed bastard had finally revealed himself after all this time, standing atop his giant weasel with bow in hand.

“Come, ‘Baledagh’,” Gen thought. “The time for reckoning is upon us.”

Oh, what a good line, he should say it out loud before their fateful duel.

A mere three-hundred meters separated Gen from his vengeance, but it was a distance Falling Rain used to full advantage. Volley after volley fell upon the huntsmen, fired with frightening accuracy by the Bekhai archers standing on their mounts. Even though they were his enemy, Gen marvelled at their skill with the bow, for it was no easy task to fire one even on solid ground, yet the Bekhai loosed their arrows with frightening speed, power, and accuracy without putting undue stress on their animals. While not as terrifying as the longbows, the crossbows were powerful enough to bring down a charging gajashia, though their rate of fire left much to be desired. It was still better than nothing since Huntsmen and Defiled alike took casualties from the storm of arrows, but it was merely a drop in the bucket considering their numbers. Ten-thousand gajashias bore down on the two-hundred odd Bekhai, and even if every bolt and arrow struck true and scored a kill, Gen’s cavalry would still outnumber their Imperial counterparts by more than two to one.

But first, Falling Rain would die.

Two-hundred meters, one-hundred meters, then fifty and closing, the Bekhai held firm until a scant thirty meters separated them from the oncoming gajashias, and then...

They ran.

“Cowards!” Gen howled, furious to see his foe retreat before him. “Stand and fight!” At the sound of his voice, Falling Rain straightened up and narrowed his eyes, scanning the crowd in search of Gen, but still he continued to flee. Raising his bow with a snarl, he fired arrow after arrow at the charging Defiled and scattered his shots amidst Gen’s huntsmen in the faint hopes of getting lucky. It seemed as if the thought of facing him in single combat had unnerved the amber-eyed bastard, but even if his aim were true, it would take more than an arrow to kill Gen while he wore his Runic armour, though the unarmoured Defiled were not faring so well. Glancing around in search of Goujian, he realized the old man wasn’t riding with them, probably hiding with the Defiled Commander after slinking back from the northern camp in defeat. A craven old fool, but his absence meant there was someone else Concealing Gen from Falling Rain’s eyes, so he didn’t know how he could reveal himself. While a useful source of knowledge, the Confessor was far too cautious and cunning for Gen’s tastes, but dealing with him would have to wait until after Gen took Falling Rain’s head and razed Sinuji to the ground.

To his dismay, he noticed the distance between them was only growing as the Bekhai mounts sprinted away, but even if they were still thirty meters away, they’d still be too far to strike with his flames. It had to do with relative distance or something equally obtuse, but for some reason, the range of his flames were not based on the speed of the projectile but on absolute distance travelled. The further he wanted his flames to go from their point of origin, the more energy it would require, so launching one while charging at full speed could very well drain his reserves in mere seconds. He could conjure a flame and carry it with him almost indefinitely or have it travel over a hundred meters to strike a foe, but the moment he ‘loosed’ his flames, its time in existence became limited. To make matters worse, Gen had never fired his bow from a mounted position and he knew he was more likely to put an arrow in the back of his gajashia’s head than hit the enemy, so he gritted his teeth and ordered his men to continue the charge.

On and on went their merry little chase, the Bekhai fleeing far and fast along the northern flank of Sinuji. As they passed the camps, the Imperial defences worked against them as the impassable trenches cut off their path of retreat. Angling to intercept, Gen bared his teeth in a grin as he imagined how they would die while Falling Rain watched helplessly from his weasel. By now, Gen estimated they’d lost at least five-hundred riders to their incessant ranged attacks, not to mention how gajashias were not made for sustained sprinting, but it would all be worth it once his forces got a hold of those damned Bekhai.

The thunder of hooves snapped Gen out of his reverie and his stomach dropped in panic. Looking left to determine the source of the sound, he was greeted by thousands of overlooked Imperial cavalry charging into his flank, hollering, “Victory or Death!” The battle-cry echoed on thousands of throats as their steel lances crashed into the flesh and bone of Defiled and gajashia alike, the sound alone enough to set Gen reeling in place. The lines compacted as the Imperial charge continued forward, and he was driven aside by the press of gajashia and Defiled flesh, unable to hold fast before the wave of horse and man. Chaos erupted as their mounts stumbled and went mad with instinct, some turning to face the threat while others moving to flee, and still more were pushed or jumped to their deaths into the deep, open trenches to his right. Insulated by hundreds of bodies between him and the battle, snapping beaks and flailing weapons were the greatest threat to Gen’s life now, unable to do a thing to extract himself from this dire situation. Even if he ordered a retreat, there was no room to turn around, caught between the Imperial forces on his left and the cavernous trenches to his right.

And still, Falling Rain continued to loose his arrows amongst Gen and his huntsmen. From this distance, he could almost make out the hateful bastard’s arrogant sneer as he stood on his mount, and Gen railed at his helpless plight. “Fight,” he commanded, for there was nothing else he could say. “Spread out and fight, you miserable savages!” Even without his guidance, a group of Defiled riders broke off from the front and circled around to hit the Imperials in the flank, but before they could form up, a second wave of cavalry hammered home into them once again. No, no, no, cavalry were supposed to charge, not be charged, and especially not in the flank while they were scattered and aimless! Without the advantage of speed and mobility, mounted soldiers were just expensive, less effective infantry! Where did the Imperials get enough horses for a second detachment? Had reinforcements arrived?

No... Not reinforcements. After charging into the fray, the Imperial cavalry left a token force behind to pin the Defiled in place while a good two-thirds rode off to ready another charge. Blocked in by his allies, Gen was helpless to do anything except sit and watch as his forces were charged time and time again, incurring considerable casualties with each successive assault. The Imperial cavalry were so well coordinated, Gen could hardly believe his eyes, and even as the battle-lines spread and the charges diminished in effect, the Imperials continued to use this tactic to their advantage, rending the Defiled cavalry apart piece by piece like a pack of wolves tearing apart a large, helpless elk.

Oddly enough, there was even a small contingent of heavy infantry who joined the fray, brought here by their quin-drawn wagons. A curious addition to a fast-moving cavalry force, but an intriguing one.

An arrow crashed into Gen’s shoulder and glanced harmlessly off his armour, but the impact would have knocked him off his mount if not for the packed press of bodies. Turning to track the projectile’s trajectory, he locked eyes with Rain’s enraged gaze and despaired to see his bow already stretched taut for another shot. Even as he loosed, a second arrow stuck Gen in the chest, stealing the breath from his lungs as he groaned beneath the assault, cursing the damned Defiled Champion who was supposed to be Concealing him. Pressing his face to his gajashia, he covered his head and quickly lost track of how many arrows smashed against his armour, the successive attacks draining his energy reserves dangerously low. “Coward!” he whimpered, unable to focus enough to be heard. “This isn’t fair! This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! Fight me in single combat! Fight me!”

His mount collapsed under the volume of fire and Gen was almost trampled under-hoof, but a sturdy hand grabbed and pulled him onto another mount. “Emissary,” Kash shouted, pointing at the Defiled stuck close behind them, “We need your flames! Clear a path through the Defiled so we might retreat!”

Yes, a... a tactical retreat. Falling Rain won this battle with his devious tricks, but Gen still had the horde of Defiled to call upon, not to mention his disciplined army of Chosen. A proper army, not like the ruly rabble he rode with here. “Huntsmen! To me!” Gen shouted, simultaneously demanding the Spirits sacrifice themselves to replenish his depleted reserves. There were still more floating about who’d been recently freed from their fleshly confines, and they rushed to replace their fallen comrades and join him in the slaughter. Envisioning his attack, he drew upon Heaven’s power and crafted a pillar of blazing flame which stretched ten meters wide from one end to the next, emptying his freshly restored reserves with a single blast. The world erupted into heat and flames and when it abated, there was naught left but ashes and the sweet scent of burnt flesh. Free of the cramped press of bodies, he directed his gajashia into the smoking gap and rode for safety, too afraid to look back for fear of catching an arrow with his exposed face.

At least Kash was sat behind him to block any arrows which might come their way, and judging from his muffled grunts and gasps of pain, there were more than few. Their Runic armour kept the arrows from piercing flesh, but the impacts were only slightly lessened and required a proportionate amount of energy to power the runes. Drained as he was, if Gen took an arrow to the chest, it might well punch through his protective armour and cause grave injury, if not outright death.

No, impossible. He was Gen, the Emissary of Earth’s Fire, Chosen Son of Heaven. There’s no way they would let him come to such a dismal end... No, he just had to get away from Rain, flee as far as he could, and all would be well.

The mounted Defiled gave way before Gen and his huntsmen, but they did not follow behind, which suited him just fine. They were a worthless lot anyways, and now, their deaths could at least serve a purpose and keep the Imperials from pursuing him. Emerging from the fray, it felt as if a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he could finally breathe again. Exhausted from the lengthy sprint and carrying two riders, Gen’s mount slowed to a walk and he used this time to find his bearings. Even protected by their Runic armour, less than half his huntsmen had made it out with him, likely trampled underfoot by the frenzied gajashias or pushed to their deaths in the trench. Perhaps some were still fighting the Imperials behind him, but Gen had no intention of going back to save them.

Panting for breath, he fumbled at his belt for his water-skin and drank deep before pouring the rest over his face to clear his mind and wash away the sweat and grime. Though merely bruised and shaken, the battle had taken a mental toll on Gen, one not even the Spirits could relieve him of. It had been a long time since he’d felt so weak and helpless, trapped and unable to do a thing as his opponent beat him bloody. True, this was a battle of soldiers and mounts rather than a duel between two warriors, but Gen realized just how outmatched he really was when it came to warfare. Mentor had never bothered teaching him the art of command and Goujian’s paltry lessons were hardly enough to prepare him for the sheer complexity and lack of control he had only just experienced.

...

No matter. This was merely his first command, the first of many. He would learn, and the Spirits would continue to guide him, this much he knew. What’s more, much could be gleaned from this defeat, for Gen now truly understood how useless the savage Defiled were. Some, like Vithar, were true Chosen of Heaven, but most were utter wastes like the Defiled he left behind him. Better for them to die so the Spirits trapped within them could be put to better use. A Transcendent perhaps, to replace the three he’d foolishly lost, hopefully one powerful enough to match the Water-Blessed UmiBozu. Gen had left the powerful helpers behind, because formidable as they were, none were quick enough to keep up with a cavalry charge and they’d expended much of their strength earlier in the day. Not even Mentor’s black-armour Transcendent had followed along, though where it was now, Gen couldn’t say.

A shame Bei had died so young. The more he learned, the more he realized how unique she’d been, able to hide in his shadow and cross hundreds of meters in the blink of an eye. Awakened to the Esoteric Blessing of Space according to Mentor, but killed before her true power could be realized. Yet another heinous crime to lay at the feet of Falling Rain, but so long as Gen could face him in single combat, he would balance the scales of injustice. Then, he could set his mind to rest and truly begin searching for a new wife, a better, stronger, more beautiful Bei to hold him tight and keep him safe.

“By the Heavens, no... Emissary, look!”

Terrified he’d been followed, Gen spun about and looked behind them, but the cavalry battle was still in full effect. The Defiled were beaten, but they would continue to fight unto their dying breath, so it would be some time before the Imperials finished cleaning up. Annoyed by the scare, Gen followed Kash’s gaze to the northern camp of Sinuji, where the battle continued in full force, but still couldn’t see what had his idiot subordinate so panicked until his gaze moved past the campgrounds to the open fields of Sinuji. When Gen last saw them, they had been teeming with Defiled savages awaiting their turn on the front lines, blocked by the sheer density of bodies gathered in one place. Now, those fields still bustled with movement, but the Defiled numbers dwindled before Gen’s eyes as an Imperial force tore through them with merciless brutality.

Their numbers were pitifully small, merely a thousand mounted warriors, but before this meagre, but strange force, the Defiled were all but helpless to resist. Leading the way was a herd of cattle-mounted warriors, Bekhai from the look of their armour, riding behind ten cattle-drawn carriages with blades affixed to their wheels. Charging across the battlefield in two neat little rows, the cattle and carriages punched through the Defiled like paper and rendered their corpses into meat paste, cleaved by blade and axe or crushed beneath hoof and wheel. Nothing could stop them in their tracks, but powerful though their charge might be, it was nothing in comparison to the power of a hundred heavily-armoured mounted Southerners, marked by their colourful and elaborate plate armour. These ironclad warriors sat atop one of two mounts, the lesser and more numerous being some sort of grey, single-horned creature twice the size of a bull and at least thrice as fierce. Their thick hides looked tough enough to blunt the edge of any mundane weapon, and if that weren’t enough, most of their hulking forms were covered by steel-studded barding for even more protection as they trampled and crushed the Defiled underfoot.

Imposing as these one-horned juggernauts might be, the other type of southern mount were a dozen times more terrifying. Large did not even begin to describe them, for they towered over most walls, much less warriors, bearing long, snake-like noses and four gargantuan tusks, each one honed to a point and thicker than an average warrior’s waist. Though there were only a mere handful of the beasts, their trumpeting could be heard across the battlefield as they trudged deep into the Defiled masses while tossing their heads this way and that, clearing the savage warriors by the dozen with every sweep of their tusks. Similarly armoured like the other southerners, their riders stood on their backs wielding titanic polearms which measured six meters long at the minimum and sported vicious, double-bladed heads. Far too unwieldy for use on foot, but atop those monstrous creatures of destruction, the southern warriors were like tigers given wings with the far-reaching weapons, scything through any Defiled who escaped the wrath of their mounts.

There were other mounted warriors interspersed among them, mostly riding horses though there were a few more exotic breeds, like rams, boars, and even one long-legged bird who seemed more deadly than its rider. The appearance of this monstrous cavalry force was not enough to turn the tide of battle, but things were looking bleak for the Defiled forces as far as the northern flank went. Why the Defiled Commander put so much emphasis here, Gen wasn’t sure, but as today had already proven, he knew little of tactics and warfare. Still, he would have to help, but how?

Physically, he was still well rested, but the mental blow of losing to Falling Rain once more left him weary and worn, not to mention depleting his energy reserves was always exhausting. Regardless of the reason, he couldn’t stand idly by as the Defiled were pushed back into the centre, so he fumbled for Kash’s bow before realizing it’d been broken in the mess they left behind. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Dismount and walk the gajashias so they can rest. We’ll attack once they’ve recovered.” With help from his Transcendents, who were already making their way over here, and the many Spirits who’d been freed from their fleshly confines and now lingered about the battlefield. Their power would become his, and while he considered them a precious resource, killing Falling Rain was a noble goal.

Only... for some strange reason, Gen felt the Spirits were hesitant to obey his call for aid, demanding he leave instead of staying to fight. Why? Why were they so difficult to work with today?

“Emissary, return to your gajashia,” Deng cried, just as Gen’s foot touched the ground. “The enemy, they come for us!”

Shadows flitted overhead as arrows rained down upon them, and Gen turned to see Rain and his Bekhai charging towards them. The bastard must have circled around the cavalry battle to get here, still standing atop his beast with bow in hand. Loosing one last arrow, Rain placed his bow aside and took up his glaive, pointing it at Gen with murder in his eyes. No words were exchanged, but he saw the message there, plain and simple. Today, they would fight, and one, or both would die.

Cackling in delight, Gen shoved Kash away and mounted the gajashia alone, his finger-blades stretching until they were half-a-meter long. Sacrificing all the Spirits within him, he restored his reserves to full and loosed a measured bolt of flame at his hateful enemy, praying the bastard would survive the attack because he didn’t deserve a quick death. The bolt arced through the air in a fiery blaze, Guided unerringly towards its target by Gen’s careful focus, but as it drew near, Rain lashed out with his glaive and the bolt sputtered out and died without fanfare.

Blinking in surprise, Gen wondered why his projectile didn’t explode and summoned more free-floating Spirits to join him for the battle ahead, but then Rain... rippled in place, not a physical anomaly, but a spiritual one. Much like during the birth of a Transcendent, a void opened from within Falling Rain, and all of a sudden, the Spirits were no longer in control of their movements as the raging vortex drew them screaming and clawing into the void which was Falling Rain.

‘The Devourer comes,’ the Spirits cried, a thousand, thousand voices speaking as one, and from their tone, it was clear his name was synonymous with doom.

And then the Spirits spoke no more, having been cast into oblivion by Falling Rain. No Spirits without, for those lucky enough to escape disaster had already fled the field while the others anchored within their Defiled hosts were scurrying to join them, leaving Gen to face his fearsome foe wholly bereft of their aid.

Oh, Heavens above... why have you forsaken your chosen son?

Chapter Meme 1

Chapter Meme 2

Chapter Meme 3

Scrapped Rain PoV of the same Events