Chapter 469 (Patreon)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1uevWbyGF0R4DQeRx8P-Iv4WfPaCz8B5aA2oX4PqCY24/edit?usp=sharing

Parrying the Defiled weapon aside, Mila caved the Champion’s face in with the rim of her shield, her lips curling in a silent snarl as the corpse slumped at her feet. Plunging her spear into her fallen opponent’s chest as an afterthought, she flicked the gore out of her hair and sought out another worthy foe to fight, perhaps even one deserving of Paragon, but after two hours of fighting, the Defiled horde had been whittled down to a meagre few and the battle soon won. It wasn’t really a proper battle, more of a skirmish really, since the Enemy had barely outnumbered the Imperial forces and Mila had only been called on to join the fray when it was clear there were no more Defiled lurking in the shadows.

Disappointing. Why was it always Rain getting caught in the midst of historic events instead of her? Lucky...

Grief and remorse hammered home as Mila’s chest tightened and throat closed, her thoughtless remark stirring up waves of shock and self-recrimination. The heady rush of battle drained from her veins and she stood in silent contrition as the last vestiges of resistance were mopped up on the mud-churned fields of Sinuji. Though she’d been here for two months now, it felt like only a few days had passed since she first laid eyes on these fields, with the fort standing on one side and an armoured force of disciplined Defiled on the other. Even having seen them with her own eyes, the phrase ‘disciplined Defiled’ still sounded absurd to Mila’s ears, an oxymoron which would’ve once been the punchline to a joke. While the Enemy’s agents could be patient and cunning, fearless and adaptable, they were more akin to feral animals reliant on instinct and ferocity, daunting, but still less than human. Now, a new breed of Defiled had arisen, a smarter, calmer, more controlled Defiled, and though Mila had already faced their like in Sanshu, she never understood the implications of such a force until after reading Colonel Hongji’s report on the battle in Sinuji.

For millennia, the Empire had survived largely due to two factors. First, the Defiled fought each other far more often than they fought the Empire, and second, though most Defiled tribesman were comparable to a standard Imperial soldier in raw strength, they were often undernourished, poorly equipped, and utterly lacking in self-control. This, alongside other advantages such as fortified positions and superior tactics allowed Imperial forces to defeat Defiled hordes five to ten times their size with relative ease, but now, things had changed. With proper discipline, training, and equipment, fighting these new, elite Defiled would be akin to fighting rebel Imperial soldiers, only these rebels had millions upon millions of battle-ready recruits to draw upon instead of a paltry one percent of the Empire’s population.

In her spare time, Mila would often think about how she would use a force of fifty-thousand heavy infantry to battle against Fort Sinuji’s garrison of thirty-thousand, and no matter how she approached it, her chances for victory rarely dipped below fifty percent. Replace ten-thousand heavy infantry with heavy cavalry, and her chances rose significantly, for these paltry fortifications could hardly pose a threat to well-trained soldiers. Two warriors standing at the base of the walls could easily boost a third over, even in heavy armour, and if the first wave up were garbed in Runic gear, then they could easily establish a foothold on the ramparts. Using this along the foremost wall, the defending forces would quickly be overrun, even quicker if the attackers had siege equipment like ladders or ramps.

In short, the Imperials were preparing to defend against the Defiled using the same old tactics, but the Enemy had already adapted. If Gen’s elite force had spearheaded the assault alongside their feral allies, it was possible they could have overrun the fort with the first wave, or at least taken the outer walls. From there, their superior numbers could have been brought to bear against the Imperial forces, instead of having the majority stuck on the plains with no one to fight. If someone of Mila’s calibre had been in command, then Baatar’s reinforcements would have arrived to find Sinuji already razed to the ground and all its inhabitants dead or dying. Blasphemous as it might sound, the Empire could no longer afford to treat the Defiled as an unruly mob of powerful savages, for these Enemy soldiers were a fighting force similar, if not superior, to any army the Empire had to offer.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for Mila, neither Gen nor his Defiled elites had been seen since their orderly retreat from Sinuji some nine weeks ago. Aside from this single instance, there were no other reports of Runic armoured Defiled soldiers appearing anywhere else, and since battlefield protocol dictated any and all Enemy artifacts were to be destroyed on sight, there was no physical proof of this elite fighting force aside from reports and hearsay. This wasn’t to say they didn’t believe the reports, but most citizens and soldiers of the Empire failed to grasp the severity of the issue much like Mila had at first, so until they marched out in force again, the elite Defiled soldiers would remain unsubstantiated threat to most.

True, fifty-thousand heavy infantry were but a drop in the ocean, but it demonstrated a threat which could not be ignored. In one year, the Enemy armed and trained fifty-thousand soldiers while still consolidating their position in the West, but this was only the beginning. Once the logistics were hammered out, then production rates would increase exponentially, so even if their Runic craftsmen couldn’t work any faster, a million strong army of Defiled wearing steel armour and carrying steel polearms was nothing to sneeze at. Worse, unlike most nobles who placed self-interest above the Empire’s continued survival, the Enemy was wholly united in their goal to murder, torment, and pillage until none stood against them. There would be no internal conflict or bickering over profits and reputation, no maneuvering for influence or quarrels over status, just millions of Defiled working towards the destruction of the Azure Empire, a thought which kept Mila awake at night.

It was a small comfort knowing that if the Enemy succeeded, they would then turn their weapons upon one another, but otherwise, the future seemed bleak indeed.

Though she yearned to ride forth and join battle against the soldiers of the Enemy, the westward patrols on the front lines had been suspended indefinitely. While the armoured elites were nowhere to be found, the Defiled savages were marching out of the western province in full force now, with entire tribes numbering between ten and a hundred thousand strong making their way across the plains. Were Mila or any other Captain to set out, their hundred man retinues would stand no chance of survival if caught out by their numerically superior foes, and though the Central plains were flat and open, the tall grass would continue to grow and flourish all throughout the winter and offer cover to the wily Defiled. As things stood, the Enemy would launch a suicidal attack on Fort Sinuji every few days, caring nothing for survival so long as they could draw the blood of their enemies. Most failed to do even this, but still the Defiled came on, driven eastward by the Father’s lies and machinations to their unsightly and inevitable deaths.

This... purge, of sorts, made a ghastly sort of sense, for it was long known that the Defiled were gathering in the Western Province. All the Defiled mind you, millions upon millions of corrupted souls congregating together for what the Empire had thought would be one final push, but now it was evident they’d been wrong. Instead of an all-out assault, the Enemy was biding its time to establish a foothold in the West, a base to train soldiers, manufacture weapons, and Mother knows what else. These tribal savages were merely here to keep the Empire on the back foot and prevent them from realizing the Enemy’s true goals.

They were not here for mere bloodshed and torture, but to conquer and subjugate.

How else to explain the Enemy’s actions? Over a year had passed since the west fell, long enough for every living Defiled tribesman outside the Empire’s borders to make their way here, but still there was no sign of the expected concentrated Enemy attack. Forts, fortresses, and citadels had sprung up along Central’s western border, but they’d been designed to fend off massive hordes of Defiled, not smaller, elite forces comparable to Martial Warriors. Given their numbers, the Enemy would have no choice but to spread out their offensive, but matters would be entirely different if faced with say ten elite armies numbering a million strong each. One such army could easily sneak by and break through a section of the wall before reinforcements arrived, and then scatter into thousands of roving warbands to nip at the soft underbelly of the Empire. Farms, mines, production centres, supply lines, there were hundreds of ripe targets to strike at within twenty kilometres of the border, numbers which increased exponentially the further east one travelled.

How long would the Empire last with merely a million Defiled razing their way across Central? Even assuming they reacted quickly and killed ninety-five percent of the invading force, it would leave fifty-thousand Defiled within the Empire’s borders, Defiled like Laughing Dragon, Mao Jianghong, or Yo Ling who could pass for Imperials. Left unchecked, those fifty-thousand would spread throughout the entire Empire like cancer ravaging an infirm body, infecting Imperial citizens with the Father’s Taint and bringing them out of the Mother’s light. In as little as five years, those fifty thousand might grow to be a million strong again, threatening the Empire from within and drawing attention away from the western border, assuming the walls still stood.

And to think, this was merely one scenario the Enemy could use against them, one of dozens more which Mila had come up with in the past six weeks.

Things were hopeless. What use was there in resisting? The Empire would fall, and everyone she knew would die.

Shaking off this latest bout of melancholy and despair, Mila gathered her retinue and set about cleaning up the battlefield, sorting through corpses and retrieving bolts and arrows. At one point, there’d been a stone-studded path running north to south in front of the fort, but Mila had never seen it first hand. When she arrived at the head of ten-thousand quin riders to rescue Rain, the path had already been churned to mud and carpeted in Defiled corpses. Little had changed in the weeks since, and grey ash and dark smoke soon blotted out the afternoon sun as they lit ten enormous funeral pyres outside the fort, destroying Defiled corpses and weapons to remove their Taint and sending Imperial heroes to rest in the arms of the Mother while ensuring nothing of their physical forms were left behind to offer succour to the Enemy. Even skeletal remains could nourish a Demon, and the Defiled often carried away the corpses of powerful enemies to devour, a fate which poor Kalil had suffered in Sanshu.

These days, Huu roamed the front lines in search of the Garo-mounted northern savage who killed his uncle and desecrated the remains, a powerful Chieftain by the name of Vithar. Though the majority of Defiled were still of western origin, there’d been northern and southern Defiled seen on the plains in recent weeks, no doubt more lambs sent to the slaughter to make room and save resources which would otherwise be spent housing and feeding them, more proof of the Enemy’s plan to match the Empire in quality. Even if the Imperials killed ten Defiled for every soldier lost, these were odds they could ill afford in the long term.

All of this was for wiser minds than Mila’s to deal with however, and she only fixated on these details to keep her mind off of what was truly upsetting her. The flames atop the funeral pyres were like giant pillars reaching up into the Heavens, so similar to the conflagration of fire which consumed Rain not two hundred meters from where she stood. Oh how her heart had swelled with pride upon seeing him march out from the flames in such spectacular fashion, and thousands of others had been there watching with her, but few had the stomach to sit through the aftermath, herself included.

Mother Mother in Heaven, Mila wished it were otherwise, but it was unbearable to see him in so much pain, and knowing there was nothing she could do to help only made things worse. Coming to the front lines had nothing to do with glory or vengeance, she was here because she couldn’t stand to watch the man she loved slowly wither away and die.

Better he died a hero than be remembered as a cripple...

Recognizing the Father’s whispers for what they were, Mila reached for Balance and divested herself of emotion, stripping away her fear and revulsion, her fury and contempt, all which had been directed towards herself. Retreating back to the safety and solitude of camp, she told herself that sorrow and self-pity would have to wait until she had time to prepare, and she was far from ready. That’s why she was here in Sinuji after all, to run away from her emotions instead of staying behind to look after her betrothed. Her beloved betrothed, Mila corrected, a man she loved with all her heart and wanted to marry regardless of his plight, but knowing him, he would undoubtedly succumb to his grief and offer to break their betrothal, citing some nonsense about no longer being worthy or capable or some other foolish nonsense.

What did it matter if Rain was crippled? She still loved him nonetheless, still wanted to be by his side and hold him close, but every time she looked into his unfocused eyes or gazed upon his gaunt, wizened frame, all she felt was misery and anguish as her heart broke anew. Her sweet, radiant Rain had been brought so low, and she could do nothing to help him, not even able to hug him without risking injury. How could Yan and Lin bring themselves to smile in his presence?

Death would be a mercy.

No, where there was life, there was hope, and if anyone could recover from this plight, it would be Rain. It wouldn’t be easy, for nothing ever was, but the Mother always leaves a path to salvation. This was merely a setback, for he would endure and return stronger than ever before, because that’s the sort of man he was. At the age of nineteen, he had already set foot on the Martial Peak, so what did it matter if it took him decades to reach those lofty peaks once more? This was a man who wielded the raw Energy of the Heavens themselves to defeat the monstrous Gen or whatever foul minion of the Father inhabited his flesh. Given time, Rain might wield them again and forge his body anew to become the first ever Ancestral Human, a being who stood above all other Divinities as the true pinnacle of humanity.

So even though Mila believed all this and more, why did she still cry herself to sleep every night?

“Hey there, dour and gloomy,” Yan said, catching Mila by surprise with a comforting hug from behind. “Judging by your expression, one might think we lost the battle, dear Captain Sumila.” Pressing their cheeks together, Yan Sent, “Thinking of Rain?” Worried her inner thoughts had been exposed, Mila almost denied it, but the gorgeous half-deer didn’t wait for an answer and continued, “I miss him too, but we can’t let ourselves become empty-headed fools who think of nothing aside from their beloved. You’ll see him at week’s end when you head back for the new year celebrations.” Scowling in mock anger, Yan dragged Mila away to her camp. “Not me though, I’ll be in the Central Citadel with Grandpa, but we’ll come north to visit after the first week of celebrations since Rain can’t really travel, but you tell him I love him and miss him, okay?”

“Sure.” Though she could easily break free from Yan’s grasp, Mila didn’t want to be left alone, so she went along willingly, but she still asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“To my camp. Remember how I ‘borrowed’ Rain’s bathtub? Well, it’s filled with steaming hot water and we’re both in dire need of a wash.” Grinning over her shoulder, Yan added, “Plus, Charok’s cooking dinner and I figured you could use a good meal.”

And the company too, but Yan was merely sparing Mila’s pride. Comforted by her friend and future sister-wife’s good will, she squeezed Yan’s hand tight in thanks which elicited another look of mock anger. They’d grown closer than ever of late, supporting one another through these difficult times, and Mila only wished Song were here too so Yan could get to know her better. They didn’t get along much, though it wasn’t for Yan’s lack of trying, the first time Mila had ever seen Song be wilful and obstinate. Jealousy over Du Min Gyu no doubt, though why the two of them were so enamoured with the old man, Mila would never know. Mama was a thousand times better than a stinky geezer, and even Baatar would make for a better role model, but both Yan and Song gravitated towards ‘Great Teacher’ Du as if he had the answers to all the questions which plagued them.

Well, Mila would keep an open mind, for the sake of her friends. In truth, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to know Yan shared the same depressing thoughts, but the former orphan was much better at dealing with her dark moods than Mila was. Since there was nothing she could do, Yan simply carried on with her life as if nothing were wrong, writing letters to Rain almost every day while honing her skills in combat and command on the front lines. Her dream was to become a great general of the Empire, and she would stop at nothing to achieve it, a woman driven to succeed no matter the odds stacked against her. In this way, Yan was much like Rain, while Mila was inferior to them both, for when had she ever known hardship before now?

Having identified her problem, Mila’s steps grew light as she made her way to Yan’s camp, looking forward to her first hot bath in weeks. While Colonel Hongji had loosened the constraints around starting fires in camp, in tradition Sentinel style, Mila’s retinue had no servants or camp followers, which meant that if she wanted a hot bath, she would have to prepare it herself. As for Yan, even though she was proud of her roots among the people, she adhered to Central’s customs and kept a full staff of servants around to keep her looking immaculate even after weeks in the field. Her short dark hair was perfectly styled and her indecently tight tunic and trousers were immaculate save for a few errant drops of Defiled blood, causing many an admirer turned to watch her saunter pass. In comparison, Mila’s Sentinel leathers were ragged and torn while her hair was tangled and encrusted in blood, so the gazes which fell upon her were less appreciative and more cautious or even fearful, but she paid them no mind.

What did it matter how other men saw her? All Mila cared about was how Rain saw her, and it warmed her heart when his beautiful amber eyes lit up in appreciation or burned with longing. Granted, they did the same when he looked at many other women too, but it didn’t matter so much when his gaze was focused on her, and she found herself aching to see him again. “I won’t be coming back to the front lines,” Mila announced, and Yan raised her eyebrow in question. “After the new years celebrations. There’s plenty of work I could do around the forges, so I’m going to stay in the citadel with Rain.” As difficult as it would be to see him in pain, Mila could no longer stay away knowing he’d need her support.

“I’ll miss having you around,” Yan replied, taking Mila’s declaration in stride, “But I’ll feel better knowing you’re there to keep him company and answer his endless litany of questions.” Grinning, Yan pulled Mila closer and whispered, “You’ve always been best at keeping him grounded, which is what he needs now more than ever. Lin’s boundless optimism is sweet and all, but it might put too much pressure on him and make him expect too much too soon. You’ve always been the voice of reason, so make sure he can walk before he tries to run.”

“You could do the same, you know.”

Perhaps even better than Mila could, but Yan shook her head. “If I stayed by his side, he’d drive me away with all his incessant nagging. He won’t let me give up on my goals to look after him, and if I insisted on staying, he’d feel like he was letting me down, but you? He won’t think twice about relying on you, because in his eyes, you’ve already achieved all your goals, or will soon enough. Divine Blacksmith? Check. Brilliant tactician? Check. Peak Expert? Only a matter of time. All that’s left is loving wife and nurturing mother, and you’ll excel in those roles too.”

Cheeks blushing at the high praise, Mila felt compelled to reciprocate, and soon it became a battle of compliments, one Yan won handily thanks to her vulgar humour, so similar to Rain’s. It wouldn’t be a problem if they were in the privacy of their home, but Mila couldn’t bring herself to speak so brazenly while walking through her camp, and even less so after they reached Yan’s. The explicit and salacious compliments only increased in obscenity and volume as they entered the bath, and soon Mila’s cheeks were redder than her hair as she begged Yan to stop describing her body in such lewd terms, but the infuriating woman merely grinned and raised her voice to continue. Soon enough, Alsantset and Tursinai strode in and added their voices to Yan’s, leaving Mila too mortified and embarrassed to step foot out of the bath.

Almost an hour later, Tursinai finally admitted she’d erected a sound barrier after Yan’s first joke, and Mila was so grateful, she couldn’t even muster the strength to be angry. Struggling not to join the three women in their laughter, she hid her smile and sighed with relief. Though Rain’s recovery would be long and arduous for everyone involved, none of them would have to face it alone. This, more than anything, gave Mila the courage to return to his side and help him through these trying times, because as tough as this was for her, she couldn’t even imagine how difficult it would be for him.

No matter. Soon, a new year would be upon them and they would do away with the old, a year which future historians would mark as the year of Falling Rain’s new beginning along the Martial Path.

Chapter Meme