Chapter 52

Chapter 52

Standing over her defeated foe, Akanai's chest heaved as she panted, blinking blood out of her eyes. The other demon had been dealt with, its massive corpse leaking ichor from every orifice. Her own enemy had died much harder, its limbs strewn about and chest carved open by her weapon. She had been thrown from Atir in the fight, the quin retreating from the fearsome beast as soon as she was out of Akanai's control. A timid little quin that would require more training. Mila deserved the best.

Once again, the cool energy flowed into her, sealing the stump of her arm closed, keeping her from bleeding to death. It was a boon to have Taduk with them, they would have died a dozen times without him. Her husband reached her side, lifting her into his arms, cradling her like a princess from a children's story. She smiled, nuzzling herself into his chest, comforted by his presence, the blood loss making her tired. Old wife, you have grown soft. There was a time when you could have killed it without so many injuries. His deep rumbling voice was pleasant to hear, the vibrations of his chest soothing her. His words were a nuisance, however. If only he learned to speak more sweetly, like Charok did to Alsantset.

It was a difficult foe, its shape well-formed and suitable for battle. It had even mastered several weapon styles. Who knows how long it had roamed the northern wastes? I could barely cut through its armor. If the demons killed by the pup were as strong as this one, then she would be impressed. It was true that she had grown old, but her skill had not declined. This demon was truly powerful, and if there were others like it, then the province was at great risk.

He brought her into the camp, the battle over, the Empire victorious, but just barely. Taduk left to aid with the healing, all the soldiers respectful and grateful. She received her fair share of salutes as well, personal strength always respected within the Empire.

Colonel Du Kang Bing reporting to Major General for commands.

Damnation. The Brigadier?

Heavily injured and unconscious, Major General. You are the ranking officer present. This one is awaiting your orders.

She held back a sigh, motioning with her stump to be put down. She could not afford to look weak in front of her soldiers, carried by her husband. A bothersome business to take charge, but it needed to be done. She set about organizing the camp, sending reports and riders, annoyed that she would be delayed in her return home, as well as the need to work with that damn worthless Jin Kai. If only he had died, instead of his men, that would have been justice.

At least now she could send soldiers to protect Mila and the rest. Alsantset and Charok likely had things in hand, but she still worried about leaving them behind. The tournament should be ending soon, perhaps they had even won, already preparing for the hurried flight home. She smiled at the thought, a time-honored tradition, for it was the hottest fires that forge the strongest steel.

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Standing over the body, I look down at my opponent. I don't know if I could have killed him as he sat on the ground, shivering in fear. At least he died like a warrior, but that's not any comfort to him, dead is dead. Alsantset claps me on the shoulder, smiling at me. You have done the People proud at the contest, little brother. No need to be sad that you could not compete further. I smile at her, but it doesn't reach my eyes. She doesn't understand, not really. No one does, not here. Killing is second nature to them, just another thing that needs doing. Life is cheap, and this is just an ugly reminder of something I would much rather ignore. It makes it difficult to enjoy myself when needing to worry that every stranger I meet is willing to kill me in an instant, if not for fear of death or reprisal.

Alsantset moves away, pulling out her knife. Butcher some of the horses for meat, we'll smoke it tonight. We'll need provisions. Squatting down to work, I watch Zabu feasting on one of the horses, lips smacking as he rips away chunks of meat, face covered in blood. The other quins are gathered around the same horse, teeth tearing through skin and bone like butter. I can't believe I put my hand in Zabu's mouth and ripped out a rotting tooth. I almost pissed myself when he lunged at me, thinking he was going to eat my face. On the plus side, he really has mellowed out after I pulled the tooth, not quite friendly but much less moody, which is great.

I've never fought from the back of a quin before, and never realized how deadly they are. From a flat run into a long-reaching lunge, the burst of speed surprised me. Against a prepared enemy, carrying spears or lances, it's probably not a great idea to charge, but in this forest, with the limited visibility and difficult terrain? It was domineering. Arrows on open ground, spears in the forest, they are more impressive mounts than I'd ever realized. I guess just another thing to practice, mounted combat. And archery, I want to be as impressive as Alsantset.

My butchering completed and the meat packed onto Zabu, I start to rummage through the dead bodies, eager to find some loot. They aren't very wealthy looking, dressed in rough clothes and straw hats with cloth masks for their faces. Nothing identifying what faction they are either, only a few coins, silvers. No jewelry, no tokens, no secret manuals, nothing. C'mon son. Bring out your precious treasures when you go hunting. How's a man supposed to make a living, if all you carry is junk? I'm just a poor, savage child, just trying to make ends meet.

Absently, I reply, About Song.

She remains silent for a long moment, just sitting next to me while we enjoy the view, comfortable in each others presence. It's nice that she isn't mad at me anymore, but I still have no idea what I did. Give me the necklace, Rain. Necklace! why didn't I just call it a fucking necklace?

Ya sure. Weird, she wouldn't take it back earlier, when I was panicking over having a slave. Placing it into her hip purse, she stands and leaves without another word. I guess sightseeing is over. Staring at the view for a moment longer, I return back to my training, trying to be less forceful, to try less hard. Not very helpful advice. I continue to punch, my anger mounting. Between being dragged out here, left behind for war, targeted by the society of assholes and scumbags, and dealing with Song, I have plenty to spare. After a few dozen strikes, the rock begins to shatter apart, every strike successful, the stone crumbling before my power. Breathing heavily, I pick shards out of my fist and face, wiping the blood as best I could. I think I'm getting better at it. It seems tied to my emotions. I need to be angry for it to work. I think. Needs more testing.

Sitting down and closing my eyes, I begin healing the worst of my injuries, my broken knuckles and a deep gash from an errant shard. When my eyes open again, Charok is standing in front of me. He seems upset, but doesn't say anything for a long time. You are training incorrectly.

I know you're concerned about my injuries, but I'm old enough to make my own decisions. The anger is still there, and I'm more harsh than I mean to be.

He knocks me on the forehead hard, instantly deflating my anger and bringing tears to my eyes. Not that, little brother. He gestures for me to stand. You're training to fight angry. You need to practice in the state of Balance. Too much anger is of no use to you, as is too little, and the same with any other emotion. You must hold to the middle way, in more ways than one. Do not force your emotions out of balance for the sake of combat.

Holding up a rock shard for me to see, Charok turns towards the treeline. Holding it between his thumb and middle finger, he flicks the shard away faster than my eyes can track. A thud is heard in the gloom, and he leads me over to a tree more than 15 meters away. The rock shard is embedded within the bark, digging maybe 10 centimeters deep. Amplification isn't about power, but control and timing. The easiest way to train is with small, simple movements. Your punches have too many moving parts to them, shoulder, elbow, wrist, waist, complicating the issue. His grin is visible in the dim light, teeth almost glowing as much as his eyes. With a flick, you can wait until you feel the chi explode before taking action. The more you practice and become familiar with the sensation, the easier it will become.

I stare at him, then at the hole he made with just one finger, then back at him. What. The. Fuck. That's terrifying... what can he do with a throwing knife? Or darts or whatever. Why didn't you just tell me this sooner?

He shrugs at me and flicks my forehead, still grinning. I almost pissed myself for a moment there. Despite your insistence otherwise, I am not a mind reader. I thought you were just strengthening your fists again. You have odd training methods, and you still have not learned to ask for help, little brother. Besides, it's best if you make mistakes on your own. Only then can you learn from them. His smile disappears, turning into a frown. This is not why I am here. I wish to speak with you regarding the slave girl.

Perfect. Oh good, I thought you wouldn't want to talk about her. I'm at a loss at what to do, with all the restrictions, how can we help her live a normal, happy life?

Letting out a sigh, Charok remains silent for a long time, before taking me into a hug. You're too kind, little Rain, It is one of the best things about you, but I worry it will get you killed one day. Just treat her as you would anyone else, and let time heal her. Do not push yourself too hard with training. There will be long days ahead." He turns and leaves, letting me stew in my own thoughts.

I'm not too nice. I can ignore the suffering of the slaves in the ships, or in the mines, or anywhere else, because it's not my fucking problem. It's sad, but what can I do about it? There's no ignoring this though, no matter how much I'd like to. I can't just hand her off to someone, or sell her, or kill her. I'd never be able to sleep at night if I did. Not without a pill at least.

Wandering back to the pile of rock shards, I pick a handful up to practice with. The stones flick out, arcing to the ground, and I continue until I have no more stones, my fingers bloody, nails beginning to peel.

God dammit.

This hurts worse than the punching.