Chapter 314

Chapter 314

When the boss came to him with a covert task, Old Bulat thought hed won big. I need you to spread a rumour the shark attack was planned. Those were the bosss orders and Bulat wasnt in the habit of asking questions, especially when given such an easy assignment. Confident as always, Bulat pounded his chest and told the boss hed hit up a couple taverns and tea houses to tell embellished stories and make friendly wagers with his fellow working stiffs. In no time flat, Old Bulat would have a flock of new cronies spreading and reporting all sorts of rumours and hearsay. It'd be like the old days back in Shen Huo when he kept an ear to the ground for any opportunities which might earn him a pocketful of coppers. Dining, drinking, and dicing with the bosss coin, it was like a dream come true for Old Bulat, but as always, nothing the boss did was ever simple.

Muttering a string of profanities beneath his breath, Bulat stomped away from the tavern while fantasizing about throttling the painted-fool of a proprietor. Even the barkeeps in Central were all uppity and full of themselves, Bulat and Viyan barely took a step inside before they were cursed at and chased out, mistaken for beggars with no coin. Poor and destitute though they might be, the citizens of Central took immense pride in their appearance. Even the most poverty-stricken of the bunch were dressed in clean and colourful clothes, albeit well-worn, darned, and/or patched, while their hair, moustaches, and beards were all immaculately combed and expertly styled.

Taking a quick glance at himself, Bulat ran his fingers through the tangled, month-old growth on his chin and conceded the barkeeper may have had a point. Wearing a brown, hemp tunic and filthy, ragged pants, Old Bulat stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the farmhands and coolies of Nan Ping, fitting in more with the beggars and deadbeats. One of the many differences between the North and Central; back home, he would've fit right in with the crowd, because survival took everything you had and left room for nothing else. Only the well-to-do families could afford soft cotton handkerchiefs and even then they were mostly used for decoration. Here, the rickshaw runners wore cotton headbands and carried cotton towels to mop their sweat while every serving girl and shop attendant had a colourful silk handkerchief protruding from their sleeves, given away freely as keepsakes to prospective suitors.

Viyan, Birca, and Silva even made a wager over which one of them would get the most handkerchiefs. The poor, unwed bachelors, they didnt understand the sheer joy of marital bliss, else theyd find themselves a wife like Dei An. Just knowing there was someone waiting for him back at camp made Bulat feel like he was walking on air, eager to return and exchange stories about their day.

We gonna letem treat us like this? Viyan asked, eyes narrowed in anger as they moved away.

Cool yer head, Bulat replied, leading the way to where Silva and Birca were waiting. Remember, ye aint Viyan the soldier or even Viyan the cut-purse, yer Viyan the farm hand today. Quit glarin, minor setback is all this is. Well get ourselves some new clothes and try again, aint nothin to lose yer head over.

Replying with a disgruntled snort, the former thief fell silent and followed Bulat through the winding streets on the outskirts of Nan Ping. Normally, Old Bulat wouldve picked Ravil to watch his back, but today he thanked the Mother the dark-skinned cutthroat had been sent away to mind Jorani and the others. Ravil never had the best of tempers and now that he was a proper soldier with a Spiritual Weapon, he was a volatile font of ego and pride. Vicious as can be, Ravil wouldve wanted to stick around and teach the insolent barkeeper a lesson after closing time. Viyan also had his pride as did the rest of the bosss former cripples, but unlike Ravil, the others still feared and respected Old Bulat.

Old Bulat didnt know why they followed his lead, but he wasnt gonna question it.

A half-hour later, dressed in a gaudy, tight tunic and clean, loose pants, Bulat hoisted a cup of bad wine with Viyan and surveyed the run-down tavern, picking out the threats and quick exits. Even as a Martial Warrior, he kept his old habits of caution and discretion. At twenty-four years old, hed seen more than his fair share of dirty, low-down bar fights and knew it didnt take much to kill a man, soldier or otherwise. Worse, these Central buffoons were an excitable bunch, liable to throw-down over the stupidest arguments like which hero was the strongest or noble daughter was the prettiest.

Hmph. As if any of them could hold a candle to his lovely Dei An, with her sun-kissed copper skin, flowing, silken hair, and strong, dough-kneading hands...

Old Bulat wasnt afraid of a fight, especially in a room full of commoners, but a straight up brawl would give the game away and the boss wanted covert. Best if they could subdue their opponents without resorting to physical violence, but with discount-Ravil at his side, Bulat wasnt too confident at their chances. The slim, snake-like Viyan wasnt exactly intimidating and it went double for lazy Silva sulking across the room at his corner table. While most would think twice before crossing the brawny Birca sitting with Silva, the burly bluffer was naturally faint of heart and liable to hotfoot out of here if things got hairy.

A shame he couldnt bring the ever reliable Pran and Saluk out with him, but the half-beast brothers were too eye-catching after their recent transformation. Good food and daily exercise moulded them into the peak of physical perfection, and even in rags they couldnt be mistaken for anything besides soldiers. No two ways about it, Old Bulat was up shits creek without a paddle, especially after hed all but guaranteed results by days end.

Nothing to do but give it his best. If Old Bulat had to break some teeth to hightail it out of here, then so be it. A shame he didnt have his fancy gun-axe, but even for a Spiritual Weapon, Lady Sumilas works were too showy to bring around.

Throwing caution to the winds, Bulat filled his cup and audibly sighed, speaking loud enough to be heard but not too loud to oversell the act. Mark me, but I needed this. Sharks be terrifying enough without seeing them fly.

Chortling like a buffoon, Viyan clapped his knee and replied, Id worry more about what sent them sharks flyin. Them northerners are fierce as they come and I cant rightly name a Central hero who could do the same.

No, no, the boys right. A previously silent tavern-goer joined the conversation. I heard he struck the killing blow on a Demon and let the ichor wash over him while fighting in Sanshu.

Aye, thats the Undying, Birca added, thumping the table in muffled applause. Took a short nap and then stepped right up to face the traitor Yo Ling.

Idiot, you arent supposed to know that, Bulat thought, but the arrow was in flight. Inside the tavern, a chorus of voices rose in heated argument as they claimed the boss did this or denied it was possible to do that. Some fixated on the stories spread by the Society, of a wild, untamed brute who spoke of rape and murder with every breath, a half-defiled monster in human skin. Others told exaggerated tales of the bosss accomplishments, like how he killed Black-heart Nazier in a single exchange (true, but they left out how the boss almost died in the process), or led a thousand soldiers out to battle a Defiled force which numbered ten times their own (only two times, but still impressive, especially considering the minimal casualties).

A few fights broke out among the more impassioned speakers, including a bout between the old fisherman and young street tough. The old-timer gave as good as he got and even though he wasn't a fan of the boss, Bulat broke it up before things got too serious. Buying them both a jug of wine to call their own, he turned on his charm and had them chatting and laughing with old Bulat in a matter of minutes. Then, all he had to do was let slip how he found it strange for so many sharks to attack at once and their drunken minds did the rest.

Ye know, you might be onto somethin. Nam, the old fisherman, developed a slur as he drank. Born and raised ere in Nan Ping, goin on fifty years. Biggest shark pack I seen numbered five. Me grandpapy said he saw seven once, but I aint ever heard of dozens workin together.

Barely able to lift his head, the young street tough Hoon grunted in agreement. Used to work with another old timer who liked to jaw on about fish. Said shark packs are usually families, with the mam, her suitors, and her pups. When the girls get big enough to venture out on their own, they swim off with a couple of mas suitors to mate and start their own pack, so the pack never gets too big. With that many sharks in the bay, there had to be more than one pack, I bet me last copper on it.

Leaping at the chance, Bulat swallowed his drink and smacked the table, having long since replaced the wine with water. What I want to know is: Who would dare do such a thing? Falling Rain is a young hero of the Empire and the Guardian Turtle is protected by Imperial Decree!

After a long pull straight from his jug, Nam swallowed and let loose with a thunderous snort. Imperial Decree dont mean much to most of them disloyal, dishonest, double dealing noble types. Ive seen more than one rising young dragon get stomped flat and aint nothing the Legate can say thatll stop it.

Maybe thats why the boss wanted these rumours started, to see how the Legate would react. Remembering his purpose, Bulat muttered, We cant be lettin them get away with this. The Defiled are knockin on our door and them nobles still squabblin like children.

Ah, but what can we do? Hoon asked, his cheek pressed against the table. We aint nothing in their eyes, cut us down without blinking.

We use our voices. Pounding the table for emphasis, Old Bulat let his strength get away from him and accidentally broke off a large third of the sturdy wooden slab. Bah, flimsy piece of junk. But like I was saying, we speak. Me and you, were small people they can bully, but how many voices can they silence? Raising his voice, Bulat addressed the crowd. We are all citizens of the Empire and here in beautiful Nan Ping, our greatest warriors gather to unite against the Defiled threat, yet still there are those who seek advantage. Today, the Divine Turtle, the Mothers Sacred Servant almost died because someone wanted Falling Rain dead, and that aint right.

Dozens of voices shouted word of support and Bulat swelled with pride. No matter where you go, the people of the Empire all wanted the same things, food in their bellies and a safe place to lay their heads. With the Defiled threatening to take away both, the people were a pile of tinder waiting to be lit, and Bulat was eager to be that spark. A noble mightve planned it but we all know who does the real work here. Men and women like me and you. Someone out there knows whos responsible for this travesty and with enough support, maybe theyll find the courage to speak up. Spread the word, tell your friends, tell your family, tell your neighbours and your coworkers, tell them all that this. Aint. Right.

Emboldened by the prospect of making a difference, many of the tavern patrons paid their bills and rushed off to spread the word. Joining their exodus, Bulat took the mousy waiter aside and tipped him handsomely for his part in all this. With Viyan in tow, they headed off for another tavern while Silva and Birca trailed behind, ready to spend more of the bosss coin and spread the word of his good deeds.

This was all easy as turning a hand, aint nothin to it.

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