Chapter 509

Chapter 509

A hush falls over Sinuji as the Demon collapses in a spray of dust and Ichor, Imperial and Defiled alike stunned by what we all just witnessed. Breath caught in my throat, I watch Dastans still form laying face first in the dirt and inwardly scream for him to get up, praying that his final attack blunted the Demons attack enough for him to survive. For a gut-wrenching moment, I fear my friend will never stir again, but without warning, he sits up and pushes himself to his feet, where he stands over the corpse of the felled Demon in quiet celebration, clutching his battle-axe in both hands as if ready to fight again. Encouraging as his enthusiasm might be, I ask Kuang Biao to tell Dastan to come back through Sending, because after defeating Seven Defiled Champions and a Demon to boot, hes more than earned the right to rest.

Back straight and shoulders squared, Dastan makes his way back to Sinuji at a steady pace which is neither fast nor slow, his expression a mixture of quiet pride and heroic dignity. Twenty-four years young and a Domain-capable Demon Slayer, were he not a traitor-turned-slave, the soldiers of Sinuji would be chanting his name and applauding his spectacular achievements, but instead, he makes his return to the fort in stifled silence. Disgusted by the response, I can only swallow my revulsion and stand ready to greet my heroic friend with a smile, but even this much is lost to me as Hondou Masahige screeches, Who gave your slave permission to return?

As Commander Watanabes appointed liaison and my direct superior, I cant exactly ignore him without consequence, so I calm my anger and offer the idiot a half-hearted salute. I did, Lieutenant Masahige.

On whose authority?

Mine. Weathering Masahiges glower with ease, I explain, He fought seven duels and killed a Demon. Thats more than enough for one man, and if he stays out there, hell die. Hes spent, but still of use. You wouldnt throw away a waterskin just because its empty, so why leave Dastan to die just because hes exhausted? Twisted and unsavoury to compare Dastan to an object, but sadly, thats how the others see him.

Hmph. He barely exerted himself, killing seven weaklings and a newborn Demon.

Resisting the urge to order Kuang Biao to throw Masahige off the wall and put an end to his pitchy screeching, I offer him an icy smile and envision stomping his pompous, powdered face with my boot. Yes, hardly an accomplishment worth noting. Lieutenant Masahige, why dont you go out and show us a true Imperial Hero in action? Im sure a man of your noble bearing could easily kill twice as many Defiled and Demons.

Though delivered in perfect deadpan, my obvious sarcasm earns me a handful of titters from the nervous soldiers around us. Veins throbbing in anger, Masahige steps forward to rebuke me only to be shoved back by Red One, who I never remember to call by his new designation, Red Two, because its too confusing. You !? Masahige snarls, stopping himself short, which is a shame because I couldve probably have had his tongue removed if he actually insulted me, what with my status as an Imperial Scion and whatnot. Unfortunately, the Lieutenant is of low rank and low birth, which means hes used to watching his temper around others. Im not sure if Watanabe picked a lowly Lieutenant Captain for this very reason, or because he thought Id take it as an insult, but either way, Masahiges restraint makes him more difficult to deal with than some uppity noble brat who thinks his shit dont stink.

Apologies, Lieutenant Captain, I say with a shrug. My Death Corps guards take my safety seriously, much like I take the safety of my comrades.

Obviously rattled by the angry glares of my devout bodyguards, Masahige straightens his armour and clears his throat before dismissing me with a wave of his hand, dropping the issue of Dastans return to go back to skulking on the sidelines and waiting for me to fuck up in some way, shape, or form. In his late twenties to mid thirties and still a meagre ten-man commander, hes got brown-nosed lackey written all over his powdered, beardless face, a lowly subordinate dreaming of making his way up the social and professional ladder, and it seems he thinks Im his golden ticket to middle management. All hes gotta do is please his boss and maybe, just maybe, Mitsue Watanabe will remember his name when it comes time for promotions.

I dont really blame him, but the sad part is, if Yang Jixings plans work out, Watanabe and Masahige will probably both end up as scapegoats to quell the Legates fury. Appearances must be kept after all, for in the eyes of the public, Im still an Imperial Scion and a member of the Imperial Clan. The good Lieutenant doesnt seem to realize that when those in power go to war, the lackeys are often the first to die, but I can hardly find it in myself to pity him for his ignorance.

I could warn him, but whats the point? Whether he believes me or not, I doubt itll make a difference in the end.

Putting politics out of mind, I turn to greet Dastan as he climbs back up the wall with a helping hand from Sahb. Looking none the worse for wear save for a smattering of Ichor burns, he accepts praise from his comrades with aloof composure. Theres something inscrutable about Dastans expression, a distant distraction which is not at all like the ear-to-ear grin Id expect after a showing like today. Instead, he keeps glancing at his battle-axe as if seeing it for the first time in months, too distracted to properly celebrate his victory. You okay? Dastan absently nods in reply, which is how I know something is up, because hes never this casual around me unless hes drunk. You hit your head? Should I send for a Healer?

No, boss. Frowning at his axe, Dastan shakes his head and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Im fine, just drained and bruised. Frowning at his axe once more, he hesitates before adding, Do you mind if I took a minute and sat down? My Chi reserves are low and I... I need to meditate.

Ah. He mustve had an Insight during his fights, which shouldnt come as a surprise. Go right ahead. No need to worry about whats going on out here, well keep you safe. Anticipating a shrill protest, I shoot a glare at Masahige as if daring him to speak up. Wisely, the painted toady shuts his mouth, but it might just be because he thinks my slave soldiers wont be able to hold the wall without Dastan there to support them.

Draining a waterskin dry, Song gasps for air and wipes her face without taking her eyes off the battle, wholly focused despite being thoroughly exhausted from the constant fighting. Offering her another waterskin, I smile and quip, Bet you wish you stayed in camp with the others now, dont you? The smile dies on my lips as I note a gash on her bicep, hidden by layers of caked blood and viscera. Clean cloths, thats what I need, something to wipe away the gore, dirt, and sweat, but I make do with a little water and the hem of my cloak. Hissing at the sight of the deep wound, I fumble for the needle and thread I shouldve already had waiting. Working on instinct, I set to stitching her wound as quick as I can, though my needlework leaves much to be desired if Songs pained grimace is anything to go by. Not an order or anything, but itd be helpful if you spent a little effort on learning to Heal. I know youve got this fancy Runic Armour to keep you safe, but it offers no protection to your head or limbs.

Uhn. Responding with a non-committal grunt, Song stoically accepts my advice and ministrations with little change in expression, though she might just be too tired to process it, so I leave off the commentary and finish patching her up before moving on to check the others and ultimately sending them back out to fight so a new batch can come back and rest. The cycle continues until everyones had a chance to rest, but there isnt too much work for me to do. Having been with me for so long, most of Dastans retinue are good enough to use Panacea during battle, but I never shared the trick with my Death Corps guards. Still, their blackened steel armour has kept them more or less intact aside from an assortment of minor and not-so-minor scrapes and bruises, though I suspect the Abbots been Healing injuries wherever he can while hiding somewhere nearby.

I appreciate the effort, but I cant help but wonder how he rationalizes it with his beliefs. Even though hes against violence, hes Healing soldiers while they commit acts of violence, albeit in self-defence, which in a way makes him at least partially responsible for the violence they inflict. A conundrum to be sure, but if he hasnt noticed it, Im not gonna bring it up.

Our good fortune soon runs out as Tarsov slips on a severed limb and takes a glancing blow to the skull, which renders him senseless as he crashes to the ground. With a scream of incoherent rage, Saida dispatches the offending Defiled with a boot to the face and stabs two others in quick succession, standing over the body of her fallen comrade and fighting off all comers to protect what might well be a corpse lying at her feet. Leaping into action, I charge forward cane first and stab at a Defiled face peeking over the battlements, but my feeble attack glances off the mans bone-helmet and barely makes him flinch. Devilish grin widening as he pulls himself up, the Defiled tribesman rips the cane out of my hands and raises his axe to deliver the killing blow.

Saidas sword materializes in his neck and his corpse drops lifelessly from the battlements, taking the thrown weapon with him. Left with only a single blade to cover too much area, she quickly falls into a dis-favourable situation and screams, Get him out of here! Reacting without thinking, I dive down to cradle Tarsovs head while dragging him away to safety on my hands and knees, only making it a few centimetres before realizing that not only is he too heavy, but Saida mightve been talking about me instead. In for a penny, in for a pound, so I continue dragging Tarsov with me despite seeing the white of his skull through the gaping head wound and not knowing if hes dead or alive. Either way, the only way he survives is with a Healers attention, and leaving him at Saidas feet might get both of them killed instead.

Hell, for all I know, Saidas already dead and theres a Defiled weapon hurtling down towards the back of my head.

Dont look back. Itll only slow you down. Eking out every ounce of strength I have from my gaunt, frail body, I drag him away from the parapets with no regards for my pain or exhaustion and continue even though it feels like my arm will tear off, but no matter how hard I try, my progress remains painfully slow. The others are too busy fighting to lend a hand, but its better this way. Division of labour and whatnot. I do what I can, leaving them to concentrate on what matters the most, keeping the Defiled off the wall and out of the fort. Not even halfway back, my lungs and muscles are already burning with effort, but I refuse to give up, dragging the comatose warrior back to safety mere inches at a time. Inwardly cursing with every movement, I thank the Mother its Tarsov here instead of the gargantuan Balta, or worse, one of the Death Corps in their heavy ass plate armour.

Still... How fucking wide is this fucking wall? Ive been dragging this bastard forever now, and I still havent reached the end...

Strong hands lift me from the ground and pull me away to safety, only a pitiful few steps away but far enough that I wouldve collapsed before getting there on my own. Blinking in surprise as I look up at my benefactor, I see Masahiges powdered face twisted in a grimace. See to your man, he screeches, pointing at Tarsov laying prone in the arms of another soldier, And call the rest of your people back. You and yours have monopolized enough glory for yourself. Turning away, he draws his sword and raises it high to address his soldiers, yelling, Warriors of the Empire! Will you stand idle while slaves and traitors fight the Empires battle? Forwards to battle! To glory!

Though Masahige remains rooted in place, his soldiers rush in to fill the gaps with a cheer while my people slink back, each and every one of them exhausted from their efforts as they slump down around me, and it is with a heavy heart I notice Saida being carried back by Kuang Biao. Unfortunately, I can only work on one person at a time and Tarsov is closer, which means Saidas fate is in the hands of the Abbot and the Mother above for now. While my hands set to work tending Tarsovs wounds, I cant help but wonder why the Lieutenant stepped in now when my people were ready to crumble. I mean, I know Jixing doesnt want Dastan and the others to die so quickly, since itd mean Id no longer have reason to be out here, but if Masahige had waited a little while longer, the Defiled mightve killed a few of my people and broken through while I lay helpless on the floor, which was a reasonable enough death which I think they couldve accepted.

Noticing my inquisitive sideways glances, Masahige sniffs and says, Traitors and slaves they might be, but like you said earlier, it would be foolish to dispose of them so soon when they can still be of use in future battles. Pursing his lips in conflicted indecision, he reluctantly adds, If the Commander does not remove me from this assignment, then we will speak regarding future arrangements. The battlements will be better defended if your people are supported by my troops.

...Did my struggle to save Tarsov win him over?

...

Probably not. If anything, I bet it was Dastans phenomenal display of Martial Strength. Lets be honest here, even at my best, Dastan looked more like an Imperial Hero than I ever did, and thats a fact.

If only my facial hair wasnt so thin and patchy... Id look pretty awesome with a beard...

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