Chương 421: Chapter 413

With as much authority as I can muster, I shout over the din of Defiled battle cries.

"Drive them back from whence they came! Charge!" Ugh... what am I saying? Whence? Who talks like that? Luckily, being at the front of the crowd means I'm spared the sight of my cringing soldiers and can instead set my mind to the task at hand. Unleashing my Aura, I encounter resistance from multiple Enemy Champions who have done the same. Bolstered by the Auras of Red One through Three and Jochi's, both sides reach an uneasy equilibrium in the blink of an eye, the typical outcome one can expect on the battlefield.

Auras are both vitally important yet practically useless in massed warfare, and while I understand the why, I'm still not entirely sure about the how. Outside of a controlled setting, Auras are a pivotal skill in single combat. If you don't have an Aura and your opponent does, then you're boned, and the same is true for the reverse. If both combatants have Auras, then things are better, but still not without risk.

Even without Honing, a strong Aura can overpower a weaker one, but the strength differential needs to be overwhelming. Take BoShui, for example. Putting it politely, his Aura is not great, well-deserving of his paper tiger reputation. If Auras were chess pieces, BoShui would be a pawn, and honestly, there's nothing wrong with being a pawn. You can't win a game without pawns, but conversely, if all you have is a single pawn, then you're probably in trouble.

BoShui sits at the bottom of the Aura game, while people like Akanai, Guard Leader, and Nian Zu stand at the top. There's no widely accepted belief on what makes an Aura strong, but if I had to guess, it has something to do with conviction or principles. The stronger one's conviction, the stronger one's Aura, but that's just a theory I pulled out of my ass using anecdotal experience. No one cares enough to study Auras in depth because in warfare, having a strong Aura doesn't make much of a difference.

From what I've seen thus far, a contest of Auras isn't really an exchange of blows or test of might, but rather more about metaphysical weight, for lack of a better word. I imagine two opposing Auras like oil and water. So long as both substances are present in similar quantities, then the two liquids will never mix. Opposing Auras are the same way, except instead of one floating atop the other, they sorta exist in whatever shape is required to protect the members of each faction.

Side note, I don't understand how Auras work when there's more than two sides in a fight. I should find out. Anyway, to break through an Aura, you either need one to be significantly 'heavier' than the other, or you cheat and gather all your Aura into one concentrated point. The former is how normal people use Aura, whereas the latter is what I do with Beyblades and Honing, a feat no one I've told has been able to replicate.

For now, I'll assume it's a skill unique to myself and ignore its existence, but this is where things get really confusing. Overlapping friendly Auras will become much stronger defensively, but only gain a minor, almost insignificant increase in offensive strength. Why, no one knows, and I don't even have a guess.

Essentially, this means that while one Zian Aura can crush one BoShui Aura, two linked BoShui Auras could probably hold out against two linked Zian Auras, making Aura crushing all but impossible in battles with multiple Aura users present. While I can't sense the exact number Auras we're up against, judging from the density (again, the best word I could come up with), I'd say there are at least ten Auras emanating from the Defiled.

There could still be more Champions who have yet to unleash their Auras and are instead saving their strength, so letting my Beyblade rip is definitely not the path to victory. I might be able to poke a hole through their Aural 'membrane' and crush three to five Auras, but when the dust settles, there'll still be plenty of Aura-capable Defiled on the battlefield while I'll be drained of Chi and essentially useless. Sadly, my cool and awesome Aura hacks are only useful for duels and small scale encounters.

It sucks, why can't I be overpowered for once? Doesn't matter. The time for tricks, tactics, and maneuvers is over and done with. Now, we meet the Enemy in open combat and achieve victory through superior skill and equipment. It helps that the Defiled are wicked stupid and poorly armed, falling for every bait and trap we set while only bringing no armour of any kind and only a handful of Spiritual Weapons scattered across four or five thousand Defiled.

That last bit isn't something I can share with the rest of my retinue though, since I know I can only sense their weapons because I almost went full Defiled myself. You never go full Defiled. Either way, it doesn't matter how many Defiled there are because my boys have yet to let me down. In fact, they've exceeded all my wildest expectations, which is a nice surprise. I don't get a lot of those.

A shoe-in for most improved, Lang Yi leads from the front, a force to be reckoned thanks to the hellish training regimen he religiously kept to since regaining his freedom. Meeting the Defiled with jet-black spear in hand, the Elder Lang brother claims the first kill of the night with a thrust of his spear. A fraction of a second later, the younger claims the second with an identical thrust, and only then does Unity taste blood.

Fighting side by side, the Lang brothers look like carbon copies of one another, so eerily similar I sometimes wonder if Lang Yi learned how to clone himself. With their shaggy, unkempt hair, grim, unyielding scowls, and lean, predatory builds, the brothers are indistinguishable from one another even down to their Khishig-issue undies, but the similarities go deeper than mere appearance.

Their movements are so identical and coordinated it sometimes feels like one is an echo of the other, their actions separated only by the briefest of interludes. From the way they set their feet to how they thrust their spears, it's like watching one mind direct two bodies through the exact same motions. They even have the same throbbing vein in their necks, the only indications of agitation from facing their most hated Enemy. And boy do they hate Defiled.

All of Lang Yi's companions in slavery share the same zeal for bloodshed, their eyes wide and cheeks red as they set to slaughtering the Defiled with disturbing levels of glee. Their focus so complete, not a single one utters more than a grunt, their battles fought in complete silence as if to trap all their hatred and anger inside them, but their wide-eyed, blood-soaked expressions speaks volumes to their rage.

Merciless to both enemies and themselves, the former labourers are covered from head to toe in injuries, some less superficial than others. They're a worrisome bunch, because despite how far they've come thanks to hard work and dedication, the simple truth is they haven't trained for long enough. Like myself in my younger years, Lang Yi's bunch are neither strong nor skilled enough to block or dodge, so they settle on trading blows with their opponents and Healing their injuries with Panacea.

Compounding the issue is their lacking Chi reserves, which again can be attributed to their short careers. The slowest ones only formed their Cores a few months ago and even the fastest have been Martial Warriors for less than a year. Impressive as their progress has been, they still need time to develop, but time is in short supply. Luckily, their long exposure to Spectres has left them with impressive physiques, an advantage I think I share.

I'm not sure how it works, but seeing as how all Defiled across the board are inherently stronger than most mundane bodybuilders, I'd assume it's less about physical anatomy and more mystic mumbo jumbo. Passive, free Reinforcement maybe, or higher quality muscle fibres or something. Then again, what do I know? Maybe it's anecdotal and being near Defiled has nothing to do with it.

Although I'm stronger than most Martial Warriors my size (not that there are many), it's nothing compared to Mila's hidden power, a herculean brute in the form of a sexy, fiery, freckled goddess of the forge.... I miss her. Lin and Yan too. I wonder if I'll see Yan when I get back to Sinuji? Probably not. Her last foray out west was the same time as Zian's, and he's 'resting' back in Sinuji.

When I go back in six days, he'll set out once more and Yan will probably do the same, meaning we'll have one night together at most, assuming I can even get permission to go visit her. Not to say it's the only reason I want to see her, but god I miss sex. I mean, I always missed it, but I'd grown accustomed to celibacy after the first year or so. Now that I remember how awesome sex is, I can't stop thinking about it.

For the first time in my life, masturbation doesn't help because it's not the physical act I crave, but more the affection and intimacy which comes with it, a brand of familiarity you can't get anywhere else.

Sometimes, while lying in bed at night, I can still feel the warmth of Yan's skin against mine, our bodies intertwined as her quiet moans and hungry eyes feed my desire to – A resounding clang interrupts my erotic reminiscence and I dispatch the offending Defiled with a jab to the throat, coating my face in a spray of blood as Tranquility's blades punch through muscle and bone.

Nodding at Red One to thank him for the save, I find the quiet yet imaginative Death Corps soldier already locked in a power struggle with another foe, his shoulder bleeding profusely because I was off in La-La land. Fatigue is no excuse for my distraction, because everyone in my retinue is fucking tired. I need to get my head back in the game. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Re-invigorated by anger and guilt, I charge forward and impale the closest Defiled through the chest. With a flick of my wrist, I send the corpse crashing into Red One's opponent and free him from the potentially fatal bind caused by my mistake. Despite his tendency to misread my intentions, Red One doesn't let his advantage slip away and finishes his stumbling opponent off with a headbutt to the face, a rough and tumble warrior who values substance over style.

Scuttling through the field of mud and over a sea of corpses, Red One scampers to my side with a bashful look, likely ashamed he left my side for all of a second. All of the Death Corps take their body-guarding duties seriously, and it's really cramping my style on the battlefield. Literally cramping. Red One and Two stick so closely to each side I can't even swing my giant honking glaive without elbowing one or both, leaving them at high risk of accidental dismemberment.

When I brought it up, Red One nodded and said, "Worry not, Commander. Our lives and limbs are yours to claim whenever you wish." So tiresome. At least he didn't make a sexual innuendo or subtly proposition me afterwards... I shouldn't blame the Death Corps for being obstinate. Their intentions are good and their slave Oaths won't allow them to stand idly by, but sometimes, things would be better if they took things down a notch.

Like now when I was spacing out, I wouldn't have suffered a fatal blow and could've Healed back up in a jiffy, but it'll take Red One several days to naturally heal from that unlucky strike, because Healing with Chi isn't high on the Death Corps' skills to practice. They'd rather learn more efficient ways to kill and Akanai forbade me from teaching them to use Panacea.

At any given moment, the Legate or any Eastern fop with more authority than brains could demand the return of my (technically Luo-Luo's) Death Corps Honour Guard and then our secret will be out. Suicidal tendencies and homoerotic advances aside, the Death Corps live up to their reputation and more. Whether they be Empire or Defiled, most warriors approach massed melees like a successive series of duels, where each person finds an opponent, dukes it out, then the winner moves on.

This doesn't mean no one will interfere an ongoing match, but most of the time, pitching in to support your friend hurts more than it helps, like with the Reds and myself. Not so for the Death Corps. Individually, they're not spectacular Martial Warriors, generally worse than the all-Captain Purge force I fought alongside in Sanshu and about on par with Wang Bao's cutthroats, but it is in massed battles where their training shows through.

Packed together tighter than a can of sardines, Red Unit fights in unified groups of three to ten, presenting the Defiled with an impenetrable iron wall of death. A curious mix between sword and spear, their weapons are designed for this type of coordinated conflict, the straight blade measuring one third of the weapon and the haft making up the rest of the two-meter weapon.

Favouring short thrusts and measured chops with their heavy pole-arms, the Death Corps throw back every Defiled charge with laughable ease, and those few attacks which slip through are seen off by their dark plate armour. The true testament to their defensive prowess is that while every other unit has suffered some casualties, I have yet to lose a single Death Corps soldier.

Injuries aplenty, for sure, and those injuries hamper them more than the other members of my retinue, but with their strict, uncompromising discipline, tight-knit formations, and heavy plate armour, the Death Corps are easily the most professional fighting force I've ever seen.

With Red Unit forming the core of our defence and Lang Yi's labourers interspersed between the gaps, we're evenly matched against the Defiled horde despite their overwhelming numbers, and I'm confident the tides will turn in our favour the second Li Song arrives with Tiger Squad. Until such a time arrives, I rein myself in and do my best to mesh with Red One and Two.

It's easier said than done since cooperation requires communication and none of the Death Corps ever speak more than absolutely necessary, though Red One has offered to 'serve at my pleasure' more times than I can count. Either way, I'm slowly getting used to fighting in their style, but our teamwork is still spotty at best.

I've lost track of how many times I've tried to dodge an attack only to crash into someone beside me, and even though Unity's glaive form looks similar to the Death Corp's weapon of choice, it's not balanced properly to be used the same way. When fighting in groups, the Death Corps choke up on their weapons and hold them just below the blade, whereas trying to hold Unity the same way makes my forearm cramp up.

Minor issues in the grand scheme of things, but the fact that I can focus on these little details means things are going well. The minutes crawl by and stomping feet churn dirt and blood into mud. The Defiled advance slows and the pressure abates, but still they press on. Heedless of their losses, they charge over the sea of corpses and dive headlong into our defences, driving us back through sheer weight of numbers.

Having learned better than to try and coordinate an orderly withdrawal on the fly, I do everything I can to bolster morale as the Defiled force us back step by precious step. Despite it being to our advantage to back away, it still feels like losing, which matters more than I'd like. Seeing two of Lang Yi's people dragged down and hewn apart, I grit my teeth and choke down the urge to end the battle now.

I could do it as easily as turning my hand but I choose not to, which means every death and injury sits firmly on my shoulders. I have my reasons, but no matter how logical or compelling those reasons might be, it never feels good to lose a comrade and worse to be responsible for it.

"Stand and fight," I yell, as if my Oath-bound soldiers had any other choice. As if to reassure myself I'm doing the right thing, I go over the facts in my head despite knowing it won't make me feel better. Crazed and mindless though the Defiled might be, their actions are driven by the Spectres urging them on, which means the second I start Devouring, the Defiled tend to break and run. Now this sounds all fine and dandy, but every Defiled killed now is one less Defiled we face later.

While it feels like trying to bail a sinking ship with a teaspoon, enough teaspoons working together just might do the trick. Despite my doubts and reservations, I'm doing my part in the war against Defiled, but it's my soldiers paying the price. I didn't free Lang Yi and the others to die for me. Why couldn't they live happy and fulfilling lives on the island, far away from all this death and misery?... Because they can't. There's an anger burning inside them, an anger I know all too well.

Their tormentors are dead by my hand, but they need someone to pay for what they went through. I pray they will one day become whole again, be able to close their eyes and not see the nightmares of their past. I pray they make better decisions than I did, that they can resist temptation and hold onto their true selves. I pray for them because there's nothing else I can do, but I know in this world, prayers are worthless.

Jaw sore from clenching my teeth, I endure until Li Song and Tiger Squad arrive to bolster our defences. The pressure eases as they help shoulder the burden, and barely a minute later, the longbows of the Protectorate sing. Moving much faster through the dark fields than the heavily armoured Death Corps, the agile woodsmen unleash volley after volley of deadly arrows into the Enemy's exposed flanks.

As expected, the Defiled are too berserk to break off a force to deal with the unseen Protectorate and instead fixate on the enemies right in front of their faces, leaving Turtle Squad free to fire at will. The Spectres demand bloodshed and aren't too particular about whose blood it is. Things are going exactly as planned, but I can't help but fret. Jochi is feeding me Daxian's sporadic reports, and even though it sounds like Rustram's people are doing well on their own, I should clean things up soon and go help.

Even though Phoenix Squad is massively outnumbered, Lord of Thunder Lei Gong is almost single-handedly driving the Defiled back. While I'm still annoyed at being saddled with Daxian the Virtuous, the old man is a welcome addition to the team, especially since he remains out of sight (and smell) until there's work to be done. My heavy hitters in Wang Bao and Ulfsaar's units are also doing what they do best and slaughtering Defiled by the dozens, but like the song goes, it ain't over til it's over....

Why do I remember song lyrics but not something useful... like say, how to make non-flammable explosives? Or flushable toilets? The minutes tick by and the Defiled horde dwindles away before my eyes. As the sun rises behind us, I decide enough is enough. Drawing on the bottomless void in which my Natal Palace sits, I unleash my battle-ending ultimate move: Infinite Suck.... Yea... there's no way to make what I do sound cool. Still, it's the best part about this patrol and one might even say the only good part.

Not only do the Defiled hordes bring lots of errant Spectres with them, dead Defiled are like Spectre pinatas, though far less aesthetically pleasing than those of the paper and candy variety. Bereft of their hosts, the murderous spirits wail and screech as I Devour them by the hundreds where they will await my pleasure before becoming Heavenly Energy. Right on cue, the surviving Defiled turn tail and run, leaving me victorious but none too happy because the cold hard truth is unpleasant to stomach.

I'm exchanging the lives of my soldiers for Heavenly Energy. I wish it were otherwise, but that's how it is. Fact: I can't Devour Spectres attached to a host. Fact: Once I turn up the Succ, the Defiled stop fighting and flee. So what do I do? I wait and watch my soldiers die until I feel like there are enough free-floating Spectres to warrant ending the battle. How many soldiers did I lose today? How many of them will make it back to Sinuji or back home to the North?

This isn't a game where I can queue up more faceless soldiers from the barracks, every life lost is precious. While my gains have been substantial, I still don't know how to use Heavenly Energy and I'm unwilling to waste something my soldiers gave their lives for on experiments and testing. Not that it matters. I'm not as smart as I thought I was, not even close...

"Cheer up," Argat says, patting me none-too-gently on the back. I don't know when he arrived, but he's covered in blood like the rest of us and I'm grateful for the help.

"You won a great victory here, but no one would know it with you looking like you swallowed shi – a fly." Cognizant of the message he's trying to pass on, I raise my voice so my soldiers can hear my reply.

"This great victory has little to do with me, for the credit belongs to my brave and stalwart soldiers." Several of whom lay dead around me. As my words are passed down the line, cheers break out to celebrate their victory and their continued lives, but I find no joy in victory. For though the battle is over, the day has only just begun. We still have ten hours of westward travel ahead of us, and from past experience, this means the Defiled will be back in greater numbers than before.

That's the way of things out here on the front lines. Sleep and fight, eat and fight, march and fight some more. There's no end to the fighting, no end to the dying, and at the end of the day, nothing ever changes. Worst of all, I don't know how long we'll be out here. A week of 'scouting', a week of resting, another week of 'scouting', and then... no one can say. I might be here for another month after, or two or three. It all depends.

Will the Defiled keep to this status quo or will they send bigger, more well-equipped war bands against us? Maybe they're fighting amongst themselves to divvy up the West, or maybe they're gathering for one massive push and there'll be tens of millions of Defiled swarming into Central at once. No one knows and only time will tell, but whatever the future holds, I just have to keep playing my part. Bailing water out of this sinking ship one spoonful at a time. Chapter Meme