The heady rush of battle drains away, leaving concern and self-condemnation in its wake.

As much as I often dread it, I’ve never felt more alive than in the midst of battle with my heart pounding and mind racing, a primal thrill I can’t get anywhere else. Physiologically, the why is easy enough to explain. In response to stress or excitement, the body produces adrenaline, nature’s little pick-me-up which gives you the extra edge you need in a fight-or-flight situation. It kicks your body into overdrive and unlocks your full potential, allowing you to carry out incredible feats of strength and stamina. For a while, it lets you become more than what you were, hitting harder and reacting faster while your razor-sharp focus renders fear, pain, and fatigue to mere suggestions rather than driving motivations. It’s one hell of a drug, but the after-effects are a real bitch to deal with.

While burning off the last of the adrenaline, you sweat like a snowman in summer, yet somehow feel cold all over, but this is only the beginning. Your lungs burn as you pant for breath and the sudden drop in blood pressure and sugar leaves you light-headed and shaky. Colours dim and senses dull, but your mind and heart continue to race, and without a thousand different details to keep track of, you can’t help poring over the last few minutes, hours, or days, and fixating on all your failures as you wait for the butcher’s bill. Should you have insisted on heavier armour for Phoenix squad? Mobility is nice, but protection is better, because even if steel plate is next to useless against Spiritual Weapons or superhuman strength, it still works against the majority of the Defiled. Was it really the best option to have everyone stand here to absorb the charge? If you led your quin riders out to harass the approaching Defiled and baited them into an early rush, then you could’ve led them on a merry chase around the plains of Sinuji and left them tired, strung out, and vulnerable to your cavalry and chariots. Or maybe if you figured out how to wield your reservoir of Heavenly Energy, you could give up this farce and have the power to protect your family, your retinue, hell, maybe even the Empire itself.

I dunno how everyone else deals with the post-battle plunge, but redirecting aggression to anxiety is how I manage. There was a time when Baledagh would chime in to console me. “What of our glorious victory, Brother?” he would ask, before clamouring on about how he gutted one Champion or bested another with child-like glee. At first glance, it comes off as dark and edgy, but after going through the wringer my first time around Sinuji, I sort of understand why. With all the death and bloodshed going on, it’s almost necessary to focus on the positives lest you become overwhelmed by the negatives. Without Blobby’s miraculous intervention, there’s no doubt I would’ve gone full Defiled, but Baledagh was how I applied the lessons I’d learned but couldn’t put into practice. Glorifying combat is one way to deal with all the horrible things we soldiers must face, though I will admit Baledagh was probably a bit overboard. To this day, I’m still not sure if I was pretending to enjoy the fighting or actually enjoyed it, but there are lessons I can take from the whole experience. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying battle and bloodshed, I just need to tone down the zeal and be as murderous as Fung, BoShui, or Zian.

Well... Maybe not BoShui and Zian because I’m pretty sure they’re both fixing to slaughter their respective Patriarchs. Then again, those Society assholes kinda have it coming.

...Hey, would you look at that. I’m already adapting!

My two Healers and their assistants are all hard at work fixing up various wounds and lacerations, and although I could pitch in and help, my presence tends to do more harm than good. Not because I’m a terrible medic, but for some strange reason, when I’m in earshot, the wounded have a tendency to lie about the severity of their injuries and try to get away with as little treatment as possible. I don’t know if it’s their overblown pride or pure stupidity, but either way, Abjiya has forbidden me from helping out. Whatever respect she has for Teacher, it clearly hasn’t improved her opinion of me as the irritable, bob-haired Healer has no qualms against giving me a public tongue lashing should I intrude upon her domain or even glance in her general direction.

I wouldn’t exactly call her a bitch, but if Abjiya were from the modern world, she’d be a total Karen.

To this end, instead of lending a hand with the injured soldiers, I run over to check on Moomie and friends. Although the actual fighting went off without a hitch, like me, cattle don’t seem to be the best at dealing with post-battle trauma. Unhitched from his chariot, Moomie huffs and puffs while glaring at the dead Defiled, scraping his hoof as if the corpses aren’t trampled enough for his tastes. Standing at his side, Ulfsaar looks tiny in comparison as he strokes the bloody bull’s neck, but Moomie could hardly care less. Eyes wide and tail lashing, the massive bovine swings his head to and fro and utters low pitched moans of obvious pain, a scene which breaks my soft, fragile heart.

Am I a horrible person for making Moomie fight? My overabundance of empathy has always been a real problem, but since I can no longer hide away from the world, I’ve been working on it the best I can. I still can’t slaughter docile animals for food and I have to avoid looking at beggars or slaves else I feel compelled to help, but I no longer memorize the faces of everyone I kill or feel crippled by intense guilt when one of my soldiers die. That said, there are certain aspects of myself I expect will never change, because even if I became the most tyrannical and merciless commander in existence, I doubt I’ll ever be able to remain indifferent to an animal in distress.

Ulfsaar greets me with a cursory salute and I motion for him to step back in case things go horrifically wrong. Gingerly approaching the towering bull at a diagonal, I use my friendliest and most soothing voice and say, “Hey big guy. You’re okay now, the fight’s over. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.” I could use my Aura to calm him down, but it doesn’t always work out the way I’d expect. Cattle are fairly stubborn and single-minded, so even using Aura at full-blast might not change his mood for the better while covered in blood and gore. Tracking my approach with vigilant intensity, Moomie shies away and I stop in place, waiting so he can get used to my presence. It doesn’t take long, and the sweet boy ambles forward to rest his head into my waiting hands, bellowing softly as I stroke his muzzle and massage his cheeks. Only now do I see the source of his distress, as not all the blood belongs to his enemies. Sporting a gash on his forehead and a series of cuts on his shoulders and flanks, none of the injuries are fatal, but if he were a person, Moomie would probably need a few dozen stitches at the minimum.

Then again... why shouldn’t I stitch him up?

It takes some effort to get the massive bull to lie down, and even more effort to get him to accept the needle, but he’s more trusting than my other floofs. Even well-trained Zabu is still wary about letting me touch his teeth, but Moomie barely flinches after the first six or seven stitches and instead closes his eyes to snuggle in my lap. Once the cut on his forehead is taken care of, I switch places with Ulfsaar to work on Moomie’s other injuries and the hulking half-bear surprises me by cradling the sweet bull close like a favoured pet. Putting them together has paid off in spades, though I probably should’ve expected as much. While fierce and murderous in battle, it’s almost like Ulfsaar has two separate personalities, much like I had with Baledagh and Brother. At his core, he’s a kind, devoted man who loves his wife and treats his comrades like family, so why wouldn’t he grow attached to Moomie? Now, Ulfsaar can direct his brutal rage towards a more benevolent purpose, to protect his cattle and keep them from harm. Besides, everyone loves cuddles and cattle are incredibly affectionate.

It’s a little disappointing, but I might have to add beef to my forbidden foods alongside roosequin, rabbit, bear, and wildcat. Luckily, chickens are stupid, goats are jerks, I hate pigs, and carnugators are ugly and delicious, which means I’ll never have to worry about going full vegetarian.

If only cows weren’t so damned delicious...

It takes ninety-seven stitches to finish patching Moomie up, and once finished with the last, I double check my work before moving on, but the wound on his forehead gives me pause. Concerned by my startled expression, Ulfsaar grunts in question, but I wave his worries aside. “It’s nothing,” I say, lacking the ability to non-verbally communicate my next thoughts. “Surprised is all. His cuts are already starting to heal over. They’re still raw and in danger of infection, but the bleeding has stopped and I can already see signs of mending. At this rate, I’ll probably have to remove the stitches tomorrow morning.” Giving Moomie’s ears a rub, I ask, “Aren’t you a talented bull? You already know how to Heal.”

Coughing in embarrassment, Ulfsaar catches my eye and subtly shakes his head and his implication is immediately clear. “You’re Healing him? Since when were you a Healer?” Shaking his head again, he adds a shy scratch of his beard and grimaces. After a moment of thought, I untangle Ulfsaar’s message. “Oh, you’re not ‘Healing’ Healing, you’re... uh... yea.” Even though no one would understand the meaning of ‘Panacea’, I refrain from saying it out loud in case GangShu or one of his minions are listening in, but Ulfsaar’s accomplishment is impressive. I didn’t even know he could use Chi externally, but I suppose it makes sense considering he’s like a billion years old. Well, fifty something, but close enough. Whatever. While Panacea based Healing is slower than traditional Healing, Moomie’s injuries will be fixed within a day or two. “Make sure you don’t tire yourself out, but great work.”

Ulfsaar responds with a smile that says my praise and advice are unneeded, but appreciated nonetheless. I don’t know how he does it, but the man can convey a thousand words with a single glance, another skill which I am dying to learn. Leaving him with a promise to look into cattle barding, I check on the other animals, but most will do fine without care except for Neera’s mount, a reddish-brown cow I’ve affectionately named Wendy who took a spear to the shoulder. Concerned the deep puncture could lame her, I place a hand on her neck and close my eyes before reaching for Balance to try and Heal the big girl’s injury. It would never work with traditional Healing because that requires the Healer to have a comprehensive understanding of the subject’s physiology, but lack of knowledge doesn’t matter with Panacea. Cattle and people are similar enough. We have skin, muscles, blood, and most importantly, bones. All I need to do is direct my Chi to Wendy’s bones and instruct them to produce Panacea and the rest will take care of itself.

Long minutes pass without success, but it’s hardly unexpected. I’d be more surprised if I succeeded on my first try, because unlike Healing myself, I can’t envision Wendy’s injuries. When directing my Chi throughout my body, I don’t exactly get a mental image of all my injuries, but it’s close enough. Rather than looking at an x-ray, it’s more of a general feeling about what’s wrong, sensations which my brain translates into actual information using past experience and unfounded guesswork. Mostly, I grade my injuries by colour, with red being fully functional and increasing in severity as you move up the colour spectrum. For example, bruising is yellow, internal bleeding would be green, and blue is usually fractured or broken bones. It’s not entirely accurate, but it works well enough.

With Wendy, I get none of that. No matter how hard I try to direct my Chi through her body, there isn’t even a hint of knowledge regarding her condition. I mean, I know she has a punctured shoulder because I saw it with my eyes, but my Chi is giving me bupkis. I’m not even sure if it’s even making it past her hide. For all I know, it’s turning back into Heavenly Energy the moment it escapes the confines of my body, but regardless of my lack of success, I continue to try and hope for the best. Only stopping after emptying half my Chi reserves, I see no change in Wendy’s wound, so I hobble her leg to keep weight off the injury and leave Neera to Heal her with Panacea.

It’s fine. Failure today does not mean you lack ability. Besides Ulfsaar, Neera, and the two Healers, there probably isn’t another person in your retinue who can Heal externally with Panacea, though Chu XinYue could probably manage it if someone taught him the method, but he’s like thirty or something. You’re nineteen (physically), with only seven years of training. Even your overly optimistic teacher thinks it’ll be years before you’ll become a true Healer, so don’t be so hard on yourself. Give it five to ten years before you condemn yourself as a worthless, untalented hack.

Two hours later, once the clean up is finished and we’ve resumed our patrol, I do something I’ve avoided for months now. Calling Daxian over, I share my thoughts on integrating hit-and-run quin tactics and ask for his advice. I hate doing it, mostly because of his stupid, smug face and holier-than-thou attitude, but Jochi and Argat know next to nothing regarding tactical warfare and XinYue thinks I can do no wrong and agrees with every suggestion I make. Even if Daxian pisses me off, he’s the best candidate to bounce ideas off of, mostly because he delights in pointing out all my mistakes. Keeping with tradition, the pinched-face rat bastard scowls from atop his warhorse as if I suggested he eat shit and says, “Hard to say if the benefits outweigh the costs.”

As far as his responses go, this one is fairly positive. No name calling, no eye rolling, no muttering beneath his breath, and best of all, no instant rejection. “Explain.”

Taking a deep breath in preparation, Daxian launches into a lengthy lecture. “In pitched battle, your stratagem would undoubtedly be effective assuming the Enemy lacks light cavalry of their own and doesn’t have hidden soldiers lying in ambush. While your use of ranged weapons lacks honour and shames me to the core, your suggestion is not a terrible one. It touches upon one of The Three Hunting Strategies of Huang Shaotian, ‘Deception and Control’. More specifically, this pertains to ‘Feint East, Strike West’, in that you draw the Enemy’s attention with one force and strike with a second where they least expect it. A fairly basic concept but one deserving of praise when coming from your lips, especially considering how you’ve probably never touched a tactical manual, much less read one.”

This is why no one likes him. Daxian the Virtuous, more like Daxian the Smug, Arrogant, Haughty Bastard, though that probably wouldn’t fit on his breastplate.

Enjoying this far too much, Daxian continues, “While your suggestion is reasonable, you must understand by now that we are not fighting a simple pitched battle. Though I admit the Bekhai scouts excel at their job, you would be remiss to underestimate the Defiled. They are a canny, cagey bunch, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they sprung out around us after weeks of hiding beneath the earth. Here on the front lines, the Enemy can attack at any time and from any direction, which means your suggestion exposes your light cavalry to unnecessary risk. Not only this, it is not a single unified force we must concern ourselves with, but a multitude of uncoordinated tribes and war-bands. What would happen if you exhaust your mounts in one battle only to stumble across a second a few hours later? Disaster, that is what.” Grimacing as if it hurts to say, Daxian adds, “You’ve done well enough thus far against the rabble. No need to overthink things until we face more organized foes, but if you’d like to educate yourself, I can lend you my copy of The Three Hunting Strategies. Penned by Li QiYi himself, it includes the great general’s personal notes to clarify and expand upon the original work.”

“Thank you,” I say, and somehow, I even sound like I mean it. “But perhaps when we go on break.” Huang Shaotian might’ve understood warfare, but he certainly didn’t understand brevity considering he wrote like he was being paid by the word. I’ve tried reading his book a dozen different times, but I’ve never made it past the first chapter of flowery language and rambling tangents, which is before he even starts in on the idioms and anecdotes.

“Then heed my words and I shall endeavour to explain the intricacies of Three Hunting Strategies. Before we speak of warfare, one must first understand...”

A man deeply in love with the sound of his voice, Daxian expounds on the art of war while I try not to cut myself. I’d tell him to stop, but some of what he says actually makes sense, so I suffer in silence for the better part of an hour until a Sending from Orgaal arrives and I have a reason to interrupt. “We’ll have to resume the lesson another time.” Like when hell freezes over. “It seems we have allies to the north in need of assistance.” And thank the Mother for that. Another hour of Daxian’s lecturing and I might’ve shit out a Spectre or five. I can’t cleanse people of snobbery, but I’m more than willing to hold him underwater and try until he stops kicking.

God I hate Daxian so much… if only I didn’t respect him too.

Chapter Meme