rogue_5

With all this in mind, when they recall their creator's command, will they be able to turn their heads and slaughter the humans that raised them?

They stand across from Sui, using their dreams, their craving for life, to resist Its order.

However, power is the strongest tool Sui has to control the proxies. Their desire to become human allows them to use the gifts Sui left behind as they please, but it also serves as shackles to bind them.

Chongyue thinks back to the time before he became the True Lung, when he still wandered the land. His power was great enough to accomplish anything he could think of—just like Sui. But when he bent his head to toil alongside the farmers, and grasped tight his sword beside his fellow soldiers, he knew that what he yearned for, power could not grant.

This yearning allows him to throw off the shackles of paracausality, the enticement of power, and the pain of rebirth, allowing him to mold a perfectly ordinary body.

Allowing him to gain a true heart.

Chongyue places all this within the black stone, then throws it into Sui's thoughts with great force.

If he does not survive, if It seizes this body, so be it. It does not matter.

His final cheer for humanity shall echo throughout Sui's remnant consciousness for all eternity.

According to the scholars' deductions, a wounded Feranmut is currently hiding within the barren hills. Firstly, to conceal itself. Secondly, It may have already discovered the grand installations that were to be used against It—such as repeating crossbows on the great wooden burdenbeast—could not be deployed on such rugged terrain. Mankind would thus be forced to pay a much greater price to be rid of It. The Feranmut more or less understands how mankind thinks, knowing they would not choose this site to wage war.

The way this conflict has developed, mankind has stumbled upon a means to harm or even slay Feranmuts, whilst the Feranmuts know well the limitations of mortals. Mortals use their eyes to discern the truth, so deceiving them is simple. And thus, the most difficult part about this war is precisely determining your target's position. The vanguard will carefully compare the terrain to maps, but after many years of fighting, it is hard to determine if the changes are from prior battles, or from the Feranmut's influence.

Suddenly, chaos breaks out in the advance party. Some have gone mad, screaming in fear while brandishing their swords at their comrades. From the stones and rotting wood and other materials all around them arise geists, who charge at the soldiers. When they notice some of those geists are the 'weapons' of their fallen friends, the soldiers are forced to grit their teeth and fight through it. At first, they are reluctant to draw steel against their fellows, but soon they lose the ability to distinguish reality from illusion. The path out has been blocked by shifting stones, and those trapped in the ravine are locked in mortal combat with both themselves and the geists.

A shrill whistle cuts through the air. The troops being attacked have endured until the appointed hour. Together, they fire their arrows, the streamers affixed to them forming a wobbly scarlet circle in the sky that casts a wide shadow. Several bamboo wings come spiraling over, buoyed by the power of wind Arts. Performing their incantations and gestures with a single hand, Lei Fa Tianshis call thunder and lightning upon the mountains in the middle of the 'circle'. The 'mountains' cry out, revealing their true form. Its shell extends on and on like an entire range, Its stubby limbs underneath.

'Found you,' muttered the young general next to the Tianshis.

The Feranmut may be wounded, but It was still hard to approach, and well-hidden in a natural fortress. It will not allow the troops to slowly close in, happy to wipe them out if they do so. However, the scholars' investigations revealed that there will always be a concentration of geists around a wounded Feranmut, a sort of chaos bound to arise wheresoever they roam. By feigning attacks along multiple routes, so long as they form a rough circle, the center of that circle will inevitably be the location of the Huangsheng.

As Huangsheng are born from the land, Its essence is earth, and so lightning shall subdue It.

Clouds darken and wind howls, lightning flashes and thunder rolls. The five thunders crackle and roar, and the sky is split asunder.

There is one issue with using the might of the Tianshis instead of grand installations. The bamboo wings they fly upon are simple things, and they cannot easily evade the Feranmut's attacks. After enduring that first mighty blow, the Feranmut staggers to Its feet, causing mountains to quake and men to watch helplessly as their comrades fall into rifts in the earth, ones that tear open all around them and converge. A single flick of the Feranmut's tail, and the gust it summons sends half of the bamboo wings plummeting to the ground. Dust and wailing fills the air. If they do not slay It before all the wings crash, then the battle is lost, along with this opportunity!

Each bolt of lightning called by the Tianshis strikes Its vitals, but Its stomach is a forge, and plates of iron protect It. Soldiers on the ground crawl atop crushed boulders to attempt firing crossbow bolts with rope attached to subdue It, but they are far weaker than their giant cousins, and soon all the ropes are snapped. There must be a way to have It expose Its weak point, at least just for a second...

'I shall take to the field.' The young general calmly takes hold of a waiting beastkite. This part of the strategy, nobody objected to. He downs some pills prepared earlier, then launches the beastkite, evading the Feranmut's sweeping tail. From atop the bamboo wing, he leaps down, landing atop Its back. The pills gradually take effect as he lands. He loses grasp of his senses. His ears do not hear, his nose does not smell. With senseless sense, there is no truth or falsity, no distinction between form and image. He also loses grasp of his thoughts. With thoughtless thought, there is no link between cause and effect, no chain stopping him from coming and going as he pleases.

He sees only a sliver of dim light, as if the Feranmut's eyes are burning with rage after finding Its attacks ineffective.

After his agile, graceful landing, his muscle memory lights a fuse, running a trail of explosive powder along the 'mountain ridge', ensuring it falls into the gaps under the Feranmut's armor.

It is a wonder how, from formulation to execution, he has never once hesitated in carrying out the plan. At this very moment, all that occupies his mind are gentle sights. His father giving him a rare smile of approval, his mother making him local snacks, worried he might be homesick, the flaming beacons atop the city walls, sweet and sour fruit of buckthorn...

BOOM—

A peal of thunder echoes as the Feranmut's flesh is blasted apart, striking Its vitals. It writhes in pain before finally being buried under crumbling mountains. It is still.

Across the battlefield, the bamboo wing that rescued the young general dashes against a rock, a Tianshi with a face covered in blood cursing that foolhardy plan while shoving an antidote into the planmaker's mouth.

Yet another victory bought with the sacrifice of countless lives. For whatever reason, the cheers of the victorious troops die out. They pull what few survivors they find from the rubble and, leaning against one another, head on home.

The conflagration engulfing the mountain has burned for three days and three nights, and none can escape the smoke's nauseating grasp as they choke and cry. Grimy commoners take out what containers they can as they wait for the fire to die out, scooping up the ashes to carry away. Some without containers even shove ashes into their pockets before they go. The young general slowly follows the quiet crowd until he reaches the ashes, where he reverently takes up two cupped hands worth to place in an old wine jar.

'Candles here! Free candles—'

Someone shouts, not far from him. The woman lifts up a big bag of candles, each no longer than a joint of the finger, yet she is nearly out of stock. She is surrounded by a massive crowd seeking candles. The young general parts the crowd and asks with a doubtful voice: 'There has been no meat here these past few months. Where did you get the fat to make those candles?'

This sudden appearance of candles was suspicious, to say the least.

The woman replies: 'They are gifts from the gods. Forget the candles—only through the grace of the gods are we able to stand here.'

One of the Pacifists? Or perhaps that group influenced by the Shanhaizhong?

Seeing more and more people join the crowd, the woman points a finger out to the vast stretches of ruins behind her, and addresses the crowd once more: 'Look, my friends. We, the people of Yan, have always put our dead to rest with care, but now we have no choice but to let our parents, children, husbands and wives lie out there to rot. The nobles and mandarins say they will spread sickness, so they set them alight.'

The young general orders her to shut up, but she hides herself in the crowd, shoving people aside as she shouts even louder: 'You, or you, that's the only bowl you own, right? But do you even know whose ashes are in it? Don't you hate them? Don't you care how things became this way, why you weren't able to live a peaceful life with your loved ones?! It's all because of this... of this 'great' hunt, this arrogant hunt!'

She continues hiding as she speaks, for the young general has drawn his sword. He leaps over the crowd with his qinggong, heading straight for her. The angry mob crowds around him, shouting one after another: 'Let her speak, coward!' 'Kill us all if you think you're man enough!' 'What reason do you have to pull out a sword?!'

The young general is jostled and pulled about by the crowd, while amidst the chaos, the woman's shrill voice resounds above: 'Look at the price we had to pay! Can you still bear it? Can your hoes and shovels still—'

Her last few words are cut off by a blade of cold steel piercing her chest. The young general's hand trembles with rage.

'No matter... My candles... have been passed out.'

The woman is mad, cackling in her final moments. The crowd also goes mad as they weep, question, or harangue him in anger. He bears their blows, shouting: 'Do not forget how difficult it is to find a land bearly touched by Catastrophe! If I were you, I would burn her candles. We, the people of Yan, have slain our 'gods'. We have nobody to rely on but ourselves!'

After breaking away from the crowd, the young general's face is covered in bruises and exhaustion. According to martial law, these people should be put to death. But his blade should be pointed toward the Feranmuts, not them.

He looks all across the road, but sees no young men and women, only the elderly and a handful of children. Collapsed homes dot the wilds. A shrine to Sui built by the locals stands tall, but the only offerings it has received are a few stones. This was the price the woman spoke of. As the war progresses, the people become unsure if they will even meet again the next day. Granting them peace of mind? The young general lets out a bitter laugh.

With these sorrowful thoughts clutched to his chest, the young general returns to the war camp. Night falls, and his second-in-command urgently knocks upon his door, finger pointed towards the houses, which all of a sudden glimmer with specks of light like stars. An enemy raid?! Shanhaizhong, Pacifists, or bandits?

'We sent people to ask questions, and they said it was them taking a stand,' said the lieutenant. The young general's eyes widen slightly, as he recalls the words he said earlier that day.

Some of the commoners had lit those precious candles of theirs, setting them out on the street. The lights start from the cemetery in the north before slowly spreading across the entire area. The young general now remembers what he saw earlier that day—

Young children, bereft of guardians, playing about in the ashes and mud of the battlefield, laughing as they did.

Collapsed homes are rebuilt by elderly folk working together. In response to the damages caused by the great wild hunt, they have ingeniously designed homes that collapse easily, but are brought back up just as easily.

The temple to Sui still stands, but it was built long ago, and the stones offered gather dust. Now, the land in front of it is used to dry clothes, where they can bask in the light of the rising sun.

The young general, lost in thought, looks out at the candle flames as they extend their reach. He can only hope there will be less sacrifices needed in the future, and less still after that.

The young general has led his troops to this place.

A pool of stagnant water above, nestled between quiet peaks. Yan's former 'god' is near death, no difference from Its kin.

It has lost.

Yan had seen through Its ruse to foment war, dispelled Its conspiracy to take advantage of all parties involved being distracted, and shattered Its plot to establish Itself as this land's one and only 'god'.

Now all that awaited It was Yan's judgment.

The young general draws his sword, pointing it toward a massive, ancient eye.

'If you bow your head and pledge eternal, unending loyalty to Yan, then in consideration your past meritorious deeds—'

'Hah... Haha...'

The laughter arising from between the peaks is rife with madness, as if a cold fog has swept across a battlefield bathed in blood. The pool ripples, and dust spills from the peaks in endless streams.

'Why do you laugh?'

'I laugh at myself. I believed myself the mastermind, but now it has come to this. I also laugh at you, as arrogant as I was!

'You claim time and again to stand united against a common enemy, but in truth? Even with a mighty enemy before you, you still have your blades at each other's throats, happily killing your own kind! Those deaths outnumber battlefield casualties more than a hundredfold! You speak of treachery and cunning, barbarism and brutality, but it is you mortals who have mastered those traits, not we!

'Admit it: it is in your nature. Once this hunt ends, lacking some foe from without, you will start slaughtering one another until none are left!

'I had not seen clearly before, but now, I understand... I am eager to see you all—

'Tear yourselves to pieces.'

The young general's sword hand trembles slightly as he grasps the hilt.

The great beast before him is near-crazed, Its incisive questions deep and booming. The young general never thought that Yan's quarry could have a mind so close to a mortal's.

He looks back at the soldiers behind him—Yan's final, and most elite, warriors. Their comrades, hundreds and thousands of them, have been buried in the churning earth of the battlefield.

The entirety of the great hunt was rife with conflict. A victory in name only. One nobody dared claim was due to anything but sheer luck. None knew exactly what price Yan had paid, whether on the battlefield or off of it. He too could not help but wonder—

Would Yan have to experience this calamity once more in the future?

After a long, long period of contemplation, the young general's sword hand no longer trembles, and he sheathes his sword. Seeing him do so, his soldiers sheathe their arms as well, but remain vigilant.

'Heh... You claim to understand mortals? Alright then...

'I shall spare your life, but you must bow to Yan.

'With your power to take lives on the battlefield, help me build vast shelters to protect all people. With your strategic mind that renounced your kind and plotted against humanity, help me enlighten the masses.

'If you are loyal, you will live, so that you may make things right. And if you ever change your mind, Yan's soldiers will tread atop your back once more!

'Once we begin our... grand undertaking, you will see with your own eyes if Yan truly is as you say.

'We shall prevail over ourselves.'

With those words, he turns to leave—

He spies 'himself' leaving, an aged man, head held high as it bears a tasseled crown, walking step by step. What he sees and hears is true, his thoughts and understandings clear and knowing. This is no illusion... yet the sight gradually fades away.

'Hmm, his brows are twitching, so he must be dreaming... Should I wake him up, Mr. Liang?'

'Should you really be using electricity to awaken Zuo Le, Tianshi Lin...?'

'No need. 'Rest on stone, heed thy dreams.' When the heart has doubts, they will enter one's dreams. Once things are settled in dream, one will naturally awaken. Not long has passed, so give him time... From the look of things, he should be up soon.'

'You remind me of my big sister.'

The woman squatting by the field suddenly pipes up without thinking.

The man in the field does not answer, persistently tilling the soil.

'Why're you spending all that time and effort digging up that dried-out field? Did'ya bury your family heirlooms there?'

The man in the field finishes digging a furrow, paces left and right to inspect it, then starts digging another.

'It's way past planting season. You seriously gonna be planting seeds after you're done with those furrows?'

The man in the field still does not answer, continuing to plow the field under the scorching light of the sun.

'What, does the girl you fancy want you to work her family's fields? You got an evil aunt and uncle forcing you to work here?'

As she speaks, the woman suddenly gives herself a slap on the head: 'I know! That mandarin who came by the other day might've had a nice smile, but he probably told you that if you didn't dig those furrows—no, you probably just couldn't stand how evil he was, so you cracked open his head, and now you're digging a hole for the corpse! What a great story, I should write it down and find some actors later—'

'Ridiculous.'

'So what are you <i>actually</i> doing, then?'

'I recently thought of a new way to forge iron that would save charcoal. I wasn't sure if the iron it made would be good, so I was testing it in this abandoned field. Looks to be more or less the same.'

'Tch, lame.'

The woman huffs in disappointment, but does not leave. A while later, she slaps her head again.

'So you're a blacksmith? How about trying <i>my</i> pickaxe then?'

The woman throws a piece of metal overflowing with light at the smith's feet. The doubtful smith presses the metal onto his pickaxe's handle, then gives it a swing before yelping in fear: 'What the devil is this?! How's it able to dig out even the stones?'

'So, what d'you think? It's light, so it's not so hard to swing, it won't go rusty for a long long time, and you can smash a mountain into gravel with it. Good pickaxe, yeah?'

Only after a long while does the smith spit out a 'Yeah' before returning it to the woman.

'Don't want it?'