Crazy Rich Asians (and why being a low SES bastard means you're not useless)

It's official. John is going to break character by being... well, this low SES bastard here. There's a reason why I have to do this. You see, I decided to do a label dealing with posts related to history. For now, it's gonna be Chinese history. Not because I'm a Singaporean Chinese or the fact (?) that my ancestor was the great Tang dynasty general Guo Zi Yi. Just don't ask me how true this is since I did put a (?).

Crazy, rich, and... poor?!?

Recently, Singapore made the headlines again since Criminal Minds: Beyond Borders (At Singapore). Otherwise known as Crazy Rich Asians, it's got the likes of Alfian "not that Alfian from Class 1H and 2H in the 90s Gan Eng Seng School" Sa'at and Kirsten "one half of the Sisters Han" Han up in arms.

Assuming the majority of Singaporeans has its own dangers. For starters, it means the privileged majority can date any local Singaporean girl (if you're a guy). The problem here? This and that. Does that mean Singaporeans belong to the low SES bonehead category? Well, being a low SES bastard (that is in the words of the stereotypical high SES-ers) like yours truly doesn't mean you're useless.

Note: The poster is yours truly who happens to be a low SES-er. Just don't try guessing where I am in the profile photo.

If there's a place I can liken to the ASEAN region, it'd be the Jing Province during the Han/Three Kingdoms era. In the Jing Province, there's a place called Longzhong. Not to be confused with the Singlish word longzong. Before I officially start this post, allow me to up two songs.

So what this post will be all about?

In the history of China, there's a famous (and I really mean famous) strategy. Also known as the Longzhong Strategy, this was to be the warlord Liu Bei's masterplan for unification and domination (actually, it's the same thing. Just ask Cao Cao and Sun Quan). The reason why this was called the Longzhong Strategy lies in two facts.

1. It was at Longzhong where Liu Bei and the famed strategist Zhuge Liang discussed great matters related to unification and domination.

2. The strategy was devised by Zhuge Liang.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Longzhong_Plan

So was the Longzhong Strategy truly unfeasible like what the critics say?

No, it's not. Here's my analysis why

Before I start, let me just point out that before Zhuge Liang, Sun Quan already had two wise men saying similar things. The first wise man was a high SES-er behaving like a low SES-er. His name was Lu Su, styled Zijing. During his youth, those around him actually think he went suku (i.e. Singlish word for daft).

[肃体貌魁奇，少有壮节，好为奇计。天下将乱，乃学击剑骑射，招聚少年，给其衣食，往来南山中射猎，阴相部勒，讲武习兵。父老咸曰：“鲁氏世衰，乃生此狂儿！”]

When Sun Quan asked Lu Su what he should do in the face of chaos, Lu Su pointed out that the importance of the Jing Province.

[“...为将军计，惟有鼎足江东，以观天下之衅。规模如此，亦自无嫌。何者？北方诚多务也。因其多务，剿除黄祖，进伐刘表，竟长江所极，据而有之，然后建号帝王以图天下，此高帝之业也。”]

Lu Su's strategy was very simple: It involved Sun Quan seizing control of the Jing Province, a task which he would surely relish. After all, Huang Zu was the reason why his dad Sun Jian died. At the same time, both sides had been going at each other's throats while Sun Sr was still alive, breathing, and yet to be ambushed to death. Consolidating the current Jiangdong territory and observing the situation first. Once the chance arrived, seize Jing Province, make yourself an emperor, and start plotting domination in the name of unification. If this sounds like the present day China, I apologize for mentioning what is coincidental.

Another wise man was a low SES-er who was the closest thing to an ITE grad minus a polytechnic diploma. Recently, someone made the news for all the wrong reason. Gan Ning, styled Xingba, was an ex-convict released from Changi prison. Comparing Aaron "not Kwok" Lim to Gan Ning is like comparing a content creator to a serial killer. Seriously, one does not simply make that guy angry.

So what was Gan Ning's masterplan? Seize Jing Province, then seize the Yi Province.

[宁陈计曰：“今汉祚日微，曹操弥憍，终为篡盗。南荆之地，山陵形便，江川流通，诚是国之西势也。宁已观刘表，虑既不远。儿子又劣，非能承业传基者也。至尊当早规之，不可后操。图之之计，宜先取黄祖。祖今年老，昏耄已甚，财谷并乏，左右欺弄，务于货利，侵求吏士，吏士心怨。舟船战具，顿废不修，怠于耕农，军无法伍。至尊今往，其破可必。一破祖军，鼓行而西，西据楚关，大势弥广，即可渐规巴、蜀。”]

Gan Ning's analysis was absurdly accurate for a low SES lowlife. Either he got lucky or he's actually smarter than your grandfather's A*STAR scholar. Given his future exploits, the answer should be the latter. Firstly, he knew Liu Biao and his sons (because he got more than one) were... well, useless despite their high SES status. At the same time, Huang Zu wasn't exactly the best man motivator alive, let alone the best man manager. Basically, that's my way of rephrasing Gan Ning's words in a diplomatic language. The original text basically reads more like "Huang Zu is a senile old man who doesn't understand his men's needs." (Fun fact: Huang Zu was guilty of looking down on Gan Ning due to his past as an ex-convict released from Changi prison, Yellow Ribbon or no Yellow Ribbon)

Secondly, he proposed an invasion to the west. In other words, the Yi Province should be next. This plan was different from Lu Su's version for a good reason: Lu Su never mentioned the Yi Province. Which means Lu Su's masterplan would most likely involve two options. Namely, either attacking the Yi Province or Cao Cao's territory depending on which side would tank like a Kyrgios first (Note: The regions of Ba and Shu [巴、蜀] referred to the Yi Province).

Zhuge Liang's Longzhong version was effectively a more in-depth version of Gan Ning's ah-beng version.

Note: Zhang Zhao wasn't clearly impressed by Lu Su and Gan Ning. He felt Xingba's plan was unfeasible due to the more immediate political needs [张昭时在坐，难曰：“吴下业业，若军果行，恐必致乱。”] while Zijing was nothing less than an orang kura ajar (i.e. a rude person) who might have consumed too much tide pods. [张昭非肃谦下不足，颇訾毁之，云肃年少粗疏，未可用。]

Add note: Sun  Quan didn't give a heck to Zhang Zhao's words.

An introduction to Zhuge Liang's past

First, let's talk about Zhuge Liang's family.

[诸葛亮字孔明，琅邪阳都人也。汉司隶校尉诸葛丰后也。父圭，字君贡，汉末为太山郡丞。亮早孤，从父玄为袁术所署豫章太守，玄将亮及亮弟均之官。会汉朝更选朱皓代玄。玄素与荆州牧刘表有旧，往依之。]

Zhuge Liang styled Kongming. He was born in Yangdu County, Langya Commandery. His ancestor was Zhuge Feng, who happened to be an important court official (the term 司隶校尉 was ancient China's version of the FBI watching over the White House and Congress in case someone does something funny). Zhuge Liang's dad was Zhuge Gui (not the other Gui), styled Jungong. He's also a politician albeit on the municipal level. Zhuge Liang was orphaned at a young age (let this sink in for those who think their lives suck). His uncle Zhuge Xuan was the governor of Yuzhang. Because of this, Zhuge Liang and his younger brother (Zhuge Jun) became politicians as well. Then Zhuge Xuan was replaced by Zhu Hao. Zhuge Xuan had always stayed in contact with Liu Biao. After all, they're friends (whether they're BFF is something I can't answer you).

[臣本布衣，躬耕于南阳，苟全性命于乱世，不求闻达于诸候。先帝不以臣卑鄙，猥自枉屈，三顾臣于草庐之中，咨臣以当世之事，由是感激，遂许先帝以驱驰。]

Above is part of Zhuge Liang's First Military Memorial [前出师表]. The statement tells us Zhuge Liang's early life. A few points to note.

1. [臣本布衣，躬耕于南阳] Zhuge Liang was merely a low SES-er working as a farmer in Nanyang. It's a bit like working as a porter in SGH. Oh wait, that's me, not Kongming. Also, Nanyang here is different from another Nanyang.

2. [苟全性命于乱世] Zhuge Liang was living in chaotic times. Actually, everybody was living in chaotic times. Erm... like the current era, I guess?

3. [不求闻达于诸候] Basically, that's Zhuge Liang's way of saying "I didn't give a damn to politicians even though I enjoy analysing things."

4. [先帝不以臣卑鄙，猥自枉屈，三顾臣于草庐之中，咨臣以当世之事，由是感激，遂许先帝以驱驰。] This was Liu Bei paying a visit to Zhuge Liang at Longzhong, which resulted in the latter's life changing for good.

Point 4 refers to the moment where Zhuge Liang analysed the circumstances somewhere around 207 AD. Back then, the Jing Province had yet to fall into Cao Cao's hands. However, a family feud was brewing back then. Forget about Oxley Road, that one won't destroy Singapore. What happened between Liu Qi and Liu Cong was the real (catastrophic) deal. Family drama wise, it's self-destructive. Political drama wise, it's totally destructive. The ding dong was exactly the kind of drama Cao Cao enjoyed watching. No prizes for guessing correctly what happened next.

Explain the plan pls...

[自董卓已来，豪杰并起，跨州连郡者不可胜数。曹操比于袁绍，则名微而众寡，然操遂能克绍，以弱为强者，非惟天时，抑亦人谋也。今操已拥百万之众，挟天子而令诸侯，此诚不可与争锋。孙权据有江东，已历三世，国险而民附，贤能为之用，此可以为援而不可图也。荆州北据汉、沔，利尽南海，东连吴会，西通巴、蜀，此用武之国，而其主不能守，此殆天所以资将军，将军岂有意乎？益州险塞，沃野千里，天府之土，高祖因之以成帝业。刘璋暗弱，张鲁在北，民殷国富而不知存恤，智能之士思得明君。将军既帝室之胄，信义著于四海，总揽英雄，思贤如渴，若跨有荆、益，保其岩阻，西和诸戎，南抚夷越，外结好孙权，内修政理﹔天下有变，则命一上将将荆州之军以向宛、洛，将军身率益州之众出于秦川，百姓孰敢不箪食壶浆以迎将军者乎？诚如是，则霸业可成，汉室可兴矣。]

[Trans: Since Dong Zhuo, countless heroes and conquerors have risen. Compared to Yuan Shao, Cao Cao was inferior in terms of fame and numbers. Yet, he was able to overcome Shao as the weaker faction. It is not just a matter of timing gifted by heaven, but also a case of relying on sound counsel. Now that Cao has millions at his disposal with the emperor as the hostage to rein in the dissenting nobles, direct confrontation is not an option. Sun Quan is now in command of Jiangdong, his family lasting for three generations. His nation is like a fortress while the people are loyal. Combined with capable men at his disposal, it is wise to seek aid and not to invade. The Jing Province is linked up north with the region of Han and Mian with its riches stretching till the South Sea. To the east, it is linked to Wu while to the west is the region of Ba and Shu. That land is good for military usage, yet its master is incapable of holding onto it. This is like a gift from above, are you interested? The Yi Province is surrounded by treacherous terrain with rich soil spanning for thousand miles. It is the land of heavenly riches and this was how Gaozu (Liu Bang, the first Han emperor) eventually established his conquest. Liu Zhang is inept with Zhang Lu at the north. The people are hardworking while the nation is wealthy, yet not knowing help. The capable men there seek a capable lord. You are a descendant of royalty with your integrity spanning to the four corners of the land, always gathering heroes while seeking talented people like a man thirsting for water. If you can command the lands of Jing and Yi while retaining the defences and making peace with the minority tribes in the west and south, if you can make friends with Sun Quan while ensuring internal stability, then you can make your move once the vital opportunity presents itself. From the Jing Province, the troops can advance towards the region of Wan and Luo. You, my lord, can lead the men of Yi Province to the land of Qin. Once this happens, will the people not welcome you with food and drink? Once this takes place, the hegemony can be established and the Han royalty's fortune can be revived.]

The criticism behind Zhuge Liang's Longzhong Strategy lies in the assumption that Liu Bei must become the emperor with no rival whatsoever. This view was further reinforced by the fact that Zhuge Liang never mentioned Sun Quan's role once the main action started. Once we take a closer look at the greater picture, however, we may end up looking at the Longzhong Strategy as some kind of "wah this plan really lonzong dio, man!"

Let's divide China into three parts first. I don't mean (Inner) Mongolia, Tibet, and Xinjiang. Rather, I'm referring to the Cao Wei region spanning north and west, the Jiangdong region held by Sun Quan, and the aforementioned provinces of Jing and Yi under Liu Bei. Zhuge Liang never mentioned seizing Sun Quan's territory, but this was in fact a brilliant stroke of diplomacy. Separating Jiangdong from Cao Cao's territory was the Jing Province. Once Liu Bei was able to launch an invasion up north (according to Zhuge Liang's plan), Sun Quan could only have two choices.

1. Help Liu Bei. But because the Jing Province would be under Liu Bei's control, the Jiangdong faction would be forced to do Liu Bei's bidding in order to share whatever profit available. And by this, I mean splitting of the profit as well.

2. Do nothing. That'd be arguably worse.

The reason why I say option 2 would be arguably worse is that there must be a prerequisite requirement for the invasion: Cao Cao must experience the kind of upheaval capable of crippling the political stability. At that time, he got an immediate threat in the form of Ma Chao and Han Sui making more than just noise in the Liang Province (edit: Ma Chao and Han Sui only started making trouble in 211 AD, which would be 4 years after Zhuge Liang came out from his comfortable hole). It's quite possible that this was to be Zhuge Liang's best bet to stage what one would call the grand finale. Once the internal destabilization began, Liu Bei would start moving up north. From Chengdu, he would move up to Longxi. The land of Qin was effectively part of the Liang Province. By taking the western end of the province, Liu Bei would have effectively created a domino effect. The locals of Liang Province would start flocking to him like bees to honey.

From there, the momentum could easily go towards Luoyang. Luoyang was an important place for a reason: It was the capital of Eastern Han (back then, the Three Kingdoms era wasn't officially ushered in because that'd be Cao Pi exiling the emperor much later on). Therefore, a place holding much symbolic purpose could easily become a morale booster (for Liu Bei) and a morale Titanic (for Cao Cao). This, however, would be the job of the troops stationed at the Jing Province. Effectively, you can call it a pincer invasion. In reality, this pincer strategy could only be done on one condition: Liu Bei's entrance into Longxi. Years later, Zhuge Liang would employ this strategy. Without the Jing Province since Sun Quan would eventually take over Liu Bei's share by force (and with Lu Meng's shrewdness).

Simply put, the main force would be attacking from the west while the eastern front was intended to increase the pressure. Note that Zhuge Liang mentioned the need to take more land from the west compared to the east (i.e. comparing the land of Qin with the region of Luo and Wan would be like comparing the land mass of Soviet Union territory with the land mass of U.K. Okay, that's a hyperbole, but you get what I mean).

Ultimately, Liu Bei would get the lion's share while Sun Quan would have to decide between the scraps and nothing.

Another Medo-Persian Empire?

Zhuge Liang's plan mirrored another chapter of history in another land. One could compare the Cao Wei faction with the Babylonian Empire during the Old Testament era. As for Liu Bei and Sun Quan, they were effectively the Persians and Medes respectively. The Medo-Persian Empire (i.e. the Achaemenid Empire) was quite special in the sense that power was shared between the Persians and Medes. Case in point: We got Cyrus the Persian and Darius the Mede. In this case, Liu Bei would be the equivalent of Cyrus while Sun Quan would be the equivalent of Darius the Mede. Political influence wise, Liu Bei's territory would be equivalent to the entire empire. For Sun Quan, there'd be no difference between Jiangdong and the province of Babylon. So tell me, who would be the winner in the game of power sharing?

Perhaps this was Zhuge Liang's plan all the while. To stage an invasion during such times, one must have a legitimate reason based on integrity. That's why he mentioned the Han royalty. Never mind the fact that no one could authenticate whether Liu Bei was fibbing about his ancestry. In fact, Sun Jian's claim that he was descended from Sun Wu was another case of "you say, I say, who confirm."

By creating a hegemony favouring Liu Bei, that'd mean a case of a big boss state and a vassal state. In the history of ancient China alone, this is evident when it comes to China and Korea (i.e. the Korean Peninsula). Play the fast-forward button on the proverbial VCR player and you got Beijing and Pyongyang.

Epic fail

Ultimately, the reason why the Longzhong Strategy never worked was due to external circumstances more than anything else. When Cao Cao staged a successful invasion down south against the Jing Province, Liu Biao had passed away. The region was in turmoil. Despite Liu Biao's insistence to let Liu Bei take over as the boss, the legitimacy of such a will was to be disputed. The reason why was Liu Biao's distrust towards Liu Bei all the while. Of course, it could be counter-argued that Liu Biao saw no promise (and hope) in his two useless sons, that's why his will favoured Liu Bei. No matter what, there's no way for us to know the answer. Either way, Cao Cao took advantage of the situation and seized control of the region. If this sounds familiar to my fellow Singaporeans (i.e. not just the ethnic majority), that's because the Japanese learnt it from a Chinese during World War II. I won't be surprised if the late Mr Lee Kuan Yew was pissed off at the British over this. Just don't ask me whether he was pissed off at Winston Churchill as well.

The sequence of events would result in an unfair treaty so as to speak. Once Cao Cao got driven away during the Battle of Chibi, the Jing Province became a land grab scenario. Liu Bei got the southern part while Sun Quan got the western part. The northern part remained under Cao Cao's control and don't get me started on the Battle of Yiling. The reason why I say the treaty was unfair isn't due to the terms, but rather Sun Quan was better equipped in terms of manpower and resources. The fact that Liu Bei got his fair share of the booty was a testimony of Zhuge Liang's tactical brilliance more than anything else (hence, his self-comparison to Yue Yi who was a famous military commander during the Warring States era). To make things worse, Sun Quan managed to seize control of Nanjun. To fulfil his ambition, Liu Bei had to borrow Nanjun from Sun Quan with Jiangxia going the other direction (note: Interestingly, Jiangxia was nearer to Jiangdong while Nanjun was the Jing Province's border region linking it to the Yi Province). When Sun Quan demanded Liu Bei to return Nanjun, Liu Bei refused. On one hand, this was the agreement which Liu Bei shamelessly broke. On the other hand, giving up Nanjun is like putting a brain-dead patient on life support. Eventually, Nanjun would become the location of the last of the three great battles during that time. Namely, the Battle of Yiling, also known as the Battle of Xiaoting. This was where Lu Xun made his name as a rookie while this was where it all ended for Liu Bei. Not to mention Zhuge Liang's grand plan of creating a greater hegemony.

To end this on a more positive note...

Was Zhuge Liang's wife beautiful or ugly? There are two sides of the story just like how there are two sides of the coin.

The first side asserted that his wife was ugly. According to the historical text, his wife (surnamed Huang or Ng depending on whether you're mainland Chinese or Singaporean Chinese) was the adopted daughter of Huang Chengyan. How Huang/Ng Sr described his daughter went like this: [身有丑女，黄头黑色]

What does this mean?

1. Her complexion was dark.

2. Her hair was blonde/light coloured.

In fact, it was recorded that Zhuge Liang was ridiculed by the locals over his choice.

[时人以为笑乐，乡里为之谚曰：“莫作孔明择妇，正得阿承丑女。”]

The other side would go like "wait, is there such a woman existing as a Chinese in the first place?" At the risk of sounding racist (and politically incorrect), it seemed that Huang/Ng Sr was doing a Trumpish hyperbole. Yes, it's possible to see a Chinese girl with a dark complexion. During my days at the DDR department, I did see at least one such girl in the CT-MRI. And she's a Singaporean Chinese, not a Singaporean Malay. The problem lies in the hair. I mean, you don't need to have the surname Huang/Ng to dye your hair if you're a girl. The problem is, why would someone in ancient China do this? I don't know whether people could dye their hair back then, but the logic seems absurd to me nevertheless. Assuming the wife was a South Asian adopted by Huang/Ng, that's not going to explain why the hair colour like that!

There is a contradiction in both sides of an unlikely (love) story. For the seemingly unacceptable, you have the neighbours and residents making fun of the obvious. For the seemingly acceptable, there's no way to explain why Huang/Ng Sr would go all out with his words.

Which now comes to a daring assumption. What if Lady Huang/Ng was actually a beautiful lass, that the only reason behind Zhuge Liang brutally ridiculed was due to a case of sour grapes? After all, Huang/Ng Sr was a prominent figure in the political circles of Jing Province. He's no Dr Ng Eng Hen, but I guess it should be close enough.

Of course like always when it comes to studying history, there's no way you can get an answer to every question.

Note: There's this theory concerning Zhuge Liang marrying his Huang/Ng where he only did it in order to have better access to the local political circle. However, there's a problem. His uncle Zhuge Xuan was on good terms with Liu Biao. In other words, he already got an uncle to do the job for him. Either way, it should be safe to say that Zhuge Liang's wife was a high SES-er while he himself remained a low SES manual worker until Liu Bei entered his home.

Ending song

Copyright claim filed, even the Chinese are learning something from the Japanese. Hence, I decided to change the song. Skillsfuture, gotta love it.

Talking Gods

"Gods and demons, both one and the same. This is why I shall bind under the rune of Ván those under my charge. Hear my plea, Yggdrasil! Avalon, be my witness! Let my life be the parchment and my blood as ink. If they must live as monsters devouring gods and demons alike, so be it!"

~Gandr de Morte

Source

)0(

Murals cover the walls of a humble chapel, their presence the only show of grandeur. The building is like an unsightly dwarf amongst majestic giants, for Utnapishtim is the great city of splendour where all that glitters is gold. There a lone parish resides, his humble ways beckoning the willing to have a chat, no matter how trivial the talk may be. If the Holy City is a constant reminder of what has gone right, then mayhap a humble chapel still serves as the sole reminder of what should have been right all the while.

Aeravor finds it amusing that all it took for him to get dressed with neither hassle nor harassment was a quiet corner, a place he’d half expect to see the pious pray. After all, no nook and cranny are ever free from the ever-watching gods. That is if they actually exist. His training as a ranger has served him well, his dark complexion paying a mocker’s fee to the light. Emerging from the alley, he finds the ever-pervasive apathy amusing. Then again, there is no difference between the holy ones and not-so-holy ones, for there are always a number of ways to express the same thing.

Not in my backyard? Well, this place is merely another kind of backyard.

It never took the ranger long for his burnt hand to heal. Teutonians call the Vánagandr monsters of the gods for a reason, their ability to heal swiftly from any injury nothing less than inhumane.

"I should have tried extorting a hefty sum and his whore from that man of the gods," chuckles a derisive Aeravor, the image of a comely harlot still engraved in his mind.

Not knowing where he should be going, let alone whether he is heading the right way out, the former Vánagandr finds himself at a humble chapel’s porch. Amused by how whimsical fate can play its cards, Aeravor enters the building. Murals greet his azure eyes, a wolf of war recognising images of conflict. The only thing missing is the portrayal of women raped, their destiny either one of slavery or to the slaughter. Drawing a cynic's smile, Aeravor knows perfectly well the hypocrisy behind superficial tales of caution against any and all evils.

"Ah, a stranger arrives as a guest! How rare and wonderful."

"You forgot to mention unlucky as well," his unceremonious words uttered, a sellsword sits down in front of an old man bearing no arms and with nary an ill will. An aura well beyond his years radiates from the host wearing a parish’s garb, a position of the lowest rank in the Holy Quintet clergy. His head is balding, his form thin and frail. Sitting cross-legged with a slouch, no trembling is seen in his arms as he takes a sip from an earthen cup filled with water. Unlike the Legalis of Anglsax, his eyes do not harbour arrogance and falsehood. Unlike that man of the gods, he wears not a perverted leer but a sincere smile. Like that whoremonger of a holy man, he still commands wariness from a wolf who has seen much in a merciless world cast in the image of a fiery crucible. The only reason why he chooses not to walk away is the need to avoid unwanted confrontation, a ranger’s sixth sense telling him not all is normal in this tiny place. People do not care about what is committed in plain sight unless someone happens to die. Even then, it is not a given that they would bat an eyelid. This is not one of those moments. Years of being a survivor have taught him the importance of animalistic instincts.

"Nice drawings. You need to tell the artist to add some bitches, though," compliments Aeravor, the sardonic manner of praise not lost on the parish.

"War is never a beautiful thing," nods the elderly clergyman, his smile mirroring the wry grin maintained by Aeravor, "Unfortunately, people still think monsters do not exist in fairy tales."

Throwing back his head, Aeravor erupts into howls of laughter. He cares not the loudness of his mirth, neither does he care that this is the sound of a wolf howling. He has seen too many monsters in every shape, size, and status. Most chose to wear a mask while others chose to lie to themselves. And to think people scoff at the idea of demons existing, the source of their willful ignorance being an insistence that it's nothing more than morality preaching fear. As for this old man, he belongs to neither. Never in his life has the ranger ever imagine he is able to see eye to eye with a holy man, this meeting truly feels like a wolf befriending a shepherd. He has seen plenty of contradictions and many an irony, but this has to be the lord of them all. For now, the wolf chooses to lower his guard.

"I’m starting to like you, old man. What’s your name?"

"Liegen. But most people call me Lieg. At my request, of course."

"Fine, Lieg then."

"And you?"

"Aeravor," then just as sudden as his show of amusement, Aeravor let out a growl, "But don’t you dare call me Aera unless you want to die."

"I truly doubt you are acting, Aeravor. I’ve seen before men as unstable as you. Fine, Aeravor then."

"Now we’re starting to get along," grins the sellsword, his smile now wider as he claps his hands and gives a shrug, "I guess you’re too bored to stay quiet like a man with his tongue cut off."

"Most pain lasts for a time allotted, but some pain is meant as a lifetime of torment," nods Liegen in agreement, his languid demeanour amusing Aeravor till no end.

"So you’re going to tell the artist to add some bitches here and there?" asks Aeravor with his index finger pointing here and there at the murals.

"The church has existed for years beyond counting. The artist is already dead and I don’t like asking those alive to tamper with a dead man’s work. Pride is given to the living, but respect must be given to those departed."

"What about those both alive and dead?" smirks Aeravor as the wolf keeps goading the shepherd.

"A homunculus, you mean. I happen to know one here," with a sigh, Liegen utters a name which should not be mentioned, "Sarel Aphros."

Aeravor instantly tenses up, his back slightly hunched like a beast waiting to pounce. The parish may have played the wrong cards, but he calmly stares back at a murderous glare.

"What else do you know?" snarls Aeravor, "Tell me or else…"

"The one performing the resurrection is no longer alive. He is already dead, I made sure of that."

Answers begetting only more questions, Aeravor understands at last what manner of a person he is dealing with. With a combination of amusement and wariness, the parish reminds him of someone else. The Serpent of Histalonia, Edeaux de Serpentwine. One is a poor man of religion, the other the monarch of crime lords. One is behaving like a pious man, the other a man attracted to other men. One is a human, the other an elf. But both are schemers regardless of the differences. If Liegen is willing to show his cards that early, it means he is no parish. At least not in a conventional way.

"Relax, my friend," even with no malice detected, Liegen’s smiling visage nevertheless reminds Aeravor how laughable children’s tales can be.

"Relax? This before a man of the gods who thinks like a man of war?"

"Gods? War? Let me ask you then, Aeravor, this question: Can the gods truly know peace?"

"Good question, Lieg. You worship five, I worship none. You should know the answer, not me."

"You worship yourself just like the rest," as Liegen finishes his statement, his eyes turn sombre as his features warp into a frown much to Aeravor’s bemusement. Never before has he been so entertained and intrigued at the same time.

"Let’s set aside the question of whose gods are more real. Or more correct for that matter."

Old man Lieg is now pulling the strings with those words, Aeravor reasons to himself silently. What started off as a harmless conversation took a turn for the worse, said worse then took another turn. So now it becomes a game. His appetite now whetted, the wolf prepares himself for the shepherd’s dare. Silence prevails, both players waiting for the other to make his first move.

"Very well," sighs Liegen, a quaint smile adorning a face scarred by wrinkles, "What says you if I assume the gods do not know what peace is?"

Unsurprised by Liegen's words, Aeravor is nevertheless impressed. The first strike always symbolises an advantage. Either that or a bad move amounting to five steps backwards. He is a ranger, he knows how vital it is to assassinate a target instead of just claiming a kill. Yet, here he is ceding the right to pull off a gambit. And now he has to deal with unfavourable odds, for a parish had used a ranger’s hand against an actual one. A good one, this the wolf has no choice but to concede.

"I agree. But don’t you think such assumption is a blasphemy? After all, you’ve implied that your gods only care about violence and whores in the name of victory. Hence, the murals depicting violence. Minus the whores, of course."

Aeravor is clearly relishing the game now, his reply prompting a frown from the opposition. This is surely much better than hearing some stupid debate between the seemingly intelligent, people who have nothing better to do with their senseless knowledge.

"There is more than one way not to know peace. One can be the most righteous saint, only not to know what peace looks like beyond a successful parley."

"I take back my words, O’ most revered Lieg. You don't have to ask why because I feel like doing it," shrugs Aeravor, an impish smile throwing the parish off his guard, "You and I know the sword pays better wages than religion. At least most men would love to have a whore after a day’s work. Never mind whether it’s actually one whore for an entire army."

"As one who is unaccustomed to such barbaric ways, I can never understand why the sword is preferable to prayer. A sword in hand means a risk at hand."

"You mean getting killed while having fun with a bitch out in the open? I actually killed someone this way," chortles Aeravor, the recollection of the Edge of Answerer biting into a rapist from behind tickling him, "Then again, I can easily kill a praying man in the same way. I once heard an idiot saying we might die. Seriously, I shit you not."

"Your reaction?"

"My reaction? I laughed. Even after an arrow took him down. Please, we might die? Bullshit! Truth is, we all will die."

"And therefore?"

"And therefore, I have to tell you I’m not the one who fired the arrow. An enemy loosed that thing and that poor boy happened to be at my side. Wrong place, wrong time, not sure if it's the wrong target."

Liegen can only afford to laugh out loud despite the dark humour displayed while Aeravor replies mirth for mirth.

"Life as a god is all about drinks, whores, and money. As for you, I have to concede that you’re a different god from me if you want to see it this way."

"Indeed," answers Liegen with eyes of a compassionate man, "We have gods of prosperity, war, righteousness… I won’t say many things, but rather every single thing."

"You forgot to mention goddesses of love, fertility, and whores," grins the wolf who knows best the inner man, "There is a saying…"

"We are merely the ore, the world itself is a crucible."

"That’s not what I’m going to say," scratching his chin absently, Aeravor nonetheless shows a mercenary's mocking visage, "But you surely gave me a better saying here."

"I’m no Tamurian, but I’m also not like those haughty oafs calling themselves scholars just because the Imperial College recognises them as talents."

"So you know the next sentence?"

For the first time throughout the conversation, Liegen displays a hearty smile.

"Wait here for me. I suddenly remember there’s a stash of fine food and wine in the pantry."

Aeravor maintains his smile. If an ambush is imminent, he will just kill them all, that old man included. If he is to die, then so be it. If that old man can be trusted, it means he who is still a Vánagandr will just get to die another day. An attractive prospect compared to dying today. After all, it is not as if people might die.

"The rest is dross, the fire consuming the unworthy," murmurs the ranger, words from his mother’s people a constant reminder of what is the truth all the while.

"Here we have it, my friend," beams Liegen, a young boy helping him by holding a platter made from pewter. On it are two mutton legs well-cured, mashed potatoes and gravy accompanied by freshly baked bread. In Liegen’s hands are two goblets, both made from the same material. Then there is a young girl holding a pitcher, its content most likely some decent manner of wine.

Wonder how old they are. Twelve or thirteen like that little girl from the East I saved years ago?

"You both may go now."

At Liegen’s words, the girl gives a brief bow as the boy runs off giggling. Giving no heed to a rare show of childish innocence, Aeravor grabs his share of the meat and enjoys the meal like a wolf devouring an elk. Taking a goblet proffered by Liegen, he takes a draught. Wiping his lips with a gloved hand, the sellsword flashes a smile akin to a satisfied patron.

"Humphrey and Harriet."

"I never knew sheep and goats have names."

Liegen can only let out a resigned chuckle, the wit displayed by his guest impressing him.

"I’m referring to the two children under my care."

"Irak and smoked meat seasoned with beirat. Never knew you have a way with Tamurians, Lieg."

"Currently feeling nostalgic, Aeravor?"

"Please, I don’t even know what my mother looked like."

"And your father?"

Before an innocuous reply, a simmering fire seizes Aeravor. Why did this old man choose to be so annoying at the wrong time? There were days where he felt like killing people on a whim, now such a moment arrives again. Liegen is playing with fire and fire will always consume those playing with it.

"You want to see fire?" snarls Aeravor, his face akin to a beast out to defend its territory, "I’ll make sure you catch fire instead."

Holding out his hand, Liegen shakes his head.

"I offer you my sincere apology as a parish, for no one is ever too lowly to be insulted."

"If you’re sincere, then shut up. Let me finish a good meal in peace like a god and I will make sure you won’t rest in pieces like a dead man."

With a retort intended as a parting shot, Aeravor slows down his eating speed. His sight is still on the food and drink, his focus staying alert to the surroundings. Liegen may have allowed Aeravor to lower his guard for a considerable period, but all it took to turn the situation awry was a comment with nary a malice. If words and actions do define a person, it means there is no telling what this mercenary will do next. Like how there is no reason for sellswords to display friendliness before people of faith unless money is involved, there is no logic behind a cordial conversation ending with a threat this way. After all, some questions are never offensive to a normal person. Whether Aeravor can be called normal, however, is another question altogether.

"I have an offer for you."

"For me or my sword?"

"Your sword."

The ranger ceases his eating, eyes of azure blue eyeing warily at a pair of gentle grey eyes. There is no predicting what the old man’s next move will be, but at least he recognises an offer should one come his way. Nevertheless, the notion of a holy man requesting an ungodly sellsword’s aid remains a jape worth an hour’s laugh.

"Let me ask you a question, holy old man."

"Go ahead."

"Give me a good reason why you need my sword. I know the Imperatum. And I know they ain’t in the business of sitting their arses on comfortable chairs."

"Manpower restraints. It’s like fighting a war. Choosing which battles to fight is half the way to victory. Or defeat for that matter."

"Don’t bullshit me. I know my former brethren exist for a reason. In this world, the Vanir exist for the same damn reason. Not to mention the demon hunters as well. So don’t you dare bullshit me with whatever restraint your merry shiny city got."

"You think I’m making fun of you?"

"I think you’re giving me a dead horse to ride."

"Fine then. I'll tell you the truth. Promise me that you will keep this between me and yourself."

"Keeping secrets is part of the business so long the pay is good," with a wicked grin, Aeravor leans forward like a beast waiting to pounce, "Tell me the details and I’ll assure you no better pay is gonna have my sword."

"A mercenary’s word lies in his sword. I know the rules despite being a sheltered man of faith. Since you’re willing to pledge your word to my offer, I’ll tell you what you want to know."

"Do continue before I get bored," with those words, Aeravor refills his goblet of irak even before it is drained, "I don’t play a noble’s game of formalities. Too tedious and stupid."

"Every now and then, there are errant members of the Holy Quintet Church. Long story short, I need you to deal with one of them. A cult named The House of Flying Goat…"

Before Liegen can finish his words, Aeravor erupts into laughter. There is something about his show of amusement this time around, however. This is a laughter akin to that of a child. Before him is a fully grown adult, someone who can never travel back in time to retrieve things lost in his childhood years. Even though it is only for a momentary flash, the elderly clergyman sees a certain innocence in a brutal man. Perhaps the world is not as bad as one has said. Then again, the world is always full of false dawns and new deceptions.

"This is… this is too funny," guffaws Aeravor, "I’m no playwright, but House of the Flying Goat? What do people do there? Shafting goats and sheep?"

"Human sacrifices."

At Liegen’s answer, Aeravor ceases his laughter. He is no saint, for he has ended lives beyond count. Yet, the notion of dealing with such a cult doesn't fail to intrigue him. Even though it is only due to whims and for never any reason.

"Do go on, old man."

"You only have one job. Get in and get rid of Antis Epines. The first man wearing a goat’s head should be the correct prey for one like you. Give me his horn as proof of your deed done. Anything else?"

"Nothing. I don’t give a shit about what happened between this goat and the rest of the world. You gave me an offer, I make sure you get your money’s worth."

"To get your money, you need my help."

Aeravor recognises too well the speaker, he who is part of the Homm’Nua. Leaning nearby against the wall is an elf dressed in sleeveless doublet, a shirt, and pants fastened by a sash, his look complete with a pair of leather shoes. The sight of silvery blond hair slicked back and tied with strands hanging out at the front is a familiar sight for Aeravor, the intruder caressing his elongated ears while wearing a dishonest smile. While he wouldn't want to get involved with matters concerning Edeaux de Serpentwine, the ranger is forced to admit the Serpent of Histalonia is the only intelligence broker capable of rivalling the Men of Redmarch. At the same time, Deios Symon always charges too steep a fee. Simply put, Edeaux is definitely a more dangerous option since his goals are not always about money. At times, yes. All the time, no.

"When was the last time you offered your service, snake?"

"Recently. This I can assure you, my wolf."

"I’m not sorry to say that I don’t swing the other end. Just tell me why you’re here."

"To give you information."

"Definitely not for free."

Ignoring the Vánagandr, Edeaux takes a deep bow before Liegen.

"Truly humbled I am to know the City of Lights actually seeks my assistance."

"That’s because certain circumstances do call for unconventional measures," sighs Liegen, "Utnapishtim can’t afford to deploy its own warriors of faith to deal with things soldiers of fortune are more accustomed to."

"And you told me about your manpower shortage?" snaps Aeravor, his azure eyes flashing with anger towards Liegen.

"Always possible it is to have two reasons behind any event," interjects Edeaux with a cunning smirk, "You need to stop reacting like a beast. Such a trait can and will get you killed one fine day."

"Fine. You win. The two of you win," concedes Aeravor as he delivers a vulgar gesture at a man of knavery and his counterpart of opposite nature.

)0(

"Attempting to assassinate a fellow clergyperson is never a good idea, Your Excellency. Sending me soup laced with arsenic? And letting a servant girl take the fall after you’re done with her? How deplorable."

Before his hated foe’s goading, Paelos stays his silence. As for Sharry, how dare she failed him? And to think she is now standing here, her eyes without fear. What did that harlot say to her? What did she do to her?

"Slanderous accusations and scurrilous attacks. State your business, grand harlot. I still have things to attend to."

Amused by a show of defiance, the Grand Damsel wonders whether the Legalis of Anglsax knows what he is in for. As part of the ruling elite, Paelos would always maintain an air of moral dignity. As a woman understanding men, Sarel Aphros has no reason to call Aeravor a liar.

"I heard rumours that you’ve been seen carousing with women like me. Slanderous and scurrilous without a doubt."

"This is nonsense. A load of…"

"Bullshit. A load of bullshit. Is that what you’re wanting to say?"

With a quaint smile and a finger tapping her chin, Sarel is clearly enjoying the game. She knows what that man is up to, for Sharry has divulged everything. This was a plot to get rid of someone too dangerous to handle. And there was a tale of horror involving horrible abuse. Lastly, there remains a promise pending fulfilment. After all, a seductress is also a woman, no matter what others may say.

"Blasphemy! To think you are so brazen…"

With a strong firm grip, the white-haired beauty forces a slightly overweight man back to his seat. Paelos is taken aback. How can a mere woman display such inhumane strength? Fear seizes a stranglehold over he who is more used to judging than to be judged, his adversary digging her slender fingers into his shoulders.

"Brazen? Me? Just because I uttered a vulgar word twice? Why thank you for your compliments," cackles Sarel, the sound sending chills into Paelos and Sharry alike, "Unlike Your Excellency, I am but a whore spared from the Seven Hells. You, on the other hand, are a man of the gods awaiting damnation."

With those words, Sarel let out a leer. Standing at the corner is Sharry a servant girl whose freedom was purchased in exchange for being a toy reserved for abominable cravings. Continually abused, she had been haunted by nightmares of being raped in ways more than one. Not anymore now. Sarel has promised her justice. And justice shall be served. As for Paelos, he starts writhing in agony. Yet, the more he struggles the more he is unable to escape. The chair is intended for comfort, a furniture fashioned from Teutonian oak with a cushioned seat made of Cinha silk and Slarvean wool. It is to be both the cell and executioner’s platform, a pyre for the doomed.

"There is a reason why I should be here despite my sins," whispers Sarel as she leans towards the quarry’s ear, her leer never changing, "It is by the decree of the Grand Chaplain himself. It has always been the will of His Holy Eminence, not mine. Let alone yours."

Her statement finished, Sarel forces her fingers into Paelos’ shoulder. The warmth of blood sends a tingling rush from her fingertips to her innermost being. The ecstasy is both physical and emotional, flames summoned from the Circle of Fire immolating the Legalis of Anglsax. To any observer, Sarel may seem merciful. But she who wields the Circle of Fire knows better. For the flames were never converged from without, but rather erupting from within. Not even a scream escaped from the death convict’s lips, such the ruthless sentence proclaimed truly is.

"A goddess…" whispers Sharry, her face wearing fear and awe, "What…"

"I am merely your saviour, Sharry. Not a goddess."

"But that fire…"

"Merely both a gift and a curse."

"A gift… and a curse?"

Not knowing what her new mistress means, Sharry can only behold a corpse blackened and charred. Her tormentor’s face is now reduced to a skull, its jaws wide open and empty sockets replacing the eyes. If he had worn any look of terror, surely it was already fed to the fire. Both a saviour and a goddess, this is the only conclusion she can come up with.

"Remember, Sharry. For mortals to survive, they must become gods. For them to be gods, there must be mortals beneath them begging for grace and mercy."

The advice of Sarel Aphros shocks Sharry back to her senses. She knows how true the words are, though. For the Legalis of Anglsax used to be a god. Until he met a goddess.

)0(

Glossary:

Irak: A distilled alcoholic beverage made from berries and raisins. Commonly consumed by both the Tamurian men and women as a show of collective unity and individual strength.

Beirat: A chilli pepper paste consisting of red and green peppers, herbs, and garlic. One of the two types of condiments used by the Tamurians, the other being a kind of mustard named mousadi.


Additional notes:
1. Homunculus is a legal term. We all know the real Full Metal Alchemist and the brown guy versus the white guy.

However, I can't spoil it for you.

2. Irak is inspired by the Middle Eastern liquor Arak. More specifically, the idea came from the Persian version.

3. Beirat isn't inspired by Beirut because that one is the capital of Lebanon. Rather, it is inspired by a combination of baharat and harissa.

)0(

Source

Chains, Scars, And Pride

"Bring with you three things: The sword, the purse, and your life. The sword for money, the purse for whores, and your life for both."

~Invocation of the Sword and Purse, also known as every sellsword's rite of passage

Source

)0(

"Hey wake up, Aera!"

It was her again… Ji'Yeon’s annoying sister. It has been three days since Aeravor agreed to Ji'Yeon’s request. As a sellsword, the world was his home. As an individual, he was never one to owe a debt. Even though that stupid girl promised not to write it down, the Vánagandr still felt terribly annoyed. Annoyed at her for being such a busybody and annoyed at himself for being so easily persuaded. Yet, he acknowledged there was something in her which attracted him. It wasn’t her beauty, for he paid before whores more attractive than her and blessed with experience. It wasn’t her inner fire, for Ineis displayed it before.

For the first time in his life, the wolf was cornered. Facing the known has never been a problem, for his years were spent laughing at death itself. It was the unknown which unsettled him, something in her that could not be seen. It was both a feeling of dread and one of hope, a contradiction unto itself. Aeravor was no stranger to paradox. He himself was one, every mortal likewise the same. Yet, this was a monster totally different.

)0(

The village of Enosh is one used to peace and quiet. Yet, every man and boy has to take up arms. Tranquillity to every manner of bandits is an excuse. It is a reason to loot and burn, a justification to kill, rape, and enslave. No one in the Empire has ever tried counting how many attacks have been launched, neither does anyone ever attempt to fathom a guess how many settlements were sacked or successfully defended. The authorities never say anything, the only notable move made is to ensure rebuilding is never to be stopped. Then there are the mounties, specially trained forces to counter such raids. At the same time, military troops are also required to help if deployment becomes a problem deemed unsolvable. Rebuilding requires money and there is a saying: "A wise man builds bridges, but a successful one chooses wisely his bet".

"Thanks, looney old man."

Before a statement of gratitude rudely put, Hannya gives a grin. He remembers the first question Lars asked him, days after he took in a boy with neither kin nor a home. As a Cinha, he was brutally disfigured over a crime he did not commit. Treason may be tempting, but the punishment is never pretty. Half of his face has been burnt, his right arm severed at the shoulder. Countless years have passed, the one who framed him most likely resting six feet under a whitewashed tomb instead of at some commoners’ graveyard. So much for justice.

"Are we born like that?"

He wasn’t interested in the repulsive, but rather the destructive. A power which wiped out both demons and victims alike, a violent force taking away more than just countless lives. This was also the first question Hannya asked his teacher when he claimed his first kill. The second one was, "Why always me?"

Demon hunters are doomed to be cursed, the source of their anguish lying in their blood. Hannya never knew what his father was thinking when he had sex with a female Vánagandr, a mother whose face he has never seen. His own people call them the Jinroh, but he prefers calling them the Wolf Brigade, the same term Kalarans use for a race both elven and not.

"You’re welcomed, brat. I’ve convinced Flaive not to make noise and try killing you."

"Only because you hypnotised that guy," smirks Lars Alterfate as he sips his tea, "I hope you never use that on anyone to tend your garden."

"You’re never one to commit rape, Lars. Whoremonger, yes. Rapist, no. I’ve seen you grow up from a boy to a man. And that includes being a lad in between."

Lars can only afford to laugh at his teacher’s words. This is the only person whom he regards as a father, the rest be damned. He recalls that disapproving frown from the local parish, his displeasure always finding joy in comparing a struggler’s worth with that of the rest. Those of his age looked down on him, those of senior age faked themselves as people of wisdom and truth. Lars never knew his real parents. Even until now, he doesn’t know a thing about them. He chose not to hate anyone. Even until now, he chooses not to. They didn’t do anything for him, they never gave him a reason to warrant forgiveness. However, Ji'Yeon managed to convince the demon hunter to take another path, a choice which he wasn't strong enough to make until those words arrived.

"If it’s never possible to forget, then a day will surely come where you need to decide whether or not to forgive. You can’t run away, Lars. Because no one can."

Ji'Yeon never forced her beliefs down anyone’s throat, yet there was something drawing Lars to her inner world. An inner world where the unattainable was the conqueror and the flawed became the conquered. It was an inner world which felt so cold and warm at the same time, the greatest contradiction of all. An inner world of ice and fire.

The Circle of Fire… what if Tae was indeed responsible for Aera going insane? Chaotic shit, how wonderful…

"You pulled that off again?" interrupting Lars on the spot, Hannya’s hazel brown eyes never strayed once from his student’s golden irises.

"You mean pulling a rabbit off my arse? I doubt so."

"Don’t give me your bullshit and that shrug, Lars Alterfate," sighs the Cinha demon hunter, the act of mentioning Lars’ full name a show of exasperation, "If not for that rabbit you're talking about, Tanee would have ended up in the worst possible state. And that’s me putting it in a nice way. I don’t want to imagine what stupid things Flaive would have done if she actually survived the ordeal."

"What if I say yes? What if I say I pushed the Chains of Judgement past its rightful limit again?"

"You alter a person’s fate, you’re playing with your life. Others may say it's the most powerful aspect of what you have, but I call it the real deal rather than the biggest deal. Thankfully, it is not so bad if you choose to feed. By the way, when was the last time you've had a decent meal?"

"When I saved fair lady Tan. No choice but to use my scythe. Too many demons plus one dangerous son of a wolf out to gut me."

"Alright, I assume things are not that bad," nods Hannya, "I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you always refuse to feed on the demons you reaped. Any other demon hunter would have died. Even myself."

"I hate that taste. Ever tried cannibalism?"

"Demons are demons, people are people. Damn it, Lars. Just damn it. And besides, we're not eating them like eating meat."

"No, you’re wrong. You’re only correct on the last part, looney old man. Demons don’t kill, people do."

"So you’re going to settle for herbs and vegetables just because cows and sheep bleed like you and me?"

"I know it’s hypocrisy… but do I smell a pot of gyunabu cooking somewhere?"

"Okay, you win. I give up," laughs Hannya with both hands up, his resigned look akin to a teacher surrendering to a problematic student, "Seriously though, Lars, stop your whoring. Just settle down with a decent girl and maybe have a couple of kids. You really need a decent life to set yourself right, I dare swear this in the name of the Mikoto."

The heavily burdened demon hunter stays his tongue, but he knows the humour behind his mentor’s reply. Half of him wonders with regret what if Ji'Yeon had never died. The other half recalls with amusement that dusky girl all flustered over his athletic frame. For some reason, the living invokes inside him fond memories of the dead.

)0(

Utnapishtim, a city built underground. It is a kingdom of splendour with no one knowing the boundaries of its reach. When the Holy Quintet faith first began, it was anything but that. A catastrophic sequence of events changed for good the fortunes of the faithful, a part of history mocking the existence of gods. In a twisted tale of how the good should be rewarded, demons beset Causacea shortly after the Accord of Wyrms was signed and ratified. The Causaceans turned on those who brokered peace in the first place, none giving heed to explanations. The demons targeted all before their inhumane gaze, no cause was pleaded on behalf of those not guilty. If not for a company of sellswords led by an elf whose name is now forgotten, all would have been lost and all would surely fade. Kings and people were saved due to exploits of the brave, priests and clergy were given a new lease of life due to gold, gems, and craftsmen. None of them came from those who wronged the innocent, however. Instead, the gifts came from the Homm’Nua. A people, who by right and every reason, had no cause to do this.

Aeravor wakes up to a peculiar sight. His room is lit with a chandelier bearing lights of various colours. Yellow, orange, and soothing red, they induce a calm which he has never known for countless years. He gets up from his bed only to realise he is stark naked. Clucking his tongue, he starts rummaging for his belongings, a mess soon replacing an otherwise tidy room.

"How impressive."

The ranger ignores the speaker. Sarel Aphros closes onto the Vánagandr, her nudity displaying in full view before Aeravor’s narrowed eyes of blue. Fire flares up inside him, the source hailing from his loins. Yet, he has lived a life where resolve alone matters. For a moment, he is reminded of what Ineis said about him after their first night of passion.

My Steelborn… Aeravor Steelborn.

Steelborn… indeed a resolve of steel is what prevented Aeravor from snapping Sarel’s neck or raping her on the spot. That is whichever comes first. His brethren called him the result of a miscarriage, someone who should have been dead in his mother’s womb. They soon realised what kind of monster he’s meant to be, for no Vánagandr or any other entity for that matter can command more than one deum. Let alone all four. Aeravor isn’t a genius, but a monster and a force of nature in every sense. An existence rejected by the world, he knows the meaning of Contra Mundum beyond mere words.

Sarel gently grabs Aeravor’s crotch, eyes of crimson red daring the wolf to ravage her. His answer is a low growl and a snarling face, his stinging slap spurning her goading hand. No one has changed apart from Nanaya no Tae'Jin. Lars has never changed a single bit, the same goes for Aeravor. As for her beloved sister…

"Where are my things?"

Wistful thoughts interrupted by a disruptive man, Sarel nevertheless gives a cunning smile. There is no point in acceding to Aeravor’s request. At the same time, there is no reason for her not to play the pandering whore. This is a murderer and whoremonger, a sellsword in every sense of the identity. She has seen many men, some like him and others not so much. She finds it interesting that despite his moral flaws and a lack of shame, Aeravor remains a more righteous man than the rest. For to her, righteousness always starts from honesty. And no man is more honest than the wolf in front of her. The saying is right after all, that a wolf knows best every man. Not to mention every woman as well.

"I got rid of them. So utterly worn out…"

With nary a consideration, Aeravor slams Sarel against the wall, his iron grip pinned against her throat. He is not going to give a single damn about her Circle of Fire. If triggering the Circle of Ice is the only way, so be it. This was the final gift from Kagetsu no Ji'Yeon, the last song she gave to the only man she loved. It matters not to him whether he is worthy, for the only thing matters most to Aeravor is to respect her freedom of choice. Such is the only act of reciprocation a brutal sellsword can do for that kindest soul.

"So utterly worn out, I have actually found for you replacements of better quality. Don’t worry, I never touched the Edge of Answerer. There’s no way I will survive whatever rejection coming from it."

If Sarel has hoped for Aeravor to display any show of surprise over her words, she chooses to mask her disappointment. Never once does the ranger loosen his grip. But at least he chooses not to tighten further a noose that is his hand. The Grand Damsel of Utnapishtim is suddenly amused, her mirth never showing its hand. She is reminded of how a berserk knight had held her in the same way, a knight named Kain Lamrec and Arondight. Then a crashing sound is heard.

There before the two is a young girl, her trembling frame and wide eyed shock an indication of trouble. In a single flash, Sarel appears in front of her, an eruption of crimson sparks scorching Aeravor’s hand.

"What is your name?"

The girl is definitely no older than fifteen. Sarel Aphros has a decent idea of what might be happening behind her back, for she does not recall having this servant girl. Going down on a knee, Sarel caresses the terrified girl who is now on the verge of tears.

"Sha… Sharry…"

"Sharry… good. Please tell me why you’re here since I don’t remember having a servant girl by this name."

"Will you kill me?"

"You’re quite calm for someone waiting to be killed, little girl," quips Aeravor as he starts getting dressed before an opened wardrobe, "That mad bitch Brynhilda would have you in her ranks under different circumstances."

"No, I am not going to kill you. You have my word, Sharry. And besides, I won’t be surprised if you prefer having me as your mistress instead of… well, some morally upright man who can’t keep his lower body covered."

"Legalis Paelos… of…"

"The Legalis of Anglsax. A well-known man of the gods whom I’ve seen caressing whores," smirks Aeravor as he faces Sharry, his grin ever so wide. He has already fastened his pants and his boots as well. However, his lean torso of well-sculpted bronze remains bared much to Sarel’s amusement and Sharry’s blushes.

"Get yourself totally dressed first."

Ignoring Sarel’s words, Aeravor’s visage turns sombre. His gaze hardened like stone and iron, nary an emotion can be seen. Brief silence ensues for Aeravor and Sarel, yet it feels like an eternity of suffocation for young Sharry.

"Let me give you an advice, little girl. Whether you take it or leave it is not my problem. The world is a merciless foe. It won’t wait for any straggler and it won’t remember the strugglers. People die and the world doesn't give a shit. Advice over."

With his words finished, Aeravor takes the remainder of his belongings and walks out of the door. With his torso naked still.

)0(

It is a land of winter, the blizzard assaulting me from all directions. I feel the chill seeping into my bones, yet I am able to stand firm in spite of it. There is no life to be seen, everything in this realm speaks of death. Death… yes, I believe that was how death should look like when my mother left a world where the living is remembered and the dead forgotten. Mayhap this is my inner world ever since people mourned for Eirlanna Ulst-Eliaden, the only one whom I still call mother.

Knowing not how long I have trekked or the distance covered, all I want is to find a place. A refuge for the wanderer, a house or a cave. The surroundings are oddly clear despite the blizzard. I can see a frozen lake to my right while a pack of wolves prowl the tundra at my left. It is a beautiful sight nevertheless, a fanciful portrait of something unattainable. What that something is I know not, just that it feels far more real than the many things in my life. Perhaps Karen was right, that 'tis really true a woman's instinct is like an unerring arrow finding its mark.

Then the wolves start surrounding me, their eyes of azure blue reminding me of him. I have never forgotten even once that man. He who stood under an azure moon, he whom I knew to bear scars unseen and aplenty. How is he now? Is he healed? Or are the scars still there? Despite their wary gaze, the wolves neither snarl nor make a single growl. It feels as if… no, it cannot be. How can it be? How can a mere girl like me command respect from a pack of beasts?

Then they start moving forward, a march going ahead of me. Are they leading me to somewhere? Is there something in their den which I must see? A truth that I must know, no matter what? I give in to that nagging feeling of curiosity, a trait my mother instilled in me much to my father’s displeasure.

Their steps are quick, but I am able to keep up with them. From the tundra to a rocky slope I enter a forest, a place which should never have existed here in the first place. A forest populated by pine and spruce, a silent realm gifting me the greatest peace I have ever experienced. The wolves travel like a meandering stream and I am like a boat carried by the currents. Finding my way around the trunks and through the shrubs, I arrive before a cave. Then I realise one thing: The pack is nowhere to be seen.

A rumbling growl abruptly greets my ears, tremors reaching deep down inside my heart. A monster is inside, but something in me says I must play the intruder. If not, I will surely then wake up from this dream full of regrets. Joenne has always complimented my bravery while Karen’s attitude is always a mixture of envy and worry. As for myself, to the Seven Hells with pragmatism. I may be a Cinha, but I don’t think like one if rumours of my kindred are even half as true.

The cave is dimly lit with torches lining the side. Despite the difference between a burning stick and the hearth in my room, the warmth feels real. Too real to be dismissed as a dream. I do not know the interior of the monster’s den, but there seems to be only one path available. A single path which I do not know is leading up or down, left or right. Then I reach the end. It is not a dead end as I half-expected. It is a door not made from wood, but of iron hard and cold. And behind it, the monster is there. I hear its snarl shaking me unto the very core, the growling now supplanted by a sound more akin to a lion’s roar. My senses are numbed, my hand extending towards a door with neither handle nor a knocker. Then it suddenly opens by itself. Like panels forced open by a sudden gale, the door opened just like that.

The cold is surely not an illusion, my bones chilled to the marrow. For a moment, I lose my senses. I can only stumble forward like a blind girl trying to find her way through the harshest snowstorm. Then I behold that most awesome sight. The pack of wolves are already there surrounding one of their own. It is a lone wolf bound with chains, the ends fastened by a sword embedded into the ground. There is no way it can break free, the blade serving as both the lock and key. Unlike its fellow brethren whose fur is of silvery grey, the prisoner wears a coat of black. Like them, its eyes are of azure blue. Its physique is larger than any of them. On all fours, even the greatest of their own can only reach its shoulders.

Alas, the pack do not regard it as one of their own. They nip their target in a seemingly playful manner, yet I know a taunt when I see one. Words of mockery in the guise of jest have been my lot, a cloak of compliments hiding the knife of lust is something I have to endure lest my father’s honour is challenged. Unlike the life I have lived thus far, the prisoner’s pride still runs free.

Without thinking, I allow the rage to seize hold of me. Why should I, a daughter of House Eliaden, allow such injustice to prevail? I grab the nearest wolf by its tail and give my hardest pull. I don’t care what will happen next, to the Seven Hells with the outcome. A loud yelp warms my heart, then it skips a beat. My mother always had this to say about the Vánagandr: Anger the least of the pack and they will tear you apart.

Then the black beast chained let out that roar I heard earlier, the foundation of the den shaken unto its very core. Thrown off-balance and totally disoriented, I find myself landed on my behind. As for its tormentors, they have fled by the time I regain my composure. Compassion takes hold of me, an impulse that would get anyone killed. I foolishly extend a hand towards that prisoner anchored to its own cell. With a low growl, the wolf snaps forward. If not for the chains holding it back, surely my right hand would have been gone and eaten.

"How impulsive."

Turning around, I see a maiden around my age. Her features and complexion are unmistakable. Like me, she’s a Cinha. Her smile is both of joy and sorrow, a contradiction. Unlike me who is dressed in a chemise of linen, she is wearing some sort of full-bodied dress I have never seen before. It is a sleek dress with loose sleeves and fastened with a sash, its colour wholly red with flowery prints of light pink.

She steps forth towards the wolf, my heart freezing on the spot. To my amazement, the captive allows itself to be caressed. Giving me a bemused look while scratching its ears, my fellow Cinha never changes her expression. For some reason, jealousy starts raging inside me. Why? Why such a feeling for no cause at all?

"His name is Aeravor. You’ll do well not to forget this."

"Aeravor? Wait, if that wolf is called Aeravor, then what about you?"

Walking past me, the maiden starts singing a song. A song full of sadness, the lyrics stirring up a fire inside me.

The wolf, the lion, a maiden fair.

A dirge for those alive.

A child deprived of warmth and love.

His laughter against death.

The wolf, the lion, a maiden fair.

A dirge for those alive.

A boy who dreams to be a man.

A life saved, yet no more.

The wolf, the lion, a maiden fair.

A dirge for those alive.

The dragons gone, yet one still lives.

Her life, her love, her path.

)0(

Alestrial wakes up. Night has yet to bid farewell, her gentle eyes of brown looking at the dark sky liberally sprinkled with stars and illuminated by the crescent moon. She desires to see him again, a yearning heart reminiscing that starless night adorned with a full moon of azure blue.

Aeravor… is that your name? And that sword embedded behind you… what is it to you?

)0(

Glossary:

Gyunabu: A simple Cinha meat stew inspired by the real-life sukiyaki and nabe.

Circle: For the lack of a better way to put, it refers to any semblance of a spiritual realm. If the concept sounds familiar to you, good. Otherwise, try googling Dante Alighieri.

Anglsax: The capital city of Teutonia. The name is basically all about me hashing together the words Anglo and Saxony.


Additional notes:
1. The village of Enosh is basically me being uncreative. In Berserk, there's a village called Enoch. So I just decided to mess around and use the name Enosh. Like Enoch, Enosh is also a name recorded in the Book of Genesis. More specifically, Enosh was the son of Seth (Warning: Berserk was banned 17 years ago in my homeland of Singapore for a very good reason).

2. Ineis von Stormhearth is inspired by an actual elven queen who happened NOT to be Galadriel.

Honestly speaking, I don't know who was responsible for this artwork of Francesca Findabair.

Hence, I can only link it back to here.

3. The part where Lars commented on cannibalism may seem shocking to you. After I pulled it off, however, I realised someone actually did that before.

Alucard facing off against the white hoods and Nazis actually reminded me of the conflict between Stalin and Hitler. After all, Wallachia was considered Slavic in every sense of the word.

4. Hannya is actually a legit term in Japanese culture. If there is anyone I know whose name sounds even remotely like Hannya, no matter whether it's Hanyang, Hanya, or whatever Han, I apologise in advance.

5. The decision to add in Ji'Yeon's song was inspired by the anime Trigun where a character named Rem actually... well, sang a song.

Lyrics

6. The dress Ji'Yeon was wearing is... well, a kimono of sorts.

7. The concept of the Edge of Answerer killing anyone apart from its rightful owner was something J.R.R Tolkien did for Anduril if I remember correctly.

)0(

Source

P.S: Nearly forgot to mention that Lars calling Hannya a looney old man was something taken from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Not the recent Emma Watson-Dan Stevens version, but rather the actual animation N years ago. Unfortunately, I can't find that scene where Gaston sang something about "that looney old man".