The Wind-Soaring Valorous

Her falcon helm has two extra pairs of eyes, so as to make certain she can see clearly all around in any light. Yet those eyes are now caked with dried blood, and everything in view is stained the color of rust.

The general woke from her coma and crawled up out of the mountain of corpses. Behind her, the “Cloudgazing Mirror” stood tall as a tower reaching into the sky. At the top of the tower a beam of light poured out without pause, repeating coded messages that only the astrologers could decipher. Bearing the will of trillions of people in the Alliance, it was praying to the gods. At this moment, she and her lifeless comrades lying scattered all around had fought until now for this alone, so that these whispers would reach heaven and be granted death.

“It has come...” the general whispered, lifting her eyes. She could not see the shape of the god, could not hear its voice, but she could feel the proof of its arrival, waves of scorching air rising, like heated iron sliding across her flesh. The blazing red star of fire danced through the mist of blood like a curtain hiding the sky, and in the moment that followed it was torn open by a terrible beam of light...

It had come, the miracle bought with the countless deaths of officers and soldiers had appeared. She had once seen celestial remnants punished by the gods turned into a realm of death, and she had once fought while chasing the trace of this light. She had assumed this light was extremely swift, so swift that it left no room for a single stray thought. But she was wrong. In that instant there was at least enough time for her to remember her beloved student.

“Then pray! Pray that the road ahead be clear...”

The ground surged like a violent wave, screams spread along with the sea of light, and she no longer held any worldly thought. She became a mote of dust within the light.

The Verdantia soldiers under her command were no less fierce than the Borisin wolf army. Even with swords broken, bows broken, not an inch of iron left in their hands, they could still fight to the very end with only the sharp claws upon their bracelets.

It is said that the Foxian soldiers of the Verdantia Guard freed many worlds ruled by the Borisin. The Foxians born in the “occupied territories” carried mixed blood, and now and then mutant individuals appeared who suffered the condition of “atavism”. These Foxians were taken as war slaves, manipulated and controlled by their wolf-headed masters, made into the vanguard before every battle and into shields against the attacks of the Xianzhou.

“Join the Verdantia army and we will give you the chance to take revenge on those wolf-headed masters!” During recruitment and training, the general still remembered saying that to the little Foxian girl. But she felt guilty over the second half of the sentence, which she could never bring herself to say, we are all the same, born for war and dying for war as well.

Although the war slaves possessed strength and speed equal to their wolf-headed masters, the mutation also drained away their lives and their reason. When their will was burned up by frenzy, a war slave became a bloodthirsty monster.

When pure bestial frenzy took command of their bodies, once the final pursuit of this life was finished, those bracelets would become shackles binding their hands, hard to part from flesh and blood.

She still remembered the ancient folk songs of the fox people. What they sang was a tune that never became a melody, only mournful laments for a country that was lost.

“The fox wanders on the far shore. It walks unhurried, hungry and thirsty. Its heart carries sorrow, and yet no one knows”...

Beginning thousands of years ago, they became livestock, servants, and currency under the fangs and claws of the wolves. Thousands of years later, they were still fighting tirelessly to free their own people. Although they had no bodies that could constantly change and grow stronger like their natural enemies, they possessed keen intelligence and flexible wits.

The wolf-headed masters ordered them to make tools for use, but gouged out their eyes to keep them from learning by stealth, and at the same time forbade them to own metal so they could not make tools. Yet none of this could erase the longing within the fox people. One day, surely, they would teach the hunter to understand the fear of being hunted. One day, surely, they would trade places with the hunter, and open a chase that never rests.

In the end, the Foxians used porcelain as armor. Verdantia porcelain armor is light as the wind and hard as steel, and the claws of the wolf-headed masters and their weapons of bone and flesh could not do it the slightest harm.

The general put on the porcelain armor and charged upon the wind together with the Verdantia soldiers, becoming the nightmare of the Borisin. They formed up, advanced and withdrew like a flock of birds of prey, moving together in perfect step. But no matter how hard the armor might be, she still believed this, only a body tempered by pain is the finest weapon, and comrades who share every hardship are the sturdiest armor of all.

“Birds spread their wings, beasts bare fang and claw. Who says we have nothing to hold on to, our own people are our armor.”

She watched the figure of the little girl dart away like a rabbit under the hazy moon. She followed the girl's footsteps and scent as though chasing prey. In the end, she waited for the girl at the end of the road.

Or perhaps the girl was waiting for her to come.

Under the shining moonlight, the general saw that face clearly.

“Do you want to join the Cloud Knights?”

“I don't want to sell my life for a wolf-headed boss.”

The girl spoke Borisin with difficulty and in broken pieces. That expression upon her face, the general had seen it countless times while rescuing her own kin in the occupied territories.

Although these people shared the same blood as her, they spoke different languages and held different thoughts.

They had never regarded themselves as descendants of the fox tribe, but then, who were they?

The general trembled slightly and stepped aside to clear the way.

“Go, from today on they will chase you no longer...”

“But I want them dead.”

The general stared at the little girl in disbelief, astonished as though she had seen a meteor streak across the sky, and that small beast-like figure suddenly melted into the darkness.

The general closed her eyes, as if the moonlight were burning them. After a while she lowered her head and saw the girl's bare feet covered with thorn scars and smeared with mud.

“Why aren't you wearing shoes?”

“I forgot to bring them, I didn't notice.”

The general took off her own war boots, compared the size, and put them on the girl.

“They fit rather well... Then let us set out.”

“And what about you?”

“I got used to walking on thorns long ago.”

She strode off, her bare feet as if flying, and the little girl kept close behind her the whole way.

Or perhaps it was that the two of them were chasing one another.