Gods and Fiends

Chapter Two: Lei

Near the southern border of the Vant Empire lay the province of Sili, stretching beside the vast Breeze Plains. It belonged to Duke Green, a man of dubious renown. With a population exceeding five million, Sili was the Empire’s richest source of grain, timber, and fur.

At the southernmost edge of the province, where a modest range of hills curved along the plains, nestled a remote village of barely three hundred souls. Cut off from trade routes, its people lived in isolation, untouched even by the half-month-long war already raging beyond the mountains.

The rain had just passed. The ground was thick with black mud, steaming under the returning sun. The air was startlingly clean, as though all dust had been washed from the world.

A group of youths, bare-chested and laughing, came charging down the village’s only road, brandishing long wooden poles like spears. Mud splashed over their legs, but they cared little—once dry, the stains would brush away easily.

They stopped before a small thatched hut and shouted, “Lei! Come on out! The weather’s clear—Uncle Ster’s teaching us spearwork again!”

From within emerged a young man—taller, sturdier than the others, skin bronzed, head shaven clean. His features were honest but plain. Yet despite his strength, something soft and weary lingered in his eyes—a quiet resignation born not of cowardice, but of long-endured hardship.

“I’ll pass,” Lei said, shaking his head and hefting a bow nearly as tall as himself. “You go ahead. I’m heading to the hills—maybe I’ll bring back a deer if luck’s with me.”

The fair-haired youth leading the group frowned. “Lei, you never come train! What if something happens to the village?”

Lei only shrugged. “What could happen? Duke Green’s camp is just beyond the plains—no one would dare attack us. Besides, my mother’s been coughing again. I’d better hunt while I can.”

The boys fell silent. Everyone knew Lei’s father had died early, leaving behind only a sickly mother. The blond one sighed and waved. “Fine then. Just be careful. We’ll teach you what we learn today!” With that, they ran off toward Ster’s hut at the far slope.

Lei chuckled softly, slung a quiver of bamboo arrows over his back, and padded barefoot toward the forested hills. He did wish he could join them—to learn the craft of battle, to listen to old Ster’s tales of heroism. “Uncle Ster must’ve been a real fighter,” he mused aloud. “How else could he survive so many wars?” Then, smirking to himself: “Or maybe he was just really good at running away.”

He glanced around guiltily, half-expecting the gruff veteran to appear and cuff him on the head for the thought.

Meanwhile, the group of youths reached Ster’s cottage, calling out, “Uncle Ster! Stop stealing Auntie’s wine or we’ll tell her!”

A booming laugh erupted from within, followed by a burly, red-faced man with a thick beard and a faint smell of liquor. “You little brats! A man can’t even enjoy a sip in peace? Fine! You—Bitt—let’s see what you’ve learned!”

The blond youth cheered, threw aside his stick, and lunged forward, feinting a punch that turned midway into an elbow strike. Ster deflected it with ease, seized the boy by the belt, and sent him sprawling into the mud.

“Hey!” Bitt roared. “We’re supposed to practice technique, not brute strength!”

“Technique without power is useless!” Ster laughed. “That’s a soldier’s lesson for you. This move’s called the Crushing Blow—the simplest, deadliest punch in the Vant army. I once used it to kill a mage of the Smart Empire—earned a hundred gold coins for his head!”

The boys gasped. Everyone knew Ster was the richest man in the village—perhaps those wild tales weren’t lies after all.

Soon the yard filled with laughter, shouts, and flying mud. Bitt attacked again and again until exhaustion dropped him flat. “I can’t move! This form drains everything!”

Ster snorted. “Of course it does! Killing takes strength. You think war’s a game? When I trained under a Black Iron Knight, he’d whip us till we collapsed—then made us run again!”

The boys groaned. Ster sighed. “You’re lazy fools. A man should hone his strength, even if he never joins the army. What if you need to fend for yourself one day? That Lei kid—if he’d train properly—he’d outmatch all of you.”

“He can’t,” one youth protested. “He has his mother to care for. Without him, she’d starve. We help him with the fields when we can.”

Ster nodded grimly. “I offered to help, but he refused—stubborn boy. Thinks I’d sell him off or something!”

Bitt laughed. “Uncle Ster wouldn’t sell us—but he would beat us half to death!”

Ster aimed a kick at him, but the youth caught his leg, twisting it playfully. Off-balance on his bad leg, Ster toppled into the mud as the boys whooped with delight, piling onto him. “Heavy Punch, ninth form!” they cried between laughter.

When they finally released him, Ster wiped his face and froze. “What in—? Soldiers?”

Down the distant path, a small troop of riders approached—seventeen in all, gleaming in armor, the lead bearing a bronze insignia.

Ster’s expression darkened. “A Bronze Knight… and Black Iron troopers? Has war reached us again?”

The boys, however, ran downhill to greet them, eyes wide with awe. “A Bronze Knight! Look!”

The riders halted. The knight at their head smiled kindly. “Is this Kalli Village?”

“Yes, sir!” Bitt bowed low. “Do you seek the village chief?”

Ster arrived, limping but sharp-eyed. Spotting the emblem on the knight’s chest—a roaring panther with five fangs—he saluted crisply. “Sir!”

The soldiers dismounted and returned the salute, surprised to find a veteran here. The knight introduced himself. “Klaus, commander of the Second Company, Third Brigade under Duke Green. We’re here to conscript recruits. Please take us to your elder.”

“Conscription?” Ster’s voice faltered.

Klaus nodded apologetically. “All able-bodied men aged sixteen to thirty-five are to enlist. Forgive us—it’s the Duke’s decree.”

He sighed. “I know it’s spring, the sowing season. But the Duke’s lands border the front; we must gather every man we can until reinforcements arrive.”

Ster’s heart sank. If an officer himself had come to recruit, the situation must be dire indeed. Yet he said nothing, only turned to lead them toward the village square.

Later that morning, as villagers gathered anxiously, Klaus addressed them. “Do not fear. Those drafted will serve as reserves, not front-line troops. The Duke’s elite army defends the border. You will remain nearby, keeping order and guarding the province.”

His words calmed few. Murmurs spread—who would tend the fields? How would families survive?

“Enough!” Klaus’s voice rang out, firm as steel. “The Duke has promised compensation. Each recruit will receive one gold coin—immediately.”

When Lei’s name was called, he stepped forward hesitantly. “Sir, I’ll go—but my mother is ill. She cannot work alone.”

The villagers spoke up for him, their sympathy genuine. Klaus sighed. “A noble son. Here—one gold coin. It should see her through the year.”

Lei’s eyes widened. A whole gold coin! In hunting, he’d earn that much only after nearly a year. Relieved, he accepted the coin with both hands, already thinking of medicine and warm meals for his mother.

Klaus watched him with a quiet pang. He knew the truth: the Duke had allotted two coins per recruit, but corruption had devoured half before they ever reached his hands. Yet what could he say? Those responsible were untouchable.

By noon, fifty men stood ready—nearly every able youth in Kalli Village. Klaus distributed the promised coins faithfully, winning their trust.

“Your recruits look strong,” he said to Ster, noticing Lei’s lean muscles. “Especially that one.”

Ster shook his head. “He’s powerful, but untrained. Hunts more than he fights. Bitt and the others know technique—he doesn’t.”

Klaus nodded. Raw strength without discipline was of little use. Still, he smiled faintly as Ster boasted that his students had mastered most of the Thirty-Six Spear Forms. “Good,” the knight said. “Such men will harden quickly.” He tossed two coins to Ster. “For your efforts.”

By afternoon, the new recruits marched away under Klaus’s banner. The villagers waved with tears and blessings as their sons vanished down the road.

Klaus turned to his lieutenant. “See how loyal our people are? No protests, no desertion. The Smart Empire’s peasants hide from service—but ours step forward.”

The lieutenant, a bronze knight bearing the emblem of a fanged leopard, grinned. “That’s why the Vant legions are the strongest in the world. They fight for discipline, not deceit.”

Marching beside the horsemen, Lei listened curiously. “Sir,” he asked, “the Smart Empire worships the God of Intrigue, the Light Empire the God of Radiance, and the Dark Empire the God of Night. But why does our Empire have no god at all?”

Klaus blinked, caught off guard. After a moment’s pause, he snapped, “We have no need of gods. Strength is our faith! Only the weak rely on spirits to shield them.”

Lei flushed and bowed. “Yes, sir. You’re right.”

Klaus looked ahead, his voice quieter now. “Let priests chase dreams—we win wars.”

And so, beneath a bright and indifferent sky, Lei walked on—toward his first taste of war, toward a destiny he could neither imagine nor escape.