Jackal Among Snakes

Ji Meng stood still as his honor guard put his armor on again. Some time ago, he thought he’d never again experience this feeling. He thought he’d grow fat, like a pig fated for slaughter, until Argrave’s hammer came down. But there was a new path—one where he didn’t need to worry about the excesses of the imperial court, the scheming, because someone else would handle it for him.

Perhaps he was simply broken after being in captivity. Regardless, as his guard tightened the last strap of his armor, one stepped forward with his dadao in hand. He took it up. It felt heavy, weighty, after he’d neither seen nor touched it for so long. But Ji Meng hefted it firmly in hand and strode toward the door, flanked by his own men who were similarly unchained.

When he left the room, an army waited for him. They watched him as he walked toward his horse, the tension of a battle soon to come set over the field. There was chatter, silence, and laughter in equal amounts—various mechanisms to deal with the anxiety of battle. For Ji Meng, there was only a hunger. A hunger to earn, to prove, and lastly, to rule. He no longer cared in what capacity—the Great Chu was his.

Wordlessly, he straddled his horse and placed his weapon in a sheathe tied to the horse’s saddle. He held out his hand, and his honor guard delivered to him a familiar ornate horn. He raised it to his lips and blew. Wyverns flew up into the sky as a low, rumbling note echoed throughout the battlefield, drawing the attention of all. When the sole focus of an army fell upon him, Ji Meng gathered his breath to speak.

His vital force empowered his speech, echoing out louder than the horn that preceded it. “We march to save our countrymen. We march to destroy the gods that would fracture our empire with imposters, then set it aflame. We march, children of the empire, to restore the balance of heaven.”

Nothing more needed to be said. Ji Meng raised the horn back to his lips, and blew it thrice—the signal for a march. And an army that had been on the cusp of falling apart hours before… it advanced to where the carnage of gods in their ivory tower above left its mark on the earth.

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Dimocles rather enjoyed the throne of Emperor Ji Meng. Even the body wasn’t half-bad. He sat, the puppets of the imperial court arrayed around him, as they fruitlessly argued in circles about the wanton destruction raging about them. It was nothing more than playacting—a countdown, waiting for the south to fall apart under the Qircassian Coalition’s excessively ruthless move.

himself properly, Vasquer’s forces would suffer massive damage, and Dimocles could swoop in with all the fury of the whole Great Chu and mop things

“My emperor!”

gleeful thoughts as a messenger stormed in, coming to kneel before him. He wanted to reprimand the fellow, but messengers held a special status in the

force is fully restored, and he reinforces city after city to lessen the burden of the defense. Some… some local

the messenger for even daring to give this imposter the title of ‘emperor.’ Dimocles was baffled. Was this another trick, a machination of the god Rook, perhaps? Had Argrave a person under his thrall that knew polymorphism? Dimocles had received this A-rank ascension from Erlebnis himself, and was

this Yellow Emperor,” Dimocles commanded

through any and all attacks that assail the cities or any foolish enough to resist. His honor guard, meanwhile, is said to be the

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man’s tone—wavering belief. This uneasiness he felt was mirrored in his court as silence consumed the room until only the heavy breathing of the exhausted messenger could be heard. These people, puppets all, looked to Dimocles for their answer. Dimocles in turn

reclaim our blade from the corpse of the faker,” Dimocles declared, rising to his feet. “Gather what men can be spared. We will meet this pretender in the field of battle, and tear the mask from his face so that all can witness his deception. None can imitate us, even if they bear our blade and

so quickly, departed in a frenzy, and the messenger ran out of the room without another word. He did intend to confront Ji Meng. He had the Blessing of Supersession, and the backing of the Qircassian Coalition. Powerful Ji Meng and his allies might be, but they were mortals all the same. The only risk was the gods—a risk that was sure to be mitigated greatly by the Coalition, watching above for any misstep. One clash,

the palace guard. The palace guard would be the troops he was to lead—every bit the match of Ji Meng’s honor guard, be it in equipment or otherwise, they would

see to,” Dimocles declared quietly. “The Palace of Heaven… ensure that there is a suitable

the Palace of Heaven. So long as he lived, doubt would remain in the empire. The Palace of Heaven couldn’t be taken half-heartedly, not with gods

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the veritable force of nature that was Ji Meng, soared through the sky aback a wyvern with her staff clenched tightly in her left hand. Though she followed, it was only a short distance behind. She had a very good reason to be