Finishing the latest draft for her new Spiritual Weapon, Mila leaned back and groaned, too exhausted to feel anything but relieved of her burdens. Though she’d long ago set her sights on becoming a Hero of the Empire and a Divine Blacksmith, for the first time in her life, she seriously regretted the decision. There weren’t enough hours in a day for Mila to get enough rest much less do everything she needed to, her Martial skills left to rot as she devoted herself to unravelling the secrets of the forge. Eight Spiritual Weapons in less than half a year, an incredible feat for a craftsman twice her age if not more, but Mama’s voice sounded in Mila’s mind, warning her against arrogance.

The memory was from Mila’s first time objecting to Mama’s harsh training regimen, claiming since she was the strongest youth in the village, she could afford to sleep in. In response, Mama plucked her out of bed and tossed her out the window into a pile of snow. Arms crossed without a hint of a smile, Mama stood in the warm room and enunciated each word in her low, rich tone. ‘Do not measure yourself by the accomplishments of others. Pigeons and dragons are both capable of flight, but there is no comparing the two.’ The words struck a chord in Mila even as the cold seeped into her bones, a memory she treasured to this day. Though it seemed a harsh way to treat a ten-year-old, this was the attitude required to not only outdo one’s peers, but to transcend them. Genius is worthless without hard work, and even hard work is no shield against death.

Mama would be pleased to know she could nag Mila into humility from across time and space.

Despite Mama’s exhausting training methods, these past months were some of the most gruelling times Mila had ever had to endure, slaving away at the whims of haunting Inspiration and fickle creativity. Papa didn’t force her to work day and night with minimal rest, but every time she closed her eyes, she was bombarded by questions and ideas which plagued her sleep, pushing her to wake and perfect her craft. She took no pride in her accomplishments, cringing every time she gazed upon the unsightly flaws and glaring failures apparent on each of her works. If only she could steal away the Spiritual Weapons from Rain’s former cripples and destroy them, fearing to be judged by these shoddy, inferior works. At least they were still adequate melee weapons, only a little poorly balanced due to the rifle components.

A knock sounded at the door followed by a wary, “Hello?”

“Coming.” Recognizing Rain’s voice, Mila unlocked the door and suffered a blast of freezing winter air to let him in. Wearing only a sleeveless shirt and loose pants, Mila retreated to the heat of her waiting furnace, banked and ready to explode with heat at a moment’s notice. A necessary expense in case Inspiration struck again, as the greatest works were forged under the Mother’s guidance. This was Mila’s shrine and temple to the Mother, a place of work and worship when the sacrament of Inspiration and ceremony of Forging took place, creating the tools with which they used to harness the Energy of the Heavens. Everything in here, the furnace, the bellows, the ovens, and even the hardwood shelves and tool racks were a part of Rain’s lavish, expensive betrothal gift. She loved every centimetre of her new forge, lovingly designed by herself and put together by the finest craftsmen.

So it broke Mila’s heart to see her sanctuary despoiled by a group of wild animals traipsing in with their dirty boots and paws without a care in the world. Two bears and two wildcats, the ill-mannered beasts left puddles of melted snow and drool on her marbled, dark stone floors, flinging dirt and water into the air with blissful enthusiasm as if their sole purpose was to contaminate her forge. At least Mafu stayed in the adjoining stables to keep Atir company, else Mila might snap and toss them all out into the cold, adorable though the animals and her betrothed might be. Unrepentant and ignorant of his crimes, Rain marched to her work desk and carelessly moved her still-drying documents aside to make room for a covered tray of food, flashing his charming, idiotic grin as if he’d accomplished a feat worthy of note. “You missed today’s spar,” he said, gesturing for her to sit and eat. “I figured you skipped lunch again, so I bought a bowl of spicy soup noodles and dumplings on the way over. The meat is fresh so eat while it’s still reasonably warm.” Glancing at her furnace, he added, “It’d taste better if we heat it up...”

“Hmph. Don’t you dare. My forge is not a kitchen for you to cook in.” Knowing he meant well, Mila ignored the mess and made her way to the chair. “Thanks for the meal, I’m starving.” Speaking around a mouthful of noodles, she asked, “How did today’s spar go?”

Taking a seat beside her, Rain cupped his chin and answered, “Three wins and two losses.” His warm amber eyes drank in the sight of her, and she did her best to ignore his lascivious gaze, trying not to think about how dirty and dishevelled she must look. Her hair was a mess, face covered in ink and soot, wearing only a thin, sweat-soaked shirt which clung to her like a second skin-

Stopping mid-bite to cover her chest, Mila’s glare only made Rain’s grin grow wider. “Lecher.” Honestly, he was always like this these days, openly lusting after her body. Her cheeks heating beneath his amorous stare, she shrunk back, both fearing and hoping he would try to eat her up. “Stop gawking and give me your coat like a proper gentleman would.”

“Apologies, my love. You look so ravishing I forgot myself.” Grinning, he took one last look before draping his coat over her bare shoulders, he continued, “I won against Dastan, Fung, and BoShui, but Zian and Song were on point today. Song went undefeated and Zian's only loss was against her. I had a close match against BoShui today, his efforts are paying off in spades. I wish he wasn’t so adoring a fan though, it’s creepy coming from a man. Him and Dastan really make a pair. Oddly enough, BoShui thanked me for helping him form his Natal Palace. I didn’t help him in the slightest but he insisted it was due to my ‘genius advice’ and wouldn’t explain any further. After I refused to accept his gift, he made a generous donation to the school. I’m a little conflicted about it.”

Mila snorted. “Worry less about others and more about yourself.” At least BoShui’s fawning wasn’t feeding Rain’s ego. Draping her legs across his knees, she Sent, “I don't understand. You went to all this trouble to find sparring partners of comparable skills, yet you waste it pretending to be weak.” Finally, her Sendings were only loud, and not headache inducing, as Mama called them. One small victory, her control over Chi finely honed after crafting so many complicated Spiritual Weapons.

“What makes you so sure I’m pretending?”

Rolling her eyes, she ignored his sly smile and returned to her meal, fuming at his silly games. Whatever he was doing, it infuriated not only her but Mama as well. Under Baatar’s orders, Rain kept a low profile after returning from Sanshu, refusing to add his name to the Empire’s Roster of Experts, the public list of Martial Warriors who’d successfully formed their Natal Palace. If he’d done it months ago, the news would have swept through the Empire like a wildfire since an eighteen-year-old expert was all but unheard of. Not everyone was required to add their name to the Roster, but glory and honour awaited all who did. To make matters worse, not only had Fung and BoShui joined the Roster, Rain insisted on adding Dastan too while keeping his own accomplishments a secret.

How aggravating.

Rain’s progress was astoundingly fast, especially these past few months. Under Baatar’s guidance, Rain’s skill with Chi had improved tremendously. Able to Reinforce and carry her weight without effort, Lighten and chase Lin and Jimjam through the snow-covered mountain forests, or Stabilize and dash across a finger-thin rope, Rain grew stronger with each passing day. Were it anyone else, Mila would’ve put aside her smithing hammer in favour of her spear and shield, worried she’d soon be left behind. To say it was difficult to excel in both combat and crafting was an understatement, but she refused to give up on her childhood dream. So what if she fell behind? Even Mama supported Mila’s decision to focus on blacksmithing for now. These days, her only practice was sparring with the others when the mood struck her.

She was still undefeated against all of them, but with four out of six forming their Natal Palaces, her lead would rapidly shrink to nothing. Strange how Zian and Song, the two most talented duelists, were last to form their Natal Palaces.

Despite all the advances he’d made, Rain continued playing the fool, losing day after day in his sparring matches against Zian. The others didn’t matter, but why did Rain have to lose to that pompous ass of all people? At least win once, as Zian was the only participant besides Mila to hold an undefeated record. Even Fung and BoShui won a handful of matches against the arrogant twit, while Dastan had something like a thirty to forty percent win rate against Zian, but time and time again Rain was defeated by Zian’s flashing twin sabers at what seemed like record speeds. Even if Rain wanted to practice a new style without giving away his newfound expertise, it didn’t mean he had to turn off his brain before each sparring session. In fact, the only Chi skill he used in the matches was Reinforcement, and a ridiculously weak one at that.

If asked, Rain would say he was ‘tempering’ himself. Temper his head. If he wanted tempering, Mila would happily toss him into the furnace and beat him with her hammer.

It was so frustrating, she wanted to stand on a mountaintop and scream for all the world to hear, bragging about her beloved’s accomplishments from sunrise to sunset. His talent at healing, ability to display Purity, Aura, and rank were all common knowledge, but it wasn’t anything too shocking. Sure he accomplished much while younger than most, but how many genius warriors were stopped by the obstruction known as a Natal Palace? While Dastan, Fung, and BoShui were considered young for experts, they were overshadowed by other talents like Tursinai who formed hers at twenty-one and Gerel at twenty-two. Some warriors couldn’t succeed even after years of effort, like Zian at age twenty-five, Sentinel Orgaal at age thirty-seven, or Ulfsaar at age fifty-three.

Mila once hoped to form hers by the age of twenty four, a reasonable aspiration before Fung and Dastan broke all expectations, leaping well ahead of their peers. Even BoShui managed his at twenty-five, so if Mila didn't succeed by twenty, she would feel like a complete failure.

Meanwhile Rain cleared this universal obstruction as easily as breathing, so easily it took almost two years for his Mentor to discover he’d taken a pivotal step along the Martial Path. Were news of a seventeen-year-old child effortlessly forming his Natal Palace after four years of martial training, warriors across the Empire would die of shame for ever thinking themselves talented.

Mama was right, Mila shouldn't compare herself to others. It wasn't worth the heartache.

While Mila ate, her Mother-blessed betrothed grew tired of ogling her sloppy form and instead studied her plans, his eyes going unfocused as he attempted to unravel their mysteries. Catching her stare, Rain smiled and shook his head, putting the parchment down with a sigh. “My beloved, so brilliant and talented,” he said, brushing her bangs aside. “I am in awe of your gifts.”

Resisting the urge to bite him, she shook her head. “It’s nothing, just a diagram. Helps me visualize the weapon.”

“This helps you visualize the weapon?” Hold up a diagram, he raised his eyebrow in disbelief. “This looks like a detailed schematic to creating an intricate piece of machinery, not a... what is this?”

“Collapsible Spear.” Drinking the rest of her soup, Mila gasped in satisfaction before pointing at the cross-section diagram. “For me, not you. Yours still needs more work and testing so I decided to try something new, an idea I’ve had rattling around in my head for months now. It’s all connected at the base while I craft the inner workings, like the spring and the trigger.”

“Uh huh,” Rain answered, smiling as he shook his head. “I don’t see it.”

Idiot. “Look harder. It’s drawn in four sections, so you have to join this one and this one first, then these last two at the same time, and then the weapon takes shape. All these spring-based weapons are really complicated to make because I need to let the inner workings cool and take shape while keeping the other parts soft and malleable. It’s a nightmare.”

“I appreciate your hard work and dedication my love, but I still don’t see it. Explain it for me?” Moving his chair closer, Rain wrapped an arm around her waist.

Elbowing him once his hands inevitably strayed too far down, she stifled a yawn and smiled. It’d been a few days since the two of them were left alone. Where did Song go today? “My short spear and shield work well in massed combats, but in one-on-one match-ups, I’m forced to fight defensively due to my short range and slow charge.” No matter how much she practised the movement, Mila just couldn’t understand how Mama and Rain gained such explosive speed from Balance on Windy Leaf. Unfathomable. “So I wanted something more focused on offence, and a long spear seemed like the reasonable option.”

“Okay. So why collapsible? Easier to carry?”

“You think I’m so lazy I don’t want to hold my spear?” Partly, but it wasn’t the only reason. “At it’s shortest, the spear is a 1.4 meters long, but with the touch of this trigger on the base, the weapon will triple in length. At the speed of sound.” Or close to it, theoretically. Take a Spiritual spring with a natural resting length of two meters, compress it to almost a tenth its size, and even Mila wasn’t sure how powerful the resulting weapon would be. Perfect for drilling holes through Demons from 4.2 meters away. “Even better, you can adjust the length, so I can use it as a lance at the maximum, a regular spear at the medium setting, and a short spear at the lowest. It’s perfect.” While Rain’s ‘rifles’ were riddled with problems, Mila felt confident her spear had no flaws. She had a cross-guard to keep the weapon from sinking in too deep, a mechanism to lock the spear once fully extended, and a safety feature to prevent accidental skewerings. It was perfect.

“Wow, incredible,” Rain exclaimed, carefully running his fingers over the diagram. “How do you deal with the recoil?”

Tensing up, Mila froze in place, no longer relaxed in Rain’s embrace. “What?”

“The top half is essentially a projectile moving at the speed of sound right? When the spear reaches its maximum length, I assume the lower parts stops the upper parts from flying out. Since you’ll be holding the bottom half, all the force needs to be dealt with by you, so unless you want your spear to go flying out of your hands every time you extend it, you’ll need to do something about the recoil.”

Bolting upright, Mila alternated between staring at her diagrams and at Rain, her mouth gaping in disbelief. “But... If I... I could...” she stammered, trying to salvage her weeks of effort. A leather strap to loop around her wrist? The force would tear the leather apart along with her skin. Shorten the spring and lower the force? Then what’s the point? Might as well just make a normal spear. “You!” She shouted, shaking Rain’s arm. “Why didn’t you point this out sooner?”

“Sorry my love, but this is the first I’ve heard about it.” Patting her back, Rain said, “It’s fine, you were too close to see the problem and too excited to think it through. Happens to the best. At least you caught it before making and binding the weapon.”

Mourning weeks of planning gone to waste, Mila let out a tiny whimper before sinking into Rain’s embrace. It’s not so easy a problem to fix, each new modification requiring days of calculations to ensure everything lined up properly. Every single one of Rain’s rifles took weeks to create, with each improvement she or Rain dreamt up complicating things even further. Though they looked similar on the outside, the difference between Silva’s sword rifle and Ravil’s sword rifle were staggering to behold. Not only was Ravil’s easier to load and fire due to a complete overhaul of the inner workings, Silva’s sword hilt was awkward to grasp and lacked a customized grip to use when firing. She later solved the problem by introducing a detachable handle made from mundane materials, but she wasn’t clever like Rain was, able to see problems without creating and seeing them in action.

Sighing once more, she kissed Rain on the cheek. “Thank you. You saved me from making the blunder of a lifetime. If I’d crafted and bound this Spiritual Weapon, I would’ve regretted it for the rest of my life.”

Feigning shock, Rain exclaimed, “Wow, a kiss and an admittance of guilt, you must be exhausted. Off to bed with you.” Lifting her from the chair with a tiny grunt, he carried her to the bed in the back room, his breath steady and steps smooth. Tossing aside her failures, she luxuriated in the feeling of being carried by her betrothed, thrilled he could finally manage it without causing her grave concern. Giggling at his enthusiasm, she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled into his shoulder, a comfortable cushion now that he had muscle and fat covering his bones. With his long, blue-silk shirt, stylishly-cut hair, and warm glowing eyes, he finally looked like a respectable young warrior. Though she loved him regardless of his appearance, she much preferred this handsome, tidy, well-fed version of Rain over the emaciated, malnourished one.

As he gently placed her on the bed, Mila giggled once more, closed her eyes, and refused to release him. She loved the way he looked at her with hunger in his eyes, but if she saw it now, there was no turning back. With a devilish growl, Rain kicked off his shoes and fell into bed with her, his hungry lips finding hers as she wrapped a leg around his hip. Enjoying the sensation of his body pressed against hers, her mind went blank and didn’t resist when his hands strayed once more, her heart pounding with excitement as his fingers found their way beneath her clothes. While Mila still intended to save herself for marriage as a proper lady should, Mama already believed the rice was cooked so what harm was there in indulging a little?

After all, it’s why she had a bed back here instead of a cot.

Chapter Meme