A barrage of squalls erupted from Kǎi’s fist. Despite the powerful gales dispersing after clashing with the sturdy brick wall, the room still seemed to shake under its influence. Under the Bilithgoric Weapon Wielder’s aerizing powers, Cyclone’s individual iron leaflets flew about wildly like those swarms of little qí that appeared every night as they hurried to collected more and more of that moonbeam energy for their hungry Mother Tree before the ferocious winds inevitably blew them leagues away. Instead of being all innocently sweet like the qí, Cyclone’s thin sheets of iron followed their master’s hand movements and slashed and stabbed at an invisible enemy with the collective viciousness of a horde of lion seals – as expected of the mythical pair of Bilithgornic war fans - whose iron is renowned for being so sword-sharp that even lightly placing your finger over its iron leaves was enough to draw blood – and just as she wanted.

However, as Xiùyīng watched on, urumi in hand, she noticed that the crowned prince was beginning to grow slower; against the radiant guāng stone, his muscular arms weakly moved through the air as sweat slid down his scar-heavy back, his breath was becoming more and more haggard by the moment.

For a moment, Xiùyīng recalled memories of her own childhood; that weak and teary-eyed little girl that Father bossed around until her body was all bloody and blue from her weekly urumi lessons, a martial art all Bilithgoric princesses must master; that frightened little girl Father threw out of the palace once her beauty was ruined by the scar he caused; that betrayed little girl that had been replaced by a newborn baby brother… She remembered those harsh memories good and well for she knew she wouldn’t allow anyone to make her feel any of those things ever again.

If it meant being immortalized in history books amidst the amazing Weapon Wielders and Monarchs of ages past like Radek the Prudent, the seventieth Weapon Wielder of Athesan who tirelessly wrote safeguards into the Athesanian constitution to prevent another possible royal Weapon Wielder from being crowned monarch and wielding the legislative decisions and hydroizing powers of the Weapon Wielder, alongside with some of the most horrendous ones too like Queen Trastármar the Cautious, who, with the legislative approval of her lover Luna the Spiritual, the fourth Weapon Wielder of Navasar, legalized the slavery of the Navi, political dissenters and their future descendants, within their borders for nearly four thousand years – something that the other realms followed fifteen-years-later with their own Navi – she’ll do whatever it took to achieve such a prestigious seat of honor. If it meant achieving something Father never could, like bring the three other realms under Bilithgoric control, just as Cixi, the Bilithgoric Weapon Wielder before Kǎi, had spoken of all those years ago, Xiùyīng will gladly do it.

Against the harsh crack of the urumi, she heard her voice carry with the booming grandiose of thunder. “Continue!”

Suddenly instilled with fear, as though he was reminded of her presence, Kǎi moved even faster than before. He lowered his head and kept his arms close as he summoned barges of squalls one after another, followed by the sharp, quick hacking and slashing motions of his hands that Cyclone’s iron leaflets emulated. He even threw in a few gale kicks for good measure. Xiùyīng smiled, enjoying how a mere word from her lips commanded such a response. He was like the small ants her thumb used to hover over during the summertime, wary and under her complete control on whether he shall live–

“Hǔ Huáng Hòu,” a restrained voice called from behind, addressing the Tigress by her Monarchial title. When Xiùyīng turned, she saw Jìng, Commander Song’s secretary and a Navi of Central Bilithgoric descent, specifically from Shān Cūn Wàng as illustrated by her small lips, deep set eyes, freckles and high cheekbones.

Clad in a long frock made from priceless Setrkyese kakory silk, loose yet tightly sashed at the stomach by rounds of high-quality braided cords, black trousers and fish leather boots, Jìng was dark in both complexion and hair color, but not so in eye color: porcelain with just a sprinkling of charcoal near the pupil. Though a common eye color in Bilithgorn, it was certainly rarer for someone of her complexion, who typically possessed eyes of either ash, charcoal or slate. Tales oft considered those who possessed such a rare pairing to be blessed by the Invisible Tiger who rode the Western Winds with an incredible amount of innate luck. Despite believing in such superstitions herself, Xiùyīng considered for a moment that the notion of luck based on eye color when paired with skin-color was possibly rude and inconsiderate of Jìng’s past, considering the way the secretary kept the N brand that once codified her enslavement hidden underneath her wavy black hair like a tightly bound veil shielding a woman’s face from being seen until her wedding night… From within her frock’s wide, full sleeves, Jìng pulled out a scroll and held it above her head as she bowed before her Queen. “Commander Song had received a letter from the Task Force. He already read it, but he wanted you to be informed as well.”

Xiùyīng took the tightly bound scroll with one hand and pressed the back of her other hand against Jìng’s forehead, signaling the secretary that she may rise. As Jìng rose, Xiùyīng undid the ribbon that sealed the parchment and scanned its content for any secretive double meaning behind the handwritten wind-like Bilithgoric characters before reading it in earnest. Despite Commander Song being of her own blood, she trusted him the least – he was of the noble houses after all. Nobles were nothing more than backstabbers who spoke of folly, pledging their undying loyalty to her one minute while conspiring against her the next. She wasn’t going to allow what occurred in the Red Panther incident to happen again. Considering Commander Song’s power over the Task Force, he could also be colluding with those invisible rebels that magically line Xīfēng Bǎo’s alleyways with their long, indecipherable number codes...

Regardless of the distrust she felt toward her cousin, nothing about the scroll’s content aroused Xiùyīng’s suspicion. Kyuhe may live to see another day, the Queen thought as she began to read the scroll in earnest.

31st of 90 Winter days; Year 423 After Amphitrite’s Conquest

The mission has been going as planned, Commander Song. However, as we were crossing the Ocean of Dragons, we spotted some Navasarian pirates from the Jīng Dǎo Federation. They looked at us and we looked at them, but they ultimately paid us no mind. Thankfully, that seventy-third Weapon Wielder of Navasar and Pirate Queen of the Jīng Dǎo Federation, Shastiyah Suárez, had signed that treaty all those years ago with her government, preventing her marauders from interfering with governmental and international ships, and invaluable port-cities, but in exchange was granted permission to raid the less valuable ports and other pirates clans without worry. That leonine woman did at least one thing right. Once we reached the Navasarian shore, we stayed at an inn in Fénix Port for a few short hours and then Eesa’s group split off from mine after gathering necessary supplies to head toward Tilith. We crossed so many towns and many jungles that my group and I were starting to miss the harsh breezes of our home-country. It’s incredibly hot and humid here. Finally, after nearly a fortnight of travel by Cheetah-Horse, we finally made our way to the hidden-away town of Esperanza where the Navasarian Weapon Wielder is said to be living, according to the information you’ve given us.

Even though we’ve arrived, however, it took a day and a half of harsh interrogations to actually allowed into the town. For a town of runaway Navi and their free descendants, they are quite selective of who gets allowed in, especially of people who have the same brand upon their face as them. To them, we’re probably seen as potential traitors who could tell former slave-masters of this town’s location and have this place burned to the ground, but after a lot of pleading and begging as we told our stories of wanting to live in freedom, we were finally allowed in. Sometimes being a woman has its perks: men tend to pity us and believe us more even if we are lying through our very teeth.

As of now, people are not paying us any mind. They’re too busy setting up for tomorrow’s Coronation Day. Many seem to be in high spirits, though I hear a sizable few voicing their dislike for these Weapon Wielders. Considering history, I cannot fault them for their opinion.

– Huǒ-Hè Zhuó

Excellent.

Any doubt Xiùyīng had about trusting those commoners, whether some of them were ex-Navi Soldiers or not, were laid to rest. When tomorrow morning comes, Kǎi, along with the three other Weapon Wielders, will be dead. No one will be in her way for the next eighteen years – plenty of time to conquer the three other Kingdoms and have all four Weapon Wielders under her complete control.

Just when she was about to speak to Jìng, Xiùyīng saw something from the corner of her eye that roused the Tigress inside of her. Instead of continuing his training like she ordered him to, that insubordinate little ant thought he could catch a few moments of breath behind her back.

She had the last word – not him!

The sound of lightning crackling rushed through the air like the real thing as Xiùyīng flung her urumi forward and slithering it around Kǎi’s neck. She sharply yanked the steel whip back and the Bilithgoric Weapon Wielder fell to the floor, gasping, clawing at the thin yet razor-sharp iron that constricted his airway and sliced into his delicate flesh. With their owner in a leg kicking panic, Cyclone’s leaflets flew wildly out of control, unsure as to where to go. No matter how much he struggled, Xiùyīng didn’t relent the pressure on her steel whip and settling her boot on his bare chest.

Kǎi’s voice was turning raspy beyond measure and no longer sounded even human. Instead, it sounded more like an animal fighting to survive. How disgusting, she winced. The crowned prince’s face was already past red and was now turning purple; the urumi’s long sheet of iron was soaked in pools of crimson.

Not being a brute like Father, Xiùyīng decided to ease her grip on the steel whip weapon. The once iron grip around his neck perished, leaving Kǎi enough room to cough and gasp for air. His once wild moving iron fan leaflets immediately came crashing down as he clutched at his wound like an idiot. He wasn’t the Weapon Wielder of Navasar – his blood wasn’t going to magically harden and the wound wasn’t going to seal by simply by placing his hand over it, and even then, that method didn’t always work for the Navasarian Weapon Wielder and the wound took some time to heal depending on the severity.

With a sigh, Xiùyīng shook her head and ran her thumb and forefinger over her eyes. “Jìng, be a dear and summon the palace doctors.” The Tigress looked back at Kǎi as she heard the secretary ran out of the room, though he didn’t look at her as he was continuing his annoying coughing fit. He did, seemingly deliberately, show her a clenched fist. Though trembling, like the fan’s leaflets that copied it, it didn’t seem to be due to fear, but instead from anger as though his mind was being filled with lofty ambitions for revenge.

Xiùyīng stomped on her son’s his balled-up hand, applying all her weight flattened the limb with ease and stilled all of Cyclone’s leaflets trembling. The little worm squirmed and yelled under her grip. Any sort of thoughts of vengeance he might’ve had swimming in that head of his was snuffed out.