Go Soo-Hee arrived at the middlemost dam alongside the laity, including one of the clergy’s reliquants. The rest of the laity’s forces were moving upstream, evacuating workers coming down. Even at the middlemost dam, the river water still looked more like sewage sludge, as if the fly lord himself was draining his wet excrement along the channels of the mortal realm. It was truly a miracle of engineering that this could be turned into something usable, though Go would not drink water from this place outside the direst circumstances. Part of why the Hanyang coast was held, even fighting for as long as possible under the Epidemic, was to stop the Sinui from contaminating the ocean. If all the water in the world were poisoned, they would need no arms to step over the choking bodies and writhing corpses, no siege engines as acid rain melts and rots monuments and fortifications. Inevitable as its fall may be, recapture of the coast was always first priority in an Epidemic.

  The dam itself was little more than a bridge fit for a car or two. Surrounding them was clearing for the trails along the river. The laity were planting pavises of wood and flakboard, but still the position was not very defensible from snipers or anyone else ready. In the river were nets meant to catch any surprises the Sinui tried to deliver.

  “Um,” started the reliquant who had shuffled up behind Go. She tilted her head just faintly enough to signal acknowledgement for them to continue. “Ma’am, err, my lady, uh, sister?”

  “Go is fine.”

  “Go. Thank you. F-for coming here.” Go did not respond. “People have been… talking. They said the Emperor has turned away from us. They said we have been forgotten. B-but—” their voice rose with adoration, “but you’re here! We aren’t forgotten! We-we aren’t alone.”

  Go finally turned around. Her approach made the reliquant shrink back.

  “Those bones draped over you. Whose are they?” she asked.

  “They are the bones of martyrs,” their hand hovered over each of the bones, listing the names of what were surely localborn, “they died in battle.”

  “Have you forgotten them?” She swept her hand across the river and forest, “have you forgotten all the people with us?”

  “I haven’t but…” shame smothered their voice into a whisper and dropped their head, “sometimes it's hard.”

  One finger on their chin raised them to look Go in the lenses.

  “I know.”

  Tears welled up in the reliquant’s eyes even as they steeled themselves and returned to their post.

  Back to her post, Go scanned the tree line for likely angles of attack. Ratlings could climb into trees, but an anti-material rifle would be too much for their little bodies to bring up there—unless they were counting on getting one shot off. Jakada highlighted the positions with good angles and, if not cover, then at least foliage to hide behind. They could be scurrying through the undergrowth, watching through magnoculars at this very moment.

  Then there was the other matter at hand. The identity of the traitor, if they exist at all. Go had little to narrow the suspects.

  The Deacon and his laity had the least to gain. The attacks damage their community the most. People turn to the church in times of fear, but the Nusans were on the precipice as it was. Any money donated would go toward security, including the free companies.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Yes, the free companies feed on conflict like carrion eaters. If they are not contracted for private security, they have to roam across the lands looking for fighting or, failing that, starting one. An exurb of Nusa was not lucrative, but it was consistent. They could make stable income here while building experience and reputation that they could use to move to greener pastures. Yet, as the Deacon reminded, attacks happening under their watch was bad for their image.

  The huntsmen were the most enigmatic. Every reason could go one way or the other. They have been the least targeted, but that could be because they have less to target. They know their way around the forest, which is why they are the scouts, but also gives them cover to be in contact with Sinui.

  Just as well, there could be cultists blending in with the sickly population, doing it out of converted loyalty. The hunstmen mentioned vox interceptors, perhaps there was a breakthrough in technology or code-cracking. Perhaps the traitor was amongst other locals, even in a position to mislead their trail. Perhaps the attacks seen were actually the work of the snake god or the xenos, as there was no way to track either of them.

  Too many maybes. If Saint Anais were here, she would raze the block and let the Emperor sort his own. Go looked to the reliquant. Yet still, they had not the manpower to spare for such methods. Hanyang needed all the warm bodies willing to live here that it could get. Kim Min-Ji could do it, but she follows His will and no other.

  Red smoke a good distance away. No vox communicae, so neither side will know how far the free company units are, but only that the Imperials know the Sinui were on the move. The crack of battle rifles as the huntsmen escaped. The laity turned their heads; regardless of enthusiasm, they were still civilians. At least the workers were mostly gone.

  The Sinui would be better off retreating. Their encampments are already burnt, and attacking now may see them encircled, best to conserve their munitions for a better time.

  The rapid gunfire in the distance indicated no such thing. The sounds of skirmish further tested the laity’s resolve. The reliquant reminded them that He has sent them an angel to assure victory this day. The blood came back to their faces as they raised their weapons to their chest.

  That is what the Arabella and the Sacred Rose meant to people. Among turbulent winds and churning oceans, the sisters of the Sacred Rose were the unbreakable haven of the faithful wherever they were; as descendants, sisters of His Righteous Symphony would hold Incheo against the ever encroaching darkness, no matter who, no matter what. So long as she stands as an example, they will not falter. But she could use more than their resolve—they were best when inspired.

  Beyond the barricades, before a forest full of hornets, Go Soo-hee removed her helmet. The air stank like an underhive drug den, but her stone countenance belied no discomfort. Her lips parted and bestowed upon them the Imperial Lobsegang.

  “Love the Emperor, for He is the salvation of mankind.”

  Her orchestra was the music of distant battle, yet it seemed all the further with her voice rising so far above it.

  “Obey His words, for He will lead you into the light of the future.”

  Slumped shoulders were squared as the light returned to their eyes.

  “Heed His wisdom, for He will protect you from evil.”

  True detonations thundered over the pop of gunpowder. Grenades, mines, bombs, plastiques, none stole the attention of the enraptured.

  “Whisper His prayers with devotion, for they will save your soul.”

  They joined her as a chorus now. Grateful to be in her presence. Renewed in purpose. Rejuvenated in body. Them, and her.

  “Honour His servants, for they speak in His voice.”

  Now they raised their weapons, tools, and voices high, the din of battle no match for them. All the better that green smokes were raised like victory flags.

  “Tremble before His majesty, for we all walk in His immortal shadow.”

  Yellow smoke at the furthermost dam. Go resealed her helmet and rocketed upriver.