11 Two Coins, One Gourd

Hye's eyes, bloodshot and burning, saw only a furious, consuming red. This wasn't just the flush of exhaustion; it was pure, unadulterated rage escaping from the very depths of his being, making the sweat bead on his face not from the summer heat air. He spotted a fallen Razaasia soldier, a sword still buried in his chest. With a guttural growl, Hye lunged, ripping the weapon free, and then, with a wild, desperate swing, he brought it crashing down on the first two of his meticulously crafted arrow machines.

The Magoli soldiers, who moments before had been guarding his precious inventions, stood aghast. They'd never seen their usually calm, calculating captain like this. The scene at Hosha City's gate must have shattered him, twisting his carefully constructed composure into this raw, uncontrolled fury. Wisely, they gave him a wide berth, fearing his accidental swings.

Haitao, ever the steady hand, approached. "Go and help others clean the enemy tents and collect the bodies of our fallen soldiers," he instructed the bewildered guards, his gaze softening as it landed on Hye. "I'll deal with him." The Magoli soldiers, visibly relieved, vanished into the camp.

Haitao sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken burdens. "You spent so much time and energy making these," he said, gesturing to the damaged machines. "If they're destroyed, all your hard work and time will be in vain."

Hye spun around, his voice ragged with resentment. "I'd rather destroy them than let that reneger continue to use them!"

"It's wrong to call Chinua a reneger," Haitao corrected him gently, but firmly.

Hye took two furious steps toward Haitao. "What else could I call her? She swore never to harm a surrendering enemy soldier, but now she... she begged Prince Mandla to kill them!" His voice cracked with disbelief and pain.

Haitao's gaze was unwavering, filled with a deep, weary understanding. "You are a smart man, Hye. You should know that those prisoners of war are not Chinua's; they are prisoners of war of Musian soldiers. According to the peace treaty of any military alliance, aiding allies cannot claim prisoners of war, so Chinua made the right decision by asking Prince Mandla to kill the surrendering Razaasia soldiers with dignity." He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Or do you want them to be tortured to death like the Ginmiao soldiers and their family members in front of the city wall of Nue-Li City?" The sword in Hye's hand clattered to the ground, his grip suddenly gone. "Or would you rather they were skinned alive and slowly bled to death like the Magoli soldiers who surrendered in front of the same city wall?" Haitao watched Hye's trembling lips, the angry tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. "Therefore, dying with dignity is the right call for those Razaasia soldiers." He reached out, a gentle hand settling on Hye's right shoulder. "You and I, we all know that in war, there is no winning side, only losing sides. However, the people who suffer the most in war are ordinary citizens—the parents, wives, and children waiting at home—not the soldiers who are willing to sacrifice their lives to maintain the order they are given."

Hye kept his eyes fixed on the ground, his shoulders shaking. "You knew?" he rasped, his voice barely audible.

"As far as I know, there is no race in this land that hates the Magoli people more than the Ginmiao people," Haitao confessed, a hint of surprise in his voice. "But you... you surprised me."

"I don't hate the Magoli people," Hye gritted out, finally meeting Haitao's gaze, the pain in his eyes raw. "I hated the Magoli northern soldiers."

Haitao offered a small, knowing smile. "You don't hate Magoli northern soldiers, Hye. You just hate those soldiers who caused harm to the innocent Ginmiao people. Otherwise, you wouldn't become friends with Chinua, me, or my men." He turned, surveying the battlefield, noting the bodies of some fallen Magoli soldiers near the enemy camp. "Better go pick your tent, or you'll be sharing one with the other soldiers."

"There are plenty of tents for me to choose," Hye retorted, a flicker of his usual arrogance returning.

"I'm afraid not," Haitao replied with a slight shrug.

For the first time, Hye truly looked at Haitao. "Chinua and her soldiers have successfully saved Hosha City. I believe Prince Mandla will definitely prepare a welcome banquet and warm beds for them."

Haitao simply smiled, a deep warmth in his eyes. "Chinua will not choose a warm bed over the strong bond of your friendship."

Standing next to Chinua, Mandla watched solemnly as the Magoli soldiers laid the bodies of their fallen comrades on the ground, carefully beginning to remove their armor.

"Won't the armor go with them?" Mandla asked, his brow furrowed.

"The armor will go back to their families," Chinua explained, turning to him, her expression weary but resolute. "I believe you have a lot to worry about now. Therefore, we will not stay in the city. We will stay in the enemy camp until reinforcements arrive." She glanced at a pile of dead Razaasia soldiers. "For the next few days, they probably wouldn't dare attack the city again with such huge losses." She turned back to Mandla. "Are you going to send your soldiers through the enemy camp before we can settle in?"

Mandla chuckled, a genuine, heartfelt sound despite the grim surroundings. "My friend, that's the funniest thing I've heard today." He took two steps back, placed a hand on his left chest, and bowed lightly to Chinua. "Chinua, Princess of Hmagol, I thank you on behalf of my people." He raised his head, his gaze respectful as he looked at the young woman before him. "If you need anything that is not beyond my capabilities, I won't hesitate to come to your aid."

"Thank you for letting the Razaasia soldiers die with dignity," Chinua replied, her voice soft.

"I have always wanted to ask you," Mandla pondered aloud, "why you asked me such a favor?"

Chinua sighed, a flicker of pain crossing her face. "I made a promise never to harm any surrendering soldiers or civilians."

"To keep your promise," Mandla observed, his eyes narrowing slightly in understanding, "that person must be someone you value very much."

"Yes," Chinua confirmed, her gaze distant, "he is the reason why Hosha City did not fall today."

Mandla's eyes widened in surprise, a low sneer escaping him as the realization dawned. The person Chinua spoke of was none other than Hye. "No wonder he flew into a rage when he saw the surrendered Razaasia being beaten," he murmured, the pieces clicking into place.

"I have never seen so many female soldiers fighting as bravely as the Musian women," Chinua said, her gaze drifting to her own female soldiers. "No wonder you didn't burst out laughing like everyone else when you saw my female soldiers in Hmagol."

"Since ancient times, the Musian women have always stood by the side of Musian men," Mandla explained, a touch of pride in his voice. "We believe that if Musian women can die defending the motherland, then they should also uphold the same rights as Musian men."

Chinua offered a rare, wistful smile. "I envy Musian women."

Khunbish approached Chinua. "Chinua, the bodies of the Magoli soldiers have been collected."

Mandla said, "I think I should go back to the city. Now Femi may have taken care of Kianga's wounds."

"You don't have to worry about us," Chinua assured him, a sense of quiet command in her tone. "We can take care of ourselves."

After exchanging farewells, Mandla returned to Hosha City with some Musian soldiers, the weight of a grateful kingdom on his shoulders.

Just as dusk fully enveloped the night sky, casting deep shadows across the ravaged land, the dead Magoli soldiers were laid to their final rest. Hye, Naksh, Jeet, Zhi, Khawn, and Drystan watched, their expressions somber, as Chinua and the other Magoli soldiers began the painstaking task of wiping the blood off the faces of their fallen comrades.

Khawn turned to Haitao, his young face etched with curiosity. "Does Chinua need to clean up the dead soldiers with others?"

"It is normal for the commander-in-chief to help clean up the dead soldiers," Haitao replied, his voice a low hum.

"They're already dead, what else can they know?" Drystan scoffed, ever pragmatic. "I personally don't think they need to clean up."

Haitao's gaze was patient, but firm. "The Magoli people believe that when people are born into this world, they are innocent and pure, so when they return to the ground, they should also return to a state of purity and flawlessness for their final journey to meet their ancestors." He looked at some soldiers who began to place a gleaming silver coin into each palm of the deceased. "Two coins placed in the hands of the dead soldiers; one to pay for the ferry fare, so Or'en can take their soul across the seven rivers: Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, and Sloth. The other coin was to bribe Ozumeg not to weigh the sins accumulated in their lives against the weight of the pure white eagle feather."

Khawn then asked, his voice soft, "What are those gourd bottles used for?"

"This is how they get back to their families," Haitao explained, his eyes sweeping over the solemn scene.

Drystan looked at Khawn with a wry smile. "In other words, after they're cremated into ashes, you collect their ashes, put them into the gourd bottle, and send them back to their families together with their armor."

Naksh burst into robust laughter. He clapped Drystan on the shoulder. "Do you really need to go into such detail with the innocent kid?"

"Yesterday he was innocent, but today it's different," Drystan countered, a teasing glint in his eye. "He killed a lot of Razaasia soldiers, so he's not an innocent kid anymore." He playfully thumped Khawn's upper left arm. "Kid, you just became a man today."

Jeet smiled, shaking his head. "Stop teasing the kid."

The easy chatter among the six men was suddenly cut short by a profound silence. They watched as the Magoli soldiers gathered before their fallen. Two hundred and twenty-three torch-bearing soldiers, a somber line, stood over the bodies of their two hundred and twenty-three comrades.

Chinua began to walk slowly around the dead Magoli soldier directly in front of her, her movements reverent. Behind her, the other two hundred and twenty-three torchbearers mirrored her. As the flames of the pyres rose into the deepening night sky, casting dancing shadows, Chinua and the torchbearers stepped back, taking their places before the other soldiers. A low hum began, a mournful, collective sound, and then their voices rose in powerful, unified song.

"Fallen brothers, rise up and march forward, following the footsteps, of our fallen brothers of the past. As our guardians, light up the darkness in our night, guiding our living brothers to victory."

"Fallen sisters, spread your wings wide, soar into the sky, join us, our fallen sisters of the past. As our shield, protect us through rain and storm, leading our living sisters to victory."

"O, our fallen fathers, give us your courage, to chase our enemies, from our motherland. With your blood flowing in our veins, we should never forget, the names of the fallen ones."

Khawn's voice was hushed. "What song are they singing?"

Hye's gaze was fixed on the poignant scene, his own past resurfacing. "The song is called 'A message to the fallen ones'," he murmured. A similar scene, one from many years ago, had burned itself into his memory, making him vow never to repeat the same mistakes. Yet here he stood, once again looking at the grim consequences of his brilliant, destructive creations.