Okay, so he’d been asking who decided this or who decided that a number of times this past day, but truly, this was something he debated with himself constantly, a question that circled in his mind like a beast pacing the edges of its territory.
Why were things the way they were?
And if he didn’t like them, why not just change the rules?
He didn’t follow the same cultivation that everyone followed, after all. He was creating his own methodology, forging a path through territory that no one had walked before him. And it gave him power to do what others couldn’t imagine doing in such a short period of time, power that had allowed him to slaughter twelve Flesh Awakening Warriors and a Bone Tempering Warrior in the span of moments.
It gave him the power for him to feasibly say that he could face and crack an entire army himself without having to use the lives of others to paint the Lands of Stone red.
He’d already added to the count of orphans in these dangerous lands, children who would grow up without fathers because of what the Butcher and his men had done to the Purple Stone Tribe. He didn’t want to create more orphans himself. He didn’t want to force others to fight for a war that they had no understanding of, a conflict rooted in betrayals and bloodlines that meant nothing to simple farmers who just wanted to survive another season.
This was the mentality of most Anointed Ones.
That the Vassal Tribes and the Unbound Tribes contained animals for them to use and utilize as they pleased, lesser creatures wearing human skin who could be directed and discarded according to the whims of their betters.
Less than humane things that were trying to act and be like them, like true humans, but at most they were good to play with, good for amusement, and good to be utilized as soldiers in one’s armies.
They would fight your wars while you sat on your high throne above the stones.
When the report came back and told you that more than fifty thousand had died in the recent battle, the Anointed Ones didn’t even blink as the only question they asked was whether they’d won. The number meant nothing. Fifty thousand Dross or fifty thousand Sworn, it was all the same to them, just figures to be tallied and replaced with fresh bodies from the endless supply of lesser peoples who existed solely to serve imperial ambitions.
The way that they treated Dross and Sworn was so vile that after living among the common folk for so many years and seeing how every single Anointed One he’d ever known was exactly the same in their contempt, the pride of his former station felt like a scourge burning beneath his skin.
He’d been raised among them.
He’d been taught to think like them!
And it had taken eight years of living as Dross, of being treated as nothing, of seeing the humanity in those the empire called waste, to truly understand how monstrous that worldview was.
He stood there in silence, processing everything, when the figure of Uncle Adam smiled and spoke with the weight of decades behind his words.
"The Eighth Doctrine of Stone says: Learn to read the intent of beasts and men alike. The eyes betray what the mouth conceals, and the body speaks truths the tongue would never dare."
Uncle Adam paused when he said this, his ancient eyes studying Damian with an intensity that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone to the soul beneath.
"I can see the intent of the Young Lugal brightly."
His voice grew thick with emotion.
"The Lady would be proud. Your Ama would be proud."
...!
The mention of his mother sent a ripple through Damian’s heart.
Uncle Adam continued, his weathered face softening with memory.
"When I spout off the Doctrines of the Lands of Stone, they come from my heart. But there are also lessons that your Ama instilled in all the soldiers of the House, guidelines on how we could all survive while still remaining worthy of the name we served. In these honorless lands, she instilled in us...honor. She reminded us that the Lands of Stone do not care for the honorable, but if there is nobody with honor...it will all fall apart."
Damian’s eyes pulsed with faint tendrils of Mana as he heard these words, the power within him responding.
Uncle Adam’s voice grew heavier, more deliberate.
"The most important Doctrine... well, I argue that this is the most important, as others can say differently. But for me, it is the First Doctrine."
He straightened, his newly reinforced bones crackling faintly with stored power.
"The good never win, but there is so much wickedness in men and beasts that when given the chance... do something good."
The words hung in the air between them like smoke that refused to dissipate.
"My Young Lugal, the Lands of Stone are cruel beyond measure, and those who seek to do good are often crushed by those who don’t. The wicked prosper while the kind perish. This is the truth of the Lands...and they have only been beciming more and more chaotic over time."
He stepped closer, his presence filling the space.
"Precisely because wickedness is so abundant, the rare act of goodness becomes sacred. Honor becomes sacred. When you have the power to help and the moment presents itself, you take that moment, knowing full well that goodness and honor may cost you everything. You do it anyway, because someone must, and because the alternative is to become indistinguishable from the wickedness that surrounds you."
His eyes locked with Damian’s.
"This is a critical lesson. Unlike the few Doctrines we’ve violated this past day, we’ve stuck to this one thoroughly."
A smile touched his weathered features.
"And how do you feel because of it? How do you feel having saved many Tribesmen here from death? How do you feel from having saved those women from a horrid fate of despair?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"How do you feel being being good and honorable, my Young Lugal?"
How did he feel?