Zhou Yuan had been promoted — from Shesheng squad-of-ten leader to Divine Arm squad leader. One dungeon run had carried him to the top of the soldier ranks; one step more and he'd be granted officer status and the centurion's rank. Army Marshal Cai Cheng was a competent leader: not only a meat-shield charging first, but fair in apportioning merit at rest. Still, he had his own leaning, plainly favoring the Black Armor a touch. Yet neither the Divine Arm members nor Zhou Yuan could call it favoritism. For seven Black Armor men of varying wounds lay in the physicians' hall under the army doctors — some with cracked arm-bones, some with blade-cuts; one valiant man who'd braced his shield against the demon chief's blow had a swollen wrist and a fractured forearm. Luckily the realm-yielded wound salve worked wonders, or these wounded would struggle to recover fast.
As the Black Armor's direct leader, Cai Cheng didn't rush to comfort them; instead he stood by the storehouse as if waiting for someone. Looking off, Zhou Yuan saw in the manor's long corridor a stern general in war-armor draped with a black cloak. The general seemed to sense Zhou Yuan's gaze; a faint smile cracked his cold face, and he dipped his head slightly.
"Zhou Yuan, don't be disrespectful to the colonel. He's a martial artist with qi suffusing his whole body; his perception far exceeds ours. You archers have sharp eyes — don't make the colonel misread you."
"I'm instructed. Army Marshal, will you wait for the colonel to finish his visit before comforting the Black Armor?"
"You're quick. As it should be: the colonel's a martial artist, and the Black Armor and Divine Arm wage bloody war to supply his spirit-food. By right and reason he should comfort them himself. Whether I go early or late hardly matters; at most I soothe their feelings, while the colonel can give them solid benefit."
Cai Cheng was right; when the camp's highest officer appeared, the wounded Black Armor brightened with joy. The Jing'an Colonel was most considerate too: a wave of his hand granted the lightly wounded fifteen days' leave, the gravely wounded two months' paid leave. The man with the fractured arm bowed at once, begging to go home to his wife and children. The result needs no telling — granted, of course; once his wounds were stable he could take a quartermaster's carriage home to recuperate. After his visit, the colonel nodded toward the storehouse, then left with his guards.
When the tall, mighty colonel had gone, Zhou Yuan asked, puzzled.
"Army Marshal, since the colonel is a powerful martial artist, why doesn't he assail the realm himself?"
"Zhou Yuan, a martial artist's qi suffuses his body; his every move is boosted by spiritual energy. The colonel could clear the realm easily — but the qi he'd spend must also be replenished by the realm's spirit-objects. We Jing'an army aren't a clan or gentry house; the spirit-objects the realm yields must be turned in to the court on a fixed schedule and amount. What's left must supply the colonel's cultivation and wartime reserve — how could it be spent on assailing the realm to refill his qi?"
Cai Cheng's explanation made Zhou Yuan see that transcendent martial artists couldn't generate their own spiritual energy; after each fight they had to replenish. Powers with ample spirit-object yield were one thing, but regions with limited yield truly couldn't afford these gold-devouring giants. So though the Jing'an army had a martial-artist colonel in command, they couldn't lightly employ that mighty force.
"Come with me; I'll comfort the soldiers, and you show your face. Once the brothers know you've a sense of comradeship, find a clerk and apply for new quarters."
Led by Army Marshal Cai Cheng, Zhou Yuan visited the wounded Black Armor, reaping much praise — all saying they'd fight shoulder to shoulder again once healed. Plainly the Black Armor had a high need for good archers. With their own defense unable to rise, these meat-shields wished an archer could grow another pair of arms to kill realm-demons faster. So the Divine Arm members might be scorned now; before Zhou Yuan, no one knew an archer could rapid-fire a three-dan hard bow. Now Zhou Yuan had raised the Black Armor's expectations, and the once-protected archers faced internal competition too.
"Rest easy, brothers. These days I'll be stationed in the realm. You have valor's shield, I have a swift hard bow; we brothers should lift each other up."
Men who've taken the field together share a natural bond; the talk was merry, and only after setting a date for a wine-feast did they let him go. When Zhou Yuan stepped into the audit hall, he learned he'd not only got new quarters but the right to custom weapons and modified armor. Given that the Black Armor meat-shields were quite competent, he needed to shed weight for flexibility; he chose half-body armor and a round helm to guard the skull, cutting the leg-skirt and arm-plate entirely, keeping only a pair of iron-faced wrist-guards.
"Squad Leader Zhou, any requirements for weapons? We'll do our best to fit you a fine bow."
The metallurgy supervisor had read the campaign's merit record and knew this one was no ordinary man.
"Supervisor, does the camp have a four-dan strong bow? The demon stockade-chief's body is like cast iron; a three-dan bow can't kill it fast. I'd like to try a four-dan."
"Squad Leader Zhou jests — that we truly don't have."
The supervisor was nearly choked by the words. What was a four-dan strong bow? One dan was 120 jin; four dan, 480 jin. Near five hundred jin, the weight of two armored men — what kind of being draws that one-handed? However high the camp's demands, the Divine Arm men got only three-dan hard bows; beyond that was a martial artist's gear, outside the metallurgy office's reach, and no secret-realm treasure-arm could be in their hands. So Zhou Yuan got no four-dan war-bow in the end. The metallurgy office said, though, that while they had no four-dan bow, they did have a five-dan bed-crossbow; if he didn't mind it too heavy and long, they'd take off the crossbow-arm for him. Considering that his Bowstring Control was maxed but his Essence only 3, drawing a bed-crossbow one-handed was beyond him for now, so he declined.
"Squad Leader Zhou, if you truly want a four-dan bow, we could have a master-smith make one. But strong bows are hard to craft; you might wait a few years."
"Don't trouble yourselves — a few years is too long. I'll use the three-dan bow."
When the manor clerk led Zhou Yuan to his new quarters, over thirty archers were already waiting.
"Young master, the brothers skipped even the pleasure-house to behold your style. Come — we've booked a table at the tavern; first to toast your promotion, second to hear the teaching of your fine marksmanship."
"You mock me, brothers. My skill is all native strength — no match for your refined archery."
"No modesty. In our Divine Arm Squad, can is can and can't is can't. We're no match for the Black Armor's ferocity; our one defense is the word 'shoot.' You're stronger than us, so we submit to you, and ask you to teach us hereafter, and open the edge of our swift bows."
The Divine Arm Squad was, after all, a little circle of killing men, prizing archery above all. With his marksmanship Zhou Yuan slipped easily into this band, turning from a recruit of unknown strength into an acknowledged comrade.
"Excellent — we brothers should drink and talk and trade our craft, gathering all our wits to perfect the Divine Arm name."