A harvester with spade and hoe might be as adept in their trade as a talented fighter with their fists. It is integral for each path to be followed in pursuit of perfection, regardless of its relation to societal station.
Passage Two, Thirty-Sixth Precept of the Combat Codes
Dakar Pugilio fidgeted with the high commander’s badge set on the breast of his uniform.
He reached for the flask usually at his side pocket but stayed his hand as he realized it wasn’t there.
“Guess I don’t need the stuff anyway, eh?” Dakar turned to Commander Adrienne Larkspur, standing beside him on the stage.
“Probably not,” Larkspur said. “Memnon would be proud of you.”
“Right, I hope so,” Dakar replied. “And I hope he’d do the same as I’m doing now.”
“I believe he would,” Adrienne responded.
Dakar turned from his friend and looked out into the audience within the Lyceum’s Dome. He had no audio receiver, so he raised his deep voice to fill the auditorium.
“Lyceum student body and faculty, Knights of the Citadel, Flux patriots.” Dakar paused, his own voice surprising him, as if he had not heard it in a long while.
Though the remaining Flux army could not all fit in the Dome, Dakar could see their lieutenants sitting in the front row, that pale one named Wraith with his eyes piercing the stage.
“Thank you for coming today,” Dakar said. “I know you are still grieving like me. We lost many that day, all fighting for a cause they believed in.”
A growing murmur emerged from both the rebel crew and the Citadelians in attendance.
“Our commander is dead,” Dakar said. “Albion Jonquil Memnon, who served the Citadel for his entire life, sacrificed himself for our cause.”
The Knights stood and raised their fists.
“For those Flux in attendance, Silas the Slayer is gone,” Dakar said. “He also fought for what he believed in. He fought for Grievar-kin.”
The Flux rebels drummed their feet against the Dome’s creaky floors.
“Though we were on opposite sides, warring factions, now is the time for us to come together,” Dakar said. “For there is a joint cause that both Memnon and Silas believed in. And that is the freedom of Grievar-kin.”
A spatter of cheers rose from the crowd.
“There is no need for further retribution,” Dakar said. “The Daimyo have already seen what happens if we Grievar no longer wish to fight for their purposes. There is no need to lose more lives.”
Dakar pulled at the neck of his uniform, a size too tight.
“We are now at a pivotal point in Grievar history,” Dakar said. “A time like none other, where we must see again by the light of the torch, eat again by the bounty of the land, fight again only with what we’ve been born with.”
Dakar glanced up to the Dome’s wide shield windows and the afternoon light filtering through.
“We are at a turning point where we can finally solidify both Memnon’s and Silas’s legacies. To do so, we must work together. We must rebuild together. We must fight together.”
A chorus of cheers rose from the audience.
“Now I’ll give the stage to Commander Larkspur, who has already proven herself to be an able leader during these times. She will outline our plans for rebuilding Memnon Stadium.”
Dakar strode off the stage to continued cheers, sweat beading his forehead. Adrienne nodded to him, a slight smile creasing her lips as she stepped forward. She was impressed.
Perhaps I can do this, Dakar considered as he exited the Dome.
He followed the Harmony’s long hall, quiet without the students filling it, and left the Lyceum through the central entry.
The Ezonian sky was a rare blue and the air full of wispy flower seeds. Dakar noticed the line of fresh saplings planted along the path he walked, work of the new Grunt conscripts. Some of the Grunts had taken to the abandoned fields outside the Citadel and even farther north to the outer rings. With their Daimyo masters fled, they would set their roots to harvest for themselves.
He looked out past the Citadel’s walls and saw the crumbled form of Memnon Stadium. Renaming the stadium had been his first decree as high commander, along with the immediate order to repair it. He would rebuild, even better than before, make this place a true marvel for Grievar-kin to display their prowess to the world.
Dakar took a deep breath of the fresh air, something he’d not done in a while, before he stepped inside the Knight Tower and began the long climb to his new quarters. By the time he reached the old oaken door at the top, he was breathing hard.
Perhaps it was time to start training again.
Dakar entered the spartan room and rested his weary legs on the tatami. Though he wished to respect Memnon’s old aesthetic, the quarters could use an armchair at least.
“Now… that wasn’t so hard, was it?” came a voice from the shadows.
“A drink would’ve made it easier.” Dakar sighed.
“You are on a better path now, High Commander.” A grey-haired man stepped onto the tatami. “We are all on a better path.”
“I hope you’re right, Farmer,” Dakar said.