Dr. J'an
The following account was recovered from early military records of the Tàiyáng Empire during its expansion across the mountain territories of Pūrvō.
The speaker identifies himself as "Lee," a green-skin oni serving as a slave within the imperial army.
While portions of the account show signs of personal bias and emotional distortion, the structure and details align closely with other testimonies from slave-soldiers of this era.
For that reason, this record has been preserved with only minor corrections for clarity.
My name is Lee.
And I am a slave in the empire.
I am a green-skin oni.
Yeah… one of those.
Not the big, strong, "rip your spine out and use it as a weapon" kind of oni.
No.
We got fucked in a different way.
We're long.
Too long.
Limbs stretched out like something pulled us apart and said "yeah, that'll do."
No real bulk.
No real strength compared to the red-skins or blue-horns.
But what we got instead…
is vision.
And I mean real vision.
Not that "I can see far" bullshit.
I mean miles.
Clear.
Sharp.
Like the world doesn't get blurry no matter how far it goes.
You ever look at something so far away it don't even feel real?
Yeah.
We don't get that luxury.
Everything is real to us.
Everything is close.
Everything is there.
That's why most of us end up here.
Not warriors.
Not nobles.
Not even real soldiers.
Slaves.
Army slaves.
But… fuck it.
It could be worse.
And I mean that.
There's a lot of ways to be a slave in this empire.
Most of them end with you dead, broken, or wishing you were.
At least here…
you get a chance.
A small one.
A bullshit one.
But still…
a chance.
You fight.
You survive.
You prove you're useful enough—
and maybe…
just maybe…
they take the chains off.
That's what they tell us.
That's how General Bei did it.
Yeah… General Bei.
Funny, right?
A slave who made it all the way up.
People talk about him like he's proof the system works.
But I've seen him.
He's still a slave.
Just with longer chains.
Cleaner chains.
Chains people respect.
Some slaves want to be like him.
Others…
they talk big.
Say they'll tear this whole empire down.
Burn it.
Break it.
End it.
Yeah…
good fucking luck with that.
I'm not stupid.
And I'm not delusional.
I know what this place is.
It's cruel.
It's rotten.
Built on blood and bodies stacked so high no one even remembers what's at the bottom anymore.
But I also know something else.
Nothing we do is going to destroy it.
Not me.
Not you.
Not anyone.
So I don't waste my time dreaming about impossible shit.
I pick the only path that makes sense.
I climb.
Even if the ladder is made of chains digging into my skin.
There's a war coming.
There's always a war coming.
But this one…
this one got people talking different.
Elder Beast.
Yeah.
That word makes even the tough ones shut the fuck up.
That means something big is about to happen.
Something deadly.
Something… useful.
Because war like that?
That's opportunity.
And if I ever want to be "free"—
if I ever want chains that don't choke me every time I breathe—
then I gotta get stronger.
Faster.
Better.
Best marksman in my platoon?
Nah.
Best marksman they've ever seen.
That's the only way this shit works.
I wake up in the barracks like always.
Cold floor.
Bodies packed too tight.
Smell of sweat, blood, and people who gave up a long time ago.
I sit up, rub my face, and already I can feel it.
One of those days.
I barely take two steps before I hear it.
"Look at this disgusting thing."
Yeah.
Here we go.
I don't even turn around.
Don't need to.
Red-skin.
Always a red-skin.
"Green-eyed skeleton," he says.
I hear the step.
Fast.
Heavy.
I think about dodging.
For a split second.
But nah.
If I dodge?
It becomes a fight.
If it becomes a fight?
I lose.
Not because I'm weak.
Because I'm a slave.
And slaves don't win fights.
So I let it happen.
His fist slams into my face.
Hard.
Everything flashes white.
Then black.
Then I'm on the ground.
"Fuck…"
That hurt more than I thought it would.
Maybe I should've—
Nah.
Too late now.
He steps forward again.
Probably gonna keep going.
Then—
"Footman Hen."
That voice…
cuts through everything.
Commander Tay.
I stay on the ground.
Not because I can't get up.
Because I know better.
"I would like to ask," Tay says slowly, "why you are beating your fellow soldier."
"Because he's a slave, sir," Hen says quick. "Just reminding him of his place."
Of course.
Always that same excuse.
"Do you understand we have a war coming?"
"Yes, sir."
"And we cannot afford to lose even one soldier?"
"Yes, sir."
A pause.
"I should beat you in public," Tay says, calm as ever, "and use you as an example."
I can hear it in Hen's breathing.
Fear.
Good.
"But what good is trying to solve violence with more violence?"
"None, sir."
"Wrong answer."
…shit.
"Report to the training grounds. Five minutes."
"And you."
I feel his eyes on me.
"Come with me."
"Yes, sir."
We walk.
My face is throbbing.
My jaw feels like it's about to fall off.
"You are a marksman."
"Yes, sir."
"How good?"
I hesitate.
"Good enough."
He glances at me.
Not impressed.
"Good enough gets you killed."
…yeah.
Fair.
"I'm getting there," I say.
He nods once.
"Then you can shoot a man without killing him."
My stomach tightens.
"…yes, sir."
"But my bow is meant for—"
"I don't care what it's meant for."
His voice doesn't rise.
That's what makes it worse.
"I want you to use it as a tool of suffering."
…
"Everything can change under his grace," he says.
"Our lord Marrick."
"…yes, sir."
And that's when it clicks.
Oh.
I'm fucked.
This isn't help.
This is a test.
We reach the range.
And there he is.
Hen.
Naked.
Tied.
…shit.
I ain't soft.
I've seen bad things.
Done bad things.
But this?
This is something else.
"Begin."
I don't move.
"Marksman."
My hand moves anyway.
Arrow.
Draw.
Release.
The first shot hits.
And something in me just…
goes quiet.
No more thinking.
Just action.
Aim.
Release.
Aim.
Release.
He screams.
Loud.
Desperate.
And it doesn't stop.
I don't kill him.
I break him.
Leg.
Shoulder.
Chest.
Each shot placed.
Each shot controlled.
I hear bones crack.
Feel the tension in the bow.
Watch his body jerk.
And the whole time—
I'm thinking one thing.
Don't miss.
Not because of him.
Because of me.
Because if I fuck this up—
I'm next.
Final shot.
Weighted arrow.
Chest.
He goes still.
Barely breathing.
"Enough."
I lower the bow.
My hands feel…
off.
Like they don't belong to me.
They take me away.
No words.
No explanation.
Just a room.
Door closes.
Silence.
Then it opens again.
Blue-horn.
Big.
Too big.
And then—
Pain.
First hit drops me.
Second takes my breath.
Third—
something cracks.
"Fuck—"
He doesn't stop.
Each hit is perfect.
Like he's crafting something.
Breaking me down piece by piece.
I want to scream.
God, I want to scream.
But I don't.
I bite it back.
Every time.
I won't give them that.
I won't.
Even when I can't breathe.
Even when I taste blood.
Even when everything in me says stop—
I stay quiet.
Finally…
he stops.
Leaves.
I'm on the ground.
Broken.
Still alive.
Barely.
Door opens again.
I force my eyes up.
And I see him.
General Ren.
For a second…
I forget everything.
He looks down at me.
Calm.
Cold.
"You didn't break."
Yeah…
no shit.
"You understood."
I don't answer.
Can't.
Don't need to.
He turns slightly.
"Welcome…"
A pause.
"To the Seventh Division."
…
My chest tightens.
"The highest chance at freedom."
Freedom.
I almost laugh.
I really fucking do.
But I don't.
Because now…
I get it.
I finally get it.
Freedom here…
is just a better chain.
And I'll earn it anyway
9 MONTHS AND 1 YEAR UNTIL WAR