Even the drill we'd seen in Yu Dao struck Iroh as highly questionable.
All right, let's assume the thing actually managed to bore through the wall. Then what? The earthbenders could simply collapse the surrounding stone, trapping it in place and turning the entire machine into an extremely expensive cork. Unless, of course, the design incorporated some hidden tricks. But the general wasn't familiar with the details.
Personally, I could imagine a solution—some kind of detachable forward section, or perhaps a series of hatches. In that case, after breaching the wall, the drill would effectively become a steel tunnel. Judging by its size, one large enough to pass tanks through. But how complicated would such a machine be? More importantly, how durable? How reliable? And would it simply crumple if a sufficient number of earthbenders leaned on the surrounding wall with everything they had?
Frankly, a squadron of airships carrying a hundred or two hundred bombs would be far more effective. With firebenders available, keeping a large balloon heated wouldn't be a problem at all. No need to bother with helium or, Spirits forbid, hydrogen.
Still, all of that was little more than speculation. We first had to survive long enough to reach Ba Sing Se. I might not even take part in the assault.
Eventually, our conversation began to run out of steam. After exchanging polite farewells with Iroh, I made my way back to my cabin.
The voyage to the North Pole would take another month and a half.
Well, at least I'd have plenty of time for training and improving my flute playing.
The important thing was not dying of boredom first.
***
Some time later.
I set down the brush and skeptically examined my latest "masterpiece." The strokes were too sharp. Too hostile. Irritated. Yes, that last one was probably the most accurate.
For the first time in more than two years, I had found myself with a relatively free stretch of time.
Before, things had always been different. Every step I took had served some purpose. Every action was taken with a specific outcome in mind.
My journey to Kyoshi? I had plans for the warriors. Granted, my relationship with Suki had ultimately gone far beyond the employer-mercenary arrangement—or even simple friendship—but the beginning, if I was being honest, had been thoroughly self-serving on my part and meticulously planned from the start.
The loss of my ship and my subsequent return to life on solid ground... that was a little more complicated. In that case, I had merely taken advantage of an exceptionally fortunate turn of events. Had it not happened, I would have been forced to engineer something similar myself. For example, I might have accidentally leaked my travel route while in the colony's harbor, naturally after preparing several contingency plans in case things went poorly.
Why?
Because I needed to reach the mainland and get to the library.
Simply requesting a transfer could have taken weeks, if not months, to process. Worse, such a request would have sparked whispers about cowardice or incompetence. Building a reputation was incredibly difficult. Losing it, however, could happen in an instant. General Iroh was proof enough of that. Twenty-five years of success had been wiped away by a single retreat at Ba Sing Se and the forced retirement that followed.
The Fire Nation did not forgive weakness.
But back to my own situation. Even my vacation on the resort in the Archipelago had been, first and foremost, a means of reaching the dragons. Of course, I combined business with pleasure, and I always tried to squeeze as much value as possible out of unexpected opportunities—such as meeting Ty Lee or recruiting Toph.
And now, for the first time in a very long while, I found myself with an abundance of free time.
Including time to stop and think.
More than two years had passed since my... hmm, arrival in this world.
A great deal had happened during that time. The journey from an ordinary member of the privileged elite to a man counted among the ten most influential figures in the nation had been remarkably rapid, though the road had been paved with corpses—both enemies and people who had once stood shoulder to shoulder with me.
The problem was that I felt absolutely nothing about it. Nothing at all. Back in my old world, not every pathologist saw as many corpses as I'd already racked up here. So where were the emotions? The guilt? The nightmares? Anything?
Neither I nor the original Chan had ever been cold-blooded killers. So where had this come from?
Piandao's training, followed by reinforcement through war? Possible. But...
I could feel in my bones that something wasn't right, yet I couldn't figure out what it was. And that bothered me. It worried me.
Wan Shi Tong had been able to speak with me as though I were a spirit. I had managed to "speak" with the dragons as well. More than that, they had done something to me. Even now, I couldn't fully understand the changes involved.
Obviously, they had adjusted me to fit their standards. The question was how such an adjustment might affect someone like me—a person who didn't really fit into any category to begin with.
One thing was obvious: whatever had happened to me went far deeper than anything Iroh had experienced, or than what had happened to Zuko and Aang in canon. At least, I was certain about the prince and the general. With the Avatar, you could never be completely certain.
Then again, this attitude had existed even before the dragons and the gothic parrot entered the picture. There was a sense that I simply didn't perceive people as… people?
No, not people. My own kind?
Closer, but still not quite right. Otherwise I wouldn't have spent so much time drooling over Suki, nor would I have been susceptible to feminine charm in general. And, thank the spirits, I couldn't honestly say that about myself.
In the end, I arrived at a single conclusion: I didn't understand a damn thing. And there was nobody I could ask. Well, unless I paid another visit to Tong after the campaign at the Pole. Though there was no guarantee the owl would be able to make sense of it either.
Who else among the spirits might know?
The Face Stealer?
Ahem.
No, thank you. I'm rather attached to my face.
He had merely been bluffing with the Avatar, trying to shock or intimidate him. I doubted he would be nearly so courteous with me. In fact, I strongly suspected that if he were to stab me through the leg and start digging around in the wound, I wouldn't be able to maintain a poker face.
Honestly, that's probably how I'd harvest faces if I were him.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
🥳Joining P@treon keeps me motivated and eager to work diligently, so please consider joining.🥰