Thoroughly befuddled, Benjamin followed Grantt into the castle. As they went, the terminally work-shy AI finally deigned to pipe up and shed some light on the situation.


    "Seven or eight years back, tensions were running high on this continent. There was another nation that rivaled the Horian Kingdom, and war seemed all but inevitable. As such, you young aristocrats were put through some fairly rigorous combat training. But as luck would have it, that rival nation soon collapsed into civil strife, the looming conflict never materialized, and your martial education was cut short."


    The AI paused for a beat, then continued:


    "But you restless little scamps, you''d absorbed all this military lore and were chomping at the bit to put it to the test. When the real deal failed to deliver, you got it in your heads that your battlefield talents were being wasted. And so, at someone''s bright idea, this little tradition was born. A gaggle of young lords gathering at this old castle for a spot of simulated slaughter. Of course, none of you lot see it as mere play-acting. You go at it like the fate of nations hangs in the balance, the very picture of youthful gravitas."


    As the AI''s words sank in, Benjamin could only shake his head in mute exasperation.


    "What a pack of overgrown children."


    He had less than zero interest in this asinine little war game. Sounded like little more than a schoolyard scrap with delusions of grandeur. Frankly, he''d sooner catch a few more z''s, or spend some quality time "meditating", than waste his day on something so puerile.


    "Bit rich, coming from you. What, you''re telling me you never played at knights and brigands as a lad?" The AI, as ever, couldn''t resist taking the cheap shot.


    "… I mean, sure, when I was like ten."


    Benjamin rallied quickly, his tone turning lofty and censorious: "But these jokers are old enough to shave. Bit past the age for mucking about with wooden swords and cardboard shields, wouldn''t you say?"


    "Hey, you had your Gameboy. Not their fault they have to make their own fun." The AI pressed on, relentless. "In fact, I''d wager you sunk way more hours into Age of Empires than these boys spend on their little LARP sessions. To say nothing of the king''s ransom you dropped on skins and loot boxes."


    "…"


    Benjamin found himself uncharacteristically short on snappy comebacks.


    While this scintillating exchange unfolded in the privacy of his own head, he''d been trailing dutifully after Grantt. They now found themselves holed up in a musty, dilapidated room, devoid of any furnishings or decor. Grantt had shepherded them behind the door, pulling it to and holding his breath, for all the world like a soldier lying in ambush.


    Benjamin, though he aped his brother''s actions readily enough, wanted no part in this harebrained escapade.


    "Hey, listen, is there any chance I could just-"


    "Shhh, pipe down." Grantt cut him off at once, voice pitched low and urgent. "Just stick with me, we''ll cruise to an easy win, no worries."


    "…"


    So much for an early exit.


    Ah well. Might as well play along and get it over with. A quick once-over of the castle''s layout had confirmed it was no sprawling labyrinth - with any luck, he''d be done with this tomfoolery and on his merry way before too long.


    Sure enough, scarcely two minutes had passed before a pair of aspiring commandos came bumbling up to their hidey-hole, making to shoulder the door aside for a spot of recon. Quick as a snake, Grantt sprang out from behind the door, a pair of small orbs clutched in his hands, appearing as if by magic.


    "Holy Hand Grenade!" he bellowed, sending the spheres hurtling at the hapless scouts with unerring accuracy.


    The boys, clearly taken aback, gaped at Grantt for a beat. Then, making a great show of inspecting the spots where the missiles had struck, they collapsed bonelessly to the floor, expiring with much melodramatic flair.


    "… Ye gods, the cringe." Even having braced himself for this kind of lunacy, Benjamin couldn''t quite bite back the reflexive jab.


    The balls standing in for Holy Hand Grenades (and what kind of absurd, Monty Python-ass spell was that anyhow?), the bargain basement death scenes, those he could forgive. But what earthly purpose did that eardrum-shattering battle cry serve? At this rate, he half expected the Horian clergy to take up Mjolnir-hurling in Odin''s name.


    "Actually, there''s a reason for that," the AI chimed in, as if reading his thoughts (and for all Benjamin knew, it very well might be). "Holy Hand Grenades are notoriously flashy bits of battle magic. To simulate that effect, the rules of the game stipulate that their use has to be accompanied by that shout, revealing the wielder''s position to all and sundry."


    "…"


    Once again, Benjamin found himself at a loss for a suitably cutting retort.


    "Don''t underestimate these boys," the AI continued, its tone almost comically grave. "They''ve had honest-to-gods combat training. To them, this is deadly serious business."


    As if to underscore the AI''s point, having dispatched his first brace of enemies, Grantt immediately set about hauling Benjamin to a new position. His movements were a study in special forces precision, all textbook combat rolls and high-low recon sweeps - the very model of a modern martial prodigy.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    His compatriots, alas, proved somewhat less professionally drilled, their aristocratic softness shining through in every overblown gesture and clumsy duck-and-weave. And so as the running battle wore on, the tally of Grantt''s conquered foes mounted ever higher, the castle''s corridors littered with the dramatically splayed forms of the fallen.


    Benjamin, for his part, simply tail-ended his brother''s one-boy blitzkrieg, riding his coattails to victory with a mounting sense of sheepish bewilderment.


    But for all the absurdity on parade, he had to admit it was an instructive display. Seeing Grantt in action, the reputed scope of his sibling''s talents took on an almost palpable weight.


    "You''re sure this is the genius you mentioned? The one whose birth came attended by all those signs and portents?" He directed the sardonic aside inward, a wry twist to his nonexistent lips.


    "What, you thought wunderkinder swanned about with their noses in the air, awing lesser minds with their towering intellect?" The AI tutted, a note of reproach creeping in. "Mistake this boy at your peril. The Holy Hand Grenades he''s packing could clear this whole castle, given half a chance. Whereas you''d be lucky to conjure enough water bullets to give the occupants a quick hand-washing."


    "…"


    Brushing off the AI''s mockery, Benjamin remained skeptical. "If he''s really that powerful, how did Michelle manage to abduct him in the first place?"


    The AI had an explanation at the ready. "Michelle''s been running circles around the Church for ages. You can bet she has ways of countering holy magic. And even if she didn''t, you really think she''d try to strong-arm Grantt head-on? Clever and experienced as she is, she could run rings around a dozen of him without breaking a sweat."


    Benjamin mulled that over for a moment before conceding the point.


    "Fair enough."


    His sudden interest in Grantt''s capabilities wasn''t born of any fraternal concern. Rather, a thought had just occurred to him - if Grantt''s mastery of holy magic was truly so formidable, why not recruit him to lift the curse that plagued Benjamin?


    After all, Grantt was still just a lad of thirteen or so. Surely Benjamin could contrive some pretext to secure his aid, youthful gullibility and all. Deceiving a starry-eyed young boy prone to delusions of grandeur might prick the old conscience a bit, but weighed against his very life… well, priorities were priorities.


    And once the curse was broken, Benjamin would be as free as a bird, beholden to none. Michelle and the Church could butt heads to their hearts'' content - nothing to do with him.


    Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!


    Thus musing, Benjamin felt his prospects suddenly take on a decidedly rosier cast.


    For all her vaunted cunning, it seemed Michelle had made a rare misstep. Surely it had never crossed her mind that Benjamin might seek succor from his wunderkind of a brother at this critical juncture.


    Eh…


    Wait a tick!


    Would Michelle truly have overlooked such an obvious angle?


    Benjamin''s soaring spirits plummeted back to earth with whiplash-inducing speed. Perhaps it was the long shadow Michelle had cast over his psyche, but he simply couldn''t picture her failing to account for this possibility.


    Sure enough, upon querying the AI, he received a disheartening response.


    "Hard to say. It''s possible her curse is esoteric enough to stymie even Grantt''s expertise. More likely, though, she''s banking on the Church''s strictures around the use of holy magic."


    Feeling his hopes dim further, Benjamin nonetheless pressed on. "What strictures?"


    "Initiates are forbidden from wielding holy magic frivolously," the AI explained. "Prodigiously gifted though he may be, Grantt has yet to officially graduate from the Church''s tutelage. As such, he lacks the authority to employ his powers outside sanctioned contexts. And with the Church watching his every move… well, you''ve seen firsthand how eager they are to aid you. Michelle''s almost certainly aware of this, hence her brazenness."


    Damn and blast…


    Benjamin couldn''t help but feel he''d been outfoxed yet again.


    Still, after matching wits with Michelle in so many skirmishes, his mental fortitude had grown considerably. He''d never been one to lean on others - the notion of soliciting Grantt''s intervention had been but a passing whim. If it panned out, wonderful. If not, hardly the end of the world. Wouldn''t be the first time Lady Luck had spat in his eye.


    Just as well, really. Saved him the headache of having to hoodwink Grantt. There was a certain freedom in flying solo.


    And so he continued to tail Grantt as the boy cut a swathe through the opposition, bearing witness to a comprehensive display of tactical acumen, from ambuscades to frontal assaults. Scarcely an adversary could withstand him for more than a minute.


    Benjamin had to admit, it was an eye-opening spectacle - inasmuch as he was willing to take this game seriously, anyhow.


    But even to his untrained eye, it was plain Grantt''s foes lacked his single-minded focus. For Grantt, this was a true crucible of war. For the others… well, the game was still very much afoot.


    Benjamin couldn''t help but wonder if Grantt himself hadn''t been the one to propose these martial games in the first place.


    Had he been born in the modern age, the boy would surely be the most die-hard MMO addict of all, the sort to cosplay his avatar at conventions.


    Under the sure hand of a seasoned veteran, even a raw rookie like Benjamin made swift progress. After what felt to him an interminable slog (in truth, a mere hour), the game was finally entering its climactic phase, the tally of the "slain" rising steadily.


    After taking stock with the AI, Benjamin confirmed only two enemies remained standing.


    "At last, the end is nigh," he mused to himself.


    "You should savor the experience," the AI chided. "Just look at Grantt - so focused, so in the zone. Honing his skills even as he indulges his passion. Now there''s a true paragon of gamesmanship."


    "It''s not that I don''t want to get caught up in the moment," Benjamin admitted quietly. "I just… can''t. It''s like asking a hardcore fan of bleeding-edge VR shooters to suddenly embrace old-school 16-bit RPGs. Not an easy transition. I don''t mean to be a killjoy, it''s just how I''m wired."


    The AI was silent for a spell, then spoke up abruptly. "You know, dissing retro RPGs within earshot of their diehard fans? That''s a good way to get yourself flamed to a crisp. Might want to watch that talk, chief."


    Benjamin too fell quiet, contemplating the AI''s words. "I know. But it''s not like I''m writing a novel here. This ain''t a first draft I can take back later. In real life, you''re stuck with what comes out of your mouth, even if you end up regretting it."


    The AI offered no rebuttal, and Benjamin lapsed into brooding silence. After a long, discomfiting beat, he suddenly twitched as if snapping out of a trance, even hiccuping for good measure.


    "Did we… did we just have a really weird conversation?" he asked the AI, brow furrowed.


    "Conversation? What conversation? Not a word''s passed between us, boss," the AI replied, the very picture of innocent bewilderment.


    Benjamin could only nod, his own expression one of utmost solemnity.


    "My thoughts exactly."


    With that, their attention shifted back to the here and now. In the waking world, the game had entered its final stretch. Grantt continued to stalk the two holdouts as Benjamin looked on, stifling a yawn and resigning himself to await the game''s conclusion.


    But then, as if struck by a bolt from the blue, he snapped to high alert, a deep unease etching itself across his features.


    "Hey, wait a sec. That Fur kid… was he among the clowns we put down earlier?" He directed the query at the AI, his phrasing markedly deliberate.


    "Negative," the AI confirmed.


    "You''re dead certain?" Benjamin pressed.


    "Doubting my faculties now, are we? If I say he wasn''t there, you can take that to the bank. I''d stake my motherboard on it, eight hundred percent."


    At those words, Benjamin drew in a shuddering breath.


    He gazed down the corridor ahead, at the lone unexplored room at its terminus. In that instant, an almost palpable sense of imminent disaster crashed over him like a gelid wave, raising gooseflesh and chilling him to his marrow.