ã€ŠIsekai Conspiracyã€‹


 Chapter 0: Prologue

    Agony! Pure agony! My body felt like it had just squeezed and stretched, and my head like it had just rolled from inside of a washing machine bumping on its way. I felt burning pain in my lungs as if I had just inhaled something no human should. I tried to open my eyes, but it was too bright.

    I tried to move, but everything below my neck was paralyzed.

    It felt like even my ears and eyes were bleeding, but this pain dwarfed compared to the headache.

    Was this another of my nightmares? I didn''t think so; it was way worse.

    It was a good couple of minutes before the pain dulled enough for me to open my eyes. Even then, I could only lift myself with a bit of struggle. My vision was still blurry though.

    "Huh?" I heard a beautiful female voice echoing."??? ??????????, ???? ??????? ???????? ?????? ?????, ???? ??????? ??? ??? ??????, ??? ???? ??, ???? ???????? ??" As she spoke with a slightly confused tone, I sensed the pain waned and left my body completely as if I had been injected with the strongest painkillers.

    ¡°What, sorry I don¡¯t understand you?¡± The language sounded familiar, but I still had no idea what she was saying.

    "Aki Kusuragi, welcome to the afterlife. Unfortunately, you have died. Your life, though it was short, is now over." she switched to English.

    I looked around. I was amongst dense clouds; it felt surreal. I looked up to see countless blue stars shining bright in a purple sky. Where was I? My breath was uneven as I was trying to remember what happened before, but every time I did, my brain hurt as if my head was being squeezed again.

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    Something bad had just happened, but what? Why was this woman referring to me as Aki whatever? I was George, not some Japanese named Aki. Was that even a male name? I looked at myself; I was one hundred percent the same person.

    "I am Noritz, the goddess of death and rebirth, here to guide you through your resurrection into another world." My eyes finally adjusted properly.

    In front of me was a woman who looked like an angel drawn from a painting by a Renaissance artist. She sat at an ivory table looking at some documents on A4-type paper, and then at me as if checking something.

    When did I manage to die? I instinctively searched for my notebook in the hidden pocket of my suit. It was there, so I opened the last filled page and read its contents.

    The goddess was talking to me, but I wasn''t looking at her, all my attention was on recovering my last memories on planet Earth. When I read the last entry it all clicked into place, I remembered everything. I smiled, lampooning the situation I had gotten myself into. If I could print this story, it would be the most-read article in the history of humankind. I guessed that was impossible now.

    "Are you listening to me?" The goddess''s tone sharpened, her patience clearly wearing thin.

    I sat on the edge of her table, facing her. "Look, sweetheart, as you might have guessed, I am not Aki Kusuragi.  I am George, George Yossarian, and I am most certainly not dead." I winked, channeling my best James Bond impression, hoping it would work on her.

    She raised her head and our eyes met. Her lips were pursed as she slightly clenched her fists. "And how much do you know, George Yossarian?"

    "I guess I know something I shouldn''t. Where should I start from?" I smiled at her gently.

    "Start from the beginning, in all the details, we have time." My Bond impression definitely wasn''t working on her, but for some reason, she exhaled loudly and stopped clenching her fists, as if accepting reality.

    "As you wish, Goddess Noritz. Everything started after I ran into some troubles a few months ago¡­"

 Chapter 1: George Yossarian: Awakening

    A relentless beeping cut through the silence, pulling me from the embrace of Morpheus. Coldness seeped into my bones, and my body lay frozen, refusing to respond to my commands. Light pressed against my closed eyelids, which felt glued shut. The persistent rhythm prevented any hope of slipping back into the comforting darkness.

    I tried to speak, but I discovered something strange obstructing my mouth. I let out a determined puff of air, and the intrusive tube covering my mouth got expelled. I coughed a dry rasping sound as I yearned for the lights and beeping to cease. Gradually, I managed to coax my eyelids open, reclaiming control over them.

    Blurred shapes in white light slowly focused. They revealed a man hovering over me.

    "Nurse, he''s awake! Get the doctor!" The footsteps that followed his shout reverberated in my head, intensifying my discomfort. The man leaned in. "George, nephew, you are finally awake! How about some water?" It had to be Uncle Josh.

    "I thought we''d lost you this time. I''ll call Tom," he said while reaching for his phone, but I managed to rasp out a question before he could dial.

    "Josh, what¡¯s happening?" My voice was a parched whisper. Speaking was more painful than expected. He promptly poured water into my mouth, bringing some relief.

    I scanned my surroundings. It had a major contrast from where I''d last been¡ªa place of mud and blood, not this sanitized hospital room. I was for some reason in a hospital. Memories started flooding back, and I began to piece together the narrative aloud. That habit helped me find clarity.

    "I was at the Tingalese frontlines, in the forests¡­ I was filming in the trenches. The junta army launched their offensive on rebels. We couldn''t evacuate. The route was under heavy fire, and then..."

    "And then you got shot," Josh interrupted me. His lips were pursed, and his face portrayed concern. "You''re in a hospital, about an hour''s drive from my place. We medevacked you out of Tingal a few weeks ago. You took a bullet, George, and there''s this photo of you, wounded, in a journalist vest, holding a rifle... It''s been all over the internet. North Atlantic Times, they... they suspended your accreditation. I''m going to be looking after you until you''re back on your feet."

    Beep... Beep... Beep... His words echoed in my mind, "Suspended... Suspended... Suspended," confirming a harsh reality: my career, my reputation, all jeopardized while I was in a coma and couldn''t respond.

    "Fuck... I should have stayed in the secret services," I muttered, not willing to curse out loud near Josh.

    "You were taking your topics too seriously. Journalism is an adventure where you uncover dark secrets and tell heartbreaking or heartwarming stories. Not when you dive into the trench and have to defend yourself from the war criminals of the Tingalese Army," Josh berated me from the moment I woke up. He didn''t let the things he was reporting influence him, a skill I never learned. I was preparing a retort, something about the value of truth, and that Josh for sure didn''t believe what he just said, but while I was grabbing air to answer, a stabbing pain ruptured through my chest.

    The doctor rushed over, prompting Josh to step outside. As he left, he glanced back. "I''d rather have you here without accreditation than not have you at all, George."

    As I slowly drifted back to sleep, I understood what he meant. It''s nice to be alive.

    In the two weeks of slow recovery, I read through hundreds of messages I wasn''t able to respond to while I was in Tingal or unconscious, doing my best to answer them all. Mostly they were "How are you?", "Get better", and "Kill yourself" peppered with random death threats. One letter was from a colleague from MI6: "FYI. We have a desk job open, if you are still interested ofc." That was the only job offer I got aside from cheap propaganda agencies in case I would prefer to sell my integrity. A few old friends were asking for advice on their investigation cases.

    The news wasn''t kind either; the junta''s propaganda machine had influenced North Atlantic Times to distance themselves from me, tarnishing my name. Job prospects seemed bleak, and to add insult to injury, my insurance barely covered the recovery costs.

    When I finally managed to get out of bed, a glance in the mirror confirmed the toll the ordeal had taken: muscle loss, longer hair, and a paler complexion. The lack of strain, however, lent a striking clarity to my eyes, not a single red vein seen on my whites.

    The severance package from NA Times was laughably insufficient, slashed to a mere month''s worth. So, job hunting became my new focus as soon as I moved into Josh''s place.

    "Hello, my name is George Yossarian. I''m inquiring about the vacancy you''ve posted," became a refrain I repeated endlessly, with little success. The scandal attached to my name made each application a futile effort.

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    I looked at the young Winston Churchill''s portrait on my laptop''s background and grabbed a similarly named cigarette pack. With a deep inhale, I started to calculate my possibilities.

    Resorting to a blog seemed the only viable option, my wartime following providing some, albeit limited, financial relief. Still, I knew it wasn''t sustainable. I needed a job, a place of my own; I couldn''t burden Josh by living in his place like I did when I was in college.

    Uncle was very rich, I''ve never understood how he managed to get so affluent doing journalism, but that didn''t mean I had to sit on his neck. I was desperate for a story, something that could resurrect my career and overshadow the controversy that now defined me on the web. Something that wasn''t soulless work at the desk in MI6.

    I reached out to my old contacts in law enforcement, hoping for a lead, but the response was disheartening. It seemed my reputation preceded me, and not in a good way. The junta had been thorough, painting me as a villain and a liar in the most grotesque colors. It would have been fine, if not for NA Times taking their side.

    Yet, all the free time allowed me to rekindle relationships with friends and family, some of whom I haven''t seen in years. My brother finished his service, got engaged, and opened his psychological practice for veterans. For two years we haven''t seen each other eye-to-eye.

    During a catch-up at Josh''s, a tipsy debate unfolded. The topic? The use of AI in journalism.

    "AI''s great for proofreading, but it''s not infallible and is prone to hallucinations and CNN-style bias. It can''t discern causation from correlation," Erika, Tom''s fianc¨¦e and a former colleague in journalism, pointed out, eliciting laughter. Josh, ever the optimist, countered with a story of how a private AI of his friends he had access to had helped him crack a major political scandal. Intrigued, he decided to demonstrate this Wunderwaffen tool called "Enigma AI" he''d been working with.

    I ran a few old cases I had regarding mid and low-level corruption. Well, the AI looked like it read my articles as it came to similar conclusions, so I went for something obscure.

    I entered data about strange blackouts I''d experienced in Tokyo during my year-long investigative work as a foreign expert. "Analyzing possible causes, please wait..." So we went back to debating politics. In an hour, the notebook made a pinging sound; the answer was ready.

    "There is a 95% correlation between Tokyo blackouts and fatal truck accidents three days prior." It made no sense, so I opened the links provided by the program. "Victory is mine! The machine is just hallucinating again!" I thought while lampooning in my mind.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I said to myself and for some reason decided to analyze the links¡ª10 obituaries for this year, six belonging to teenage prodigies. In obituaries for the last three years, 2 out of 9 were prodigies. Overall this happened 22 times in the last 3 years and blackouts didn¡¯t happen before that.

    Well, maybe the machine just cherry-picked the ones that were high in search results. I checked the number of casualties on the roads in Tokyo - 200 fatal accidents related to pedestrians. 11 out of them involved the word "truck" usually referring to small transport vehicles.

    I looked at the obituaries, one was for a math and physics Olympics winner, and there were some for a couple of others - rising athletes, a musician with a Tchaikovsky award¡­

    "This is strange, but how does it relate to blackouts?" I asked myself.

    This brought a memory. When I was working in intelligence, we would often use inconspicuous service trucks as a means of transportation and surveillance, this bugged me off. The probability that out of ten random accidents you will get six people from an extremely slim demographic of teenage prodigies is practically zero. It''s usually elderly people who die in traffic accidents.

    Something was off-putting about this whole thing, I looked up, and for some reason unknown to me decided to give this potential story a try.

    "Guys, I found something strange. It looks like Japanese-gifted kids die a lot in truck accidents. Any suggestions?" I relayed the found information.

    "Well, there is a trope in Japanese anime that if you die by a truck, you are reborn in a fantasy world. I guess these are over-achievers tired of life killing themselves. You were in Japan too, you have seen how unhealthy their working culture is." Tom shrugged.

    "A spy program," Josh was in his element. "It''s hard to naturalize someone over 16-17. Before that, you could claim that kids were homeschooled, that they haven''t learned to drive, that''s why they don''t have a license, or for the same reason never voted or never had a banking card. Then you smuggle them into the country and give them one of the fake documents you were creating for years. Maybe the kids got their deaths faked, and now are already spying for Japanese governments somewhere in the US."

    "Yeah, but that doesn''t explain the blackouts," I retorted.

    "Let''s look from another perspective. Who are the truck drivers? Blue-collar workers, who by some Asian standards failed at life. So, someone like that could target kids, whom he believes have an easy life or a silver spoon. Serial killer, a similar expression of resentment against society to the school shooters in the US." Erika has covered school shootings and terror acts before, so it fell into her paradigm. She looked at something on her phone and smiled.

    "Well, would you look at that? Truckers are quitting en masse due to overworking. Mystery solved!"

    "This doesn''t explain the blackouts either, but correlation is not causation. On the other hand, having more than half of victims being kids notable enough to get a mention in media is something hard to ignore," I responded thinking about all the possibilities, all three options made sense, even suicide cult. More importantly: two of the hypotheses could yield an article bringing me back to the industry. Aside from the espionage agency, that would lead to me getting hit by a truck or at least in a lot of trouble.

    As I walked home, I pondered the reality of the situation. Was this just the desperate grasping of a man trying to get his life back, or had I stumbled upon something exciting?

 Chapter 2: Ledas: Another Place Another Time

    Ledas was finishing his preparation for his part of the show in the cold stables. Props were in place over his whole body. He took out a locket, opening it and a mirror showed his face. It was pale, a bit too pale, marked slightly with blue veins his eyes crystal blue. His last performance wasn¡¯t as well received, so he was slightly anxious. It was hard to perform at the same place for three months in a row. Half of this part of the town probably saw his tricks already, but winter was too snowy and cold for the troupe to change their location.

    He focused on his hand, bringing his index and middle fingers together by crossing them. The golden tattoos on the proximal phalanges of each finger connected to form a complete magical circle. Flame slowly appeared in his palm, whirling and spinning until it formed a perfect sphere of fire.

    Here came the most uncomfortable part of the routine: submerging the tips of his fingers into the flame. ¡°Ugh¡­¡± He clenched his teeth as the fire slowly entered his veins through the fingertips. In the small mirror in the pendant, he saw his complexion slowly becoming more warm and lively. His eyes returned to their natural green color.

    He no longer resembled someone who was terminally ill, a vampire, or an aberration. That was good. He combed the ashen hair that no longer looked menacing. One had to appear good, especially when performing.

    The Vishap''s Belly Inn had no empty seats on Saturday night as the vagabond troupe captivated the crowd. The room was warm on this early spring night, filled with the smells of stew, beer, and sweat from all the patrons. Ledas in his long navy coat and white gloves began his show moving his hands in the air mesmerizing the audience.

    He started with his main course of tricks.

    He almost seemed like a mage, though no incantations were spoken, nor visible effects seen. With a graceful gesture, cards began to fly from one hand to the other, as he scanned the audience, picking out those most likely to be enthralled by his finale.

    "Girl, Focus!" he beckoned to a wide-eyed girl at the front, a grin spreading across his face. With a dramatic flourish, it was time for his part of the show to end. But what is the best way but classics? He plucked a silver drahm from the girl''s ear, much to her amusement and that of a few people in the crowd. Yet, such a trick was ancient; it needed a twist to impress the ones who had seen other magicians act before. He snapped his fingers holding the silver coin, which burst into colorful confetti, raining down on the impressed onlookers.

    "But where did it go?" He pretended to look for the coin in a comedic manner and produced a deck of cards back into his hands; the audience hadn''t noticed the moment he put it away. The crowd still had some sour faces, so he moved towards a still dour-looking old woman.

    "Ma''am, I sense your doubt in my magic, but watch - it can read minds," he teased, offering her a card from the deck. As she drew one, Ledas stepped back and spun in place looking at the crowd. He stirred the deck of cards and took one from inside. "The queen of spades, is this your card?" he asked.

    The woman blinked a few times in confusion, looking at the card she had thought she held in her now empty hand was now inexplicably with the magician, while the crowd filled the room with cheers and woos.

    "Nine hells, how?" the woman muttered to herself in confusion. Nearby, the troupe''s twin mimes made their rounds, collecting the bronze splits and sometimes even whole bronze coins in their cylindrical hats as the magician made a deep bow and went towards his fellow vagabonds.

    As the tightrope dancer began his act above, dodging occasional food projectiles, Ledas sat beside Olaf: the troupe''s robust leader, and the strongman.

    "Nice job, Ledas. You look spent, though," Olaf noted, clapping him on the back.

    "I''d say otherwise, but indeed, I''m nearly done for the night," Ledas replied, taking a loud sip of beer provided by a thankful patron. "I''m gone after this mug." Finishing the sentence, he inhaled the beer froth with pleasure.

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    "Was the last trick just sleight of hand?" Olaf whispered, eyeing him curiously.

    "It''s more about directing attention," Ledas admitted with a sly grin, proud of his craft.

    "Well, that one looked like magic for sure. Maybe if I watch it closely next time I''ll be able to see what you did there." A long pause ensued as the crowd became louder. "Still keeping your talents under wraps, eh? Well, never mind, I am happy to have you around, sly bastard."

    "We are not starving, stash money for a rainy day, the beer tastes nice, and the audience is happy. It''s a fine life where we travel around the world and are free to decide the destination. If I wanted riches, I would have taken a shady path, and get ridiculously rich by cleaning some dry." Ledas said, despite being tired and pale, he looked fulfilled as he laid his head back, looking at the tightrope dancer performing on the rope.

    "Not a chance you would become a thief; you like to show off too much. Go rest, we have a harsh morning tomorrow," Olaf patted Ledas''s head, ruffling the neatly combed hair.

    As Arty concluded his tightrope act, Ledas retreated to the stables, his makeshift bed of hay and a plaid blanket awaiting. Ensuring privacy, he pulled a small pendant from beneath his shirt. A mirror inside revealed his pale, almost spectral reflection. "I shouldn''t have drunk the cold beer. No, it''s fine, I''m just overthinking; I just look pale, nothing else."

    He approached their personal belongings in the corner, grabbed a tin cup, and threw a dried daisy inside. Moving his finger gently on the brim of the cup, he crossed his index and middle fingers moving them against each other. Hot water slowly started to appear inside as Ledas whispered an incantation, with his fingers starting to glow with golden runes, forming patterns every few movements of his hands.

    After warming up from the tea, Ledas checked his face in the mirror again - much better. The daisy hid the eerie taste of conjured water and helped wash away the tiredness as he fell asleep under a huge plaid blanket on the hay.

    Back in the tavern, Olaf was performing his tricks: lifting a bench with 3-4 people sitting on it and offering townsfolk a chance to arm-wrestle him.

    "Put one copper to win one silver! Easy as that. Who''s up for the challenge tonight?" A group of four guards from the nearest gate, regulars both in the tavern and for the challenge, were eager.

    No one in this town had won yet, but the guards were betting among themselves on which of them could withstand Olaf''s pressure the longest. After losing, one guard didn''t back down.

    "Let''s try again! I am not taking no for an answer!" His face was slightly red from the alcohol, but he put the copper piece on the table.

    "Sure, why not." Olaf smiled as repeat attempts were easier, and he slammed the guard''s hand on the table, making his colleagues giggle in the background, hurting his pride. The guard stood up, his face red, yelling.

    "I could easily take you one on one, wanna go outside, hic!?" As if forgetting that he was someone who had to uphold the law, not create trouble.

    At the bar table, an older man wearing officer''s pauldrons and the city''s tabard stood up to get to his subordinate. Other guards were bursting out laughing, hindering their ability to calm down their drunk friend.

    It wasn''t the first time this had happened with Olaf, so he knew the best way to diffuse situations like this.

    "Of course, you could, master warrior. I am but a strong laborer, not a skilled warrior like yourself."

    "Yeah, right, I am a strong warrior and I need another drink!" His friends gently moved him away from the potential conflict and from the inn.

    "You look strong," the man in the officer''s uniform said, sitting in front of the arm-wrestling table. His hair was graying and his face adorned with a couple of scars, but he made Olaf feel weak in comparison.

    "Strong, calm, and humble when needed. Town guard''s required qualities. In a week, we are conducting recruiting at the central base. I suggest you go there." He put a coin into the small pile on the table. Without waiting for a response, he stood up and left the inn.

    Arty was adjusting the hay and putting blankets for the crew members finishing up in the inn. Ledas had again forgotten to take off his shoes and had thrown away the blanket in his sleep. He was twitching, nightmares again. Arty sat next to his lying friend and did what he had seen his late mother do when he was a small boy. He gently petted his friend''s head, humming a soft tune. "Shhh, no monsters are under the bed. Sweet dreams," he whispered, staying beside Ledas until his friend''s breathing steadied and the twitching ceased.

 Ch 3: George Yossarian: Call to Tokyo

    I started with data collection; the initial step in any investigation. I tried to find all the mentions of Tokyo blackouts. If there were any investigations related to them, but strangely there weren''t any. I thought that having a blackout for about an hour around each month would lead to public backlash, but the only backlash I saw was a minor one on social media with the government and utility company just shifting the blame on each other. Investigations led to the conclusion that the issue was related to increased consumption, and major investments were needed to avoid such issues in the future. That looked like a dead end to me.

    I decided to investigate all of the people who died before the blackouts, as something was telling me there might be a commonality there. A hidden thread, invisible but tangible, bounding them together. What could have linked an overworked salaryman, a reclusive NEET untouched by social media''s reach, and a high-school prodigy with a promising future?

    A large, blank canvas of Tokyo''s landscape was tacked to the wall of my makeshift home office. I pushed pins into the map and drew routes targets took based on publicly available information from databases and social networks. I doubled everything on my computer, but every time I jabbed a pin I felt myself inside a Sherlock Holmes book. Red pins stained the places where lives had allegedly ended. Blue ones marked the victims'' residences, while yellow dots, sprinkled like breadcrumbs across the city, traced the places they would frequent according to their social media.

    At first glance, the yellow pins scattered without an apparent pattern across the city¡ªworkplaces, schools, cafes, karaoke bars, gaming centers. But the red and blue markers told a different tale. Sites of accidents were in areas devoid of car accidents otherwise, while blue marks were grouped in clusters in the western parts of Tokyo. People usually died on their regular routes not far from where they lived or studied/worked.

    I looked at the online map, only to find these sites usually barren of any businesses, big shops, or any distinctive landmarks. But that''s most of Tokyo. This absence of data whispered amid the cacophony of other information, hinting at something amiss. The victims fell almost invariably on their routine paths¡ªfrom work or school to home. That wasn''t unusual, but I knew something was missing.

    I "walked the streets" via street view maps. I searched not only for what was there, but most importantly for what was absent.

    What was there - usually 40 or 30 km max speed signs and comfy-looking residential areas. A couple of the roads even had 8-20km with "no trucks" signs. Now you tell me this is not strange! I noticed myself grinning.

    Nothing felt right, leading me to step outside for a smoke. A CCTV camera at the entrance caught my attention. I went back to my laptop and looked at the sites again.

    Out of 22 places, 21 had no cameras. Only one had, but it was not looking at the direction of the most probable place of the accident. There were not many CCTVs in the area whatsoever. But Japan didn''t have many anyway.

    The anomalies piled up, becoming too significant to dismiss as mere coincidence. Spy and Murder theories have a higher probability, but Suicide cults: have less. A speeding truck on a one-lane no-truck 20km/h limit road felt like an unrealistic option for suicidal people, and to be honest too sloppy for intelligence agencies, but I have seen before how sloppy secret services can work.

    Relying solely on data wasn''t enough anymore; I needed insights from the ground. It was time to reach out to my contacts in Japan. I skimmed through my contacts list looking for Inspector Nobu''s phone from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. A couple of years back, I had helped Nobu with an investigative report on a case of corruption within his department. Since then, we have nurtured mutual respect and a beneficial professional relationship. He owed his promotion to me and I sensed that he was an honorable man, so it was the safest bet.

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    Picking up my phone, I dialed Nobu''s number. As it rang, my eyes darted across the map, dancing over the constellation of dots.

    "Hello, it''s been a while," Nobu answered, his voice as gruff as I remembered.

    We exchanged pleasantries and small talk before I brought up the reason for my call. First I asked if maybe he had some interesting stories to cover, and after a negative response, I asked him about the truck cases, as if I was assuming there is a serial killer on a truck. The eerie absence of CCTV footage, the cluster of deaths at highly unlikely locations, and the predominance of prodigies among the victims - it all suggested something sinister like a serial killer. I wasn''t planning to voice Josh''s idea that it was their foreign intelligence agency.

    My suspicions were met with silence on the other end, but I heard him typing something. Nobu had probably looked for something on his computer. His voice hardened as he informed me that these cases had already been investigated and closed as unfortunate accidents. "I remember one of the cases. There''s no murder here. Please don''t touch these stories. The families have suffered through enough," he said. His tone was a bit harsher than usual, and slightly defensive.

    Nobu was a by-the-book police officer, I had never known him to stonewall an inquiry. Maybe I was not the first one to inquire about the cases, or he had to deliver the news himself which was very unlikely.

    His voice gave up slight insecurity. He was hiding something he saw on his computer or something he knew. But what? He shouldn''t have had clearance to intelligence secrets. Had other police officers tried to investigate this? Was what he was looking at marked as needing higher clearance?

    "Thanks, Nobu, if you say it was already investigated it''s good to know, I''ll look at other potential stories in this case. If you find something in need of reporting, give me a call!"

    I lied to him with my most honest voice. If anything, Nobu''s evasiveness only solidified my conviction that there was more to these accidents than met the eye.

    To uncover the truth, I realized, I would have to fly to Japan myself and do things like they taught us in intelligence. I hoped I had not lost my skills.

    ***

    My plan was set. I grabbed my camera bag, stuffing it with my most trusted lenses that survived Tingal, and began to pack my essentials. My laptop, notepad, pens, old audio recorder, extra batteries, lockpicks and disguise kits - these were the tools of my trade,a and my other old trade I was a conflict journalist without a war, searching for a new battlefield; this was my cover, and it wasn''t far from the truth. The best cover is a real one.

    I felt more confident to tackle the possible challenges ahead. I tossed my drone into the bag for good measure. Its potential for scouting was revealed to me in Tingal, when rebels asked me to lend it to them. Not to mention, it might have helped me capture some stunning images of Tokyo, should I have needed to sell the story of being a photographer exploring the Land of the Rising Sun.

    I booked a direct flight to Tokyo, grabbing the earliest available option. As I folded my clothes and packed them neatly in my backpack, my mind was filled with countless thoughts, uncertainties, and questions.

    Nobu''s cold denial, the string of "accidental" deaths, the invisible threads that seemed to connect them all, and the underlying darkness I could feel - they all formed a mystery that had piqued my interest. But I was diving headfirst into unfamiliar territory, halfway across the world. Was I ready for what lay ahead?

    Turning off the lights, I glanced one last time at the map on the wall. The red, yellow, and blue dots stared back at me, I almost left it on the wall. So into the bag, it went.

    "You''ve got a story to tell me, Tokyo," I thought to myself, agitation welling up inside me. "And I''m coming to eavesdrop."

 Ch 4: Ledas : Sparrows

    A boy was sitting with his father on a small pier in front of a cozy pond in the middle of the forest. Their impromptu fishing rods next to them were calm. Father held his son''s hand and was methodically applying a tattoo with a glittery golden ink. The boy was pursing his lips and tears would come out of his eyes, but he made no sound. The rune felt like an eternity to draw, but when it was finished the father wiped the bloody skin with a napkin, and stood up. "I will be fine in a few minutes, don''t heal the wound with magic, it has to recover naturally".

    After the father left the vicinity, the boy closed his eyes shut and started to cry, it was painful. Why does he even need this type of magic if he can just say the words and the same magic will happen?

    When he opened his eyes, it was as if it was winter. The pond was frozen and the trees around were slightly covered in ice. The air was soothing cold, the hand wasn''t hurting anymore.

    ___

    In the early spring dawn, it was still chilly. Vagabond entertainers rarely welcomed the sunrise, especially mere hours after their performances ended and they''d sought refuge in the stables'' piles of hay. But the promise of good pay for loading work was too good to pass up.

    Ledas, the magician among them, was an early riser, chilly nights meant nightmares would visit often. He leaned against the external chimney wall protruding into the stables, sipping warm water infused with mint leaves. His pale skin slowly regained its color as he loudly yawned towards his sleeping friends. "Girls, it''s time to wake up. Two silver drahms are two more than we have now," he announced. Notably, there were no girls in their troupe.

    The two identical, redheaded twin brothers Finn and Flynn, about fifteen winters old, woke up shivering and quickly dressed under their shared blanket. "Ledas, please make a fire," they implored, only to see him purse his lips.

    "Not in the stables. There¡¯s too much hay, and I''d rather not flee the city for accidental arson. Grab some warm water instead," he sighed as he directed them towards the chimney where he had prepared warm water in tin cups.

    "But the gates are close, we can make the run" - joked Arty.

    "And the gates are closed for another hour, quit messing around" - Olaf was the fun killer from the early dawn.

    A few minutes later, the group trudged through the mostly sleeping cobblestone streets of Tigranakert. Finn and Flynn, were lagging behind from time to time, their eyes scanning the shopkeepers setting up their stalls.

    "Listen up, you two," Olaf''s deep voice commanded authority, making the twins straighten up and close the gap. "Today we are moving stuff for mages, so don¡¯t act stupid" Before the twins could respond with their usual dismissive remarks, Olaf silenced them with an imposing glare.

    "Mages don¡¯t tolerate thieves, spies or idiots. If you do something stupid they will use their magics, and you are done. Keep your hands to yourself, heads down and ears closed. Cause I ain¡¯t gonna get a chance to save your asses" he warned gravely.

    The twins swallowed hard, saying in unison, "We promise." Arty and Ledas nodded in agreement. Though they had no history of stealing, curiosity was one of their vices.

    Arty caught up from that moment "From what I have heard they are not in the best mood, so it¡¯s a good chance to show some extreme subservience, maybe they will tip generously. What is an extra silver coin to someone who gets paid in gold?"

    Today''s task was quite normal: load heavy things onto carriages. The context and pay were not: The Mages Guild branch in Tigranakert was leaving after some political clash regarding taxation, and as gossip claimed, romance and intrigue. The court wizard of King Arshakion and most non-battle mages were either leaving or no longer willing to provide services in a place which is under sanctions by the International Mages Guild.

    This morning, Olaf''s handymen had to move things from the guild to the carriages for a nice pay of two silver drahms - enough for the band not to worry for a week if performances didn''t gather attention or rain deterred potential viewers.

    ¡­

    The Mages Guild was a three-storied stone building made of volcanic tuff with an attached tower. A group of four mages in blue guild robes stood near the entrance, smoking from crooked pipes and organizing the loading.

    "Are you the hired hands?" A young woman in an apprentice robe asked the group.

    "Yes, sire, glad to serve!" Olaf made a deep bow as if to a noble, with the others quickly following suit. Good impressions often left good tips.

    A middle-aged gray-haired man in High-Journeyman''s robes tilted his head in a bit creepy manner. "Are you the vagabonds performing on the streets this whole week? I think I saw those tween redheads a couple of days ago."

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The band members nodded. "Whatever, get to work," the Journeyman quickly instructed them what to move, and what areas should be loaded by which group of workers to what carriages.

    The guild rooms were decorated with exquisite dark wood furniture, beautiful paintings, arcane magical apparatus, and shelves lined with ancient tomes the mages handled themselves.

    Aside from being exquisite, the furniture barely fit through any doors, so it took until noon to empty the third floor.

    Olaf decided on a group break outside as the sun warmed the air and sweat dripped from their faces. Ledas never got hot and sweaty, so he scanned the line of carriages, looking for targets to gain additional income. One stood out among the thirty or so mages gathered before the guildhall. After donning a performer''s coat, he approached a young apprentice in expensive shoes and a pocket watch - a deep pocket!

    The target constantly fidgeted, not paying attention to his surroundings, longingly looking at the guildhall. Ledas prepared cards in hidden sleeve compartments, separating three into another hand. "Good sir, would you like to know your future?" Before the apprentice could react, Tarot Cards appeared as if from nowhere, leaping from one of the magician''s hands to the other. "The cards hold mysteries and guidance. For a small contribution, they can offer you a glimpse into the path ahead or the answers you seek."

    Such a bold approach sometimes worked on those not in a good mindset. Seconds later, the apprentice pulled cards from the stack before discussing the price - the best outcome.

    Ledas glided his hand over the cards, opening them one by one with a mysterious look while focusing on the smallest details and the apprentice''s expressions.

    "Self - this card represents you." A Magician card opened face down. "You are suffocating your ability to solve the problems surrounding you." The Magician continued, "The situation is the Wheel of Fortune reversed - you feel at the down point of this life cycle, but things will go up from here, which is good. Lastly, the Challenge on your path - the Temperance card, meaning you will challenge yourself and temper the steel inside to purify your mind and free yourself from doubt."

    The rich apprentice''s journey into the arcane had barely scratched the surface of mystery. His eyes flickered with a tumult of emotions, reflecting the cards as he gazed upon them. His focus fell on the Magician card. Was he truly choking his abilities? Suddenly, ideas he had pushed away as dangerous or too daring rushed into his mind - possibilities he was afraid to consider. He looked at the Wheel and felt he was truly at a down point, having to move away from home due to this turmoil if he wanted to continue his education. He imagined the path ahead and knew that to become a journeyman, he would have to show temperance from now on.

    As thoughts rushed through the apprentice''s mind, he took a coin from his pouch and passed it towards the magician without looking. Ledas returned to his band around the corner, took off the performance coat, and tossed a whole silver drahm to the big brother Olaf. The strongman caught the flying object mid-air, his eyes widening. "Damn, these mages are rich!" he whispered, not daring to be too loud.

    "Even the rich just want to hear that everything will be fine. This kid was an easy read," Ledas bragged. It was rare he got his hands on someone so vulnerable and wealthy simultaneously.

    The team moved back to work on the second floor as a Mage with purple robes lined with gold walked through the corridor. His white hair and wrinkled, pale face bore a gentle smile; the old man was somewhere in his thoughts, which couldn''t have been bad ones.

    Ledas felt his heartbeat rush as he instinctively sensed the dangerous presence calmly enjoying his own thoughts. The space itself belonged to the mage, his authority unmasked.

    The magician breathed slowly to calm himself. His teammates couldn''t sense that, so why should he care?

    The court mage spoke with some guild members and glanced over the handymen moving a sofa toward the ladder. His eyes lit up for a split second, making all nearby mages tense up as if a wave of unease moved through them. As their eyes met across the corridor, he felt a wave of magic push through him - the court wizard''s golden eyes were gazing, probing, scanning as if looking at every secret Ledas ever had.

    It was as if he were naked, exposed to the prying eyes, and cold, screaming internally but keeping it inside. His muscles tensed and breathing halted. The only thing he heard was his heart pounding in his chest.

    The mage looked for a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity. As his gaze left, the Magician''s fingers slipped, and one side of the sofa dropped on his foot with a loud thud, drawing everyone''s attention.

    "Careful! You all right, mate?" Olaf looked at his distressed companion, frozen and not noticing the sofa leg fall on him.

    He stood there, frozen. Fear had completely overtaken him. The court mage returned his attention to the porters, his eyes subtly lighting up with magic, hand raising as if aiming to cast a spell.

    "JUMP!" Ledas shouted in panic, foreseeing the danger his band didn''t comprehend. They had never encountered a battle mage.

    Arty, holding the sofa''s middle, threw his hand out in an attempt to catch his friend, who had acted insane all of a sudden - but it was too unexpected.

    Ledas tried to safely roll on the ladders, but they weren''t conducive to that. After the first painful roll, he just grabbed his head and continued falling, hitting the stairs and wall until reaching the ground. He tried standing up, limping hard, only to find a few mages aiming their staves at him.

    "Slumber deep, night''s embrace, yield." The incantation was swiftly read by one of the masters, and the world around Ledas turned dim, warm, and safe as he drifted into unconsciousness.

 Ch 5: George Yossarian: Welcoming Tokyo

    Chapter 5: George Yossarian: Welcoming Tokyo

    As the plane touched down on Tokyo soil, a wave of nostalgia mixed with anticipation swept over me. I''ve visited the city before, but this time, I wasn''t an operative pretending to be an investigative journalist¡ªI was simply an investigative journalist.

    Tokyo is a great city to be a spy in. People wear masks, CCTVs are rare, and computer tech is often outdated by two decades, making breaching it effortless. The first time I visited Japan, I had to quickly finish learning the language, ethics, and cultural code, all in preparation for a mission that never came.

    My cover work as an investigative journalist was a bit too effective in helping police crack a corruption case, and the bureau decided I had gathered too much attention to execute the operation, the details of which I didn''t know.

    This time, I had to lay low. I resisted the urge to plunge directly into the investigation. Maintaining my cover as a journalist-turned-exotic blogger was crucial¡ªthe best cover is the one that¡¯s real.

    During the first two days, I found an apartment in an older building to rent for cheap. After setting up my temporary base, I planned actions for both of my roles.

    I started blogging to fill my war chest and maintain my cover. I interviewed locals, asking about their views on recent events, their political opinions, and controversies that hadn''t yet touched the Far East. Three 60-second quick bits of content each day did the trick of offsetting some of my expenses. Once, I tried to ask about Tingal; the Japanese knew very little of the conflict I was filming, and they didn''t care. Elections were ahead, so I ended up asking questions about politics, because that was what earned the most views.

    I aimed to appear as just another foreigner, ensnared by Tokyo''s charm and Japanese culture. With a medical mask on my face and a T-shirt with a ¡®cool¡¯ kanji symbol, I was just one of the millions of foreigners who visited the city every year.  I felt stupid doing all that, but everything was better than having to sit in a boring internal intelligence office marking terrorists for the government to not arrest them.

    Next, I have decided to conduct an outside surveillance of points of interest. I wasn¡¯t reckless to jump in without preparation. I collected my kit¡ªa hand cream to prevent leaving fingerprints, dark-contact lenses, a wig, and lockpicks.

    I kicked off with the ''yellow dots''¡ªlocations the victims were known to frequent. I studied schools, offices, and karaoke bars from a distance, striving to discern any patterns or commonalities that might serve as clues. It proved challenging, like seeking a needle in a haystack. Nothing stood out at first glance.

    Next, I focused on the residential areas, the ''blue dots'' on my map. The landscape teemed with houses, some inhabited, others eerily silent. Many of the NEETs and salarymen lived in now-vacant houses, silent witnesses to Japan''s declining population and cultural preference for new homes. Most of them died over a year ago, and there weren¡¯t many traces.

    The prodigies'' homes nestled mostly in middle to upper-middle-class neighborhoods, each distinguished by similar features: polished exteriors, doors with cameras, and tasteful d¨¦cor. Tree pots shaded pedestrians along the streets. Some homes were easy to find on sale in real estate agencies.

    Finally, I visited the ''red dots,'' the accident sites. The absence of CCTV footage was confirmed, affirming my suspicions. Only one CCTV camera was visible in one of the places of the incident ¡ª outside a local grocery shop.

    I took time to prepare my devices to infect the network if there was one and entered. Taking out my phone, I identified the Wi-Fi network by signal strength while walking through the shop to buy pre-made food. Slowly, my laptop¡¯s fans concealed in my backpack were humming, as it was trying to barge in into the ancient router, to infect the devices inside. The security protocol was twenty years old, and it took a few minutes to break in.

    Notification on my phone: "Done."

    I grabbed some rice sandwiches with tuna and headed for the metro. On the way, I reviewed their files on the ancient Windows XP PC that was handling their cameras ¡ª all footage from the day of the accident and before was missing. Records from the next day remained, but nothing stood out.

    Police don''t delete files, only copy them, so it was either someone like me who used a backdoor or local enforcement.

    This was getting too exciting, so I decided to stay under the radar and plan before acting. I sent an email to one of the top-tier schools, "Tokugawa Elite Academy," posing as a representative from a prominent international school rating agency GHSR. I told them that our agency planned to extend its coverage to East Asia and that we were particularly interested in evaluating their prestigious institution.

    In the meantime, I reverted to my cover, passing my days as a photographer making pictures around town and in the areas of interest. The puzzle pieces slowly started aligning, but I needed to play the part and bide my time.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    As my first week wrapped up, the harsh reality of Tokyo prices dawned on me. The city was expensive, and I needed to start making ends meet. Photography wasn''t earning much, and I had already taken all the pictures of the areas of interest I needed. It was time to elevate my investigation and up the game. Otherwise, in 60 days, I would only have enough for a ticket home to take the MI desk job.

    With my Japanese language proficiency up to snuff, I started frequenting the bars the salaryman targets often visited. Their social media accounts had served as breadcrumbs, leading me to these locales. These weren''t the touristy spots often recommended to foreigners, but local haunts where the city''s office workers loosened their ties and found respite from the daily grind.

    I landed a gig at one such establishment. The role was simple ¨C bartending, with a bit of table waiting on the side.

    In secret intelligence, you learn a few trades to blend in, from first aid, lockpicking, and forgery to crafting explosives. As I was meant for friendly countries due to my journalistic education and background, I never learned how to make bombs or use long-range weapons, but I picked up bartending. The person who trained me said something like:

    "You should understand the difference between tastes and types of alcohol. Depending on it, a person will either whine to you for hours, or share his grandiose plans without shutting his mouth."

    This was the second time I have used bartending skills for information in Tokyo. That time I aided another agent to loosen up some officials. Tingalese rebels were very strict with alcohol on the frontlines.

    Working the bar felt like having a ringside seat to the daily lives of these ordinary men, not unlike the targets I was investigating. Shared drinks and late-night confessions helped me grasp the rhythm of their lives and their daily routines.

    My days morphed into a cycle of pouring drinks, listening to the regulars'' stories, and discreetly probing about the disappeared. People were eager to chat, perhaps because I was a foreigner who was physically attractive and should not be judging, but most likely it was because of the alcohol I spiced slightly.

    I was not a person here after all. I was a role. Their stories painted a vivid picture of the lives these victims led before their abrupt disappearances. I knew how victims'' friends look on social networks.

    At the end of each day, I returned to my temporary home to check the web for any mentions of pedestrian-involved accidents. I was tired but content, knowing progress was being made. It was slow work, but the stakes were too high to rush if these accidents were staged by the Japanese secret services. I needed to be careful, meticulous, and patient. After all, the truth was worth the wait. At least I hoped so.

    An attractive woman who was in the pictures with one of the salarymen in the park was usually staying later than her colleagues and drinking after they left. She was sometimes the last client, and we talked a bit. She gave her surname: Nakamura.

    One could argue that for a barman listening to clients ranting is more important than making cocktails. I rarely spoke, only nodded, sometimes asking clarifying questions. I was there to listen to her colleagues and her after all.  So, in a week I became her outlet for talking. It made sense: for I was a handsome gentleman, while she was getting slightly spiked alcohol, which made people want to talk even more.

    It was Friday evening, and I was pouring her the last drink before the bar closed when she mentioned Kenta, the man in the pictures she was with, hit by a truck a couple of months prior. She described him as the kindest man alive. As a true heartless bastard, I continued to pull information out of her.

    I learned that she''d been in love with him, that she confessed, but he rejected her for no apparent reason. At least from her perspective, there was no reason, and the man was distancing himself in the last few months of his life.

    Despite that, she was furious at the injustice that took him away. Mad at the municipality that arranged his cremation and funeral, pushing it to the front of the line and completing it within three days, so she was not able to say her goodbyes.

    "Jackpot!" I thought to myself. I shifted the discussion to another topic, and in a few minutes helped her into a taxi.  I even made myself a celebratory vodka martini before heading out. It was shaken, not stirred of course.

    On my way home I did a quick search on the web. Considering the extensive wait times due to overburdened crematoriums, it was an outlier I could not ignore. I hadn''t voiced that while I was pouring her another drink at the bar.

    Why would a municipality assume the extra burden of organizing a funeral and then fast-track it? It didn''t add up. My thoughts had returned to my map, the labyrinth of red, blue, and yellow dots that had become my compass in this investigation.

    Under the glow of a desk lamp at my shelter, I put different layers on the map. Average income, different crime rates, political control, voting patterns, and other demographic data.

    It clicked! Well, maybe it clicked.

    All blue dots: the places where targets lived fell into three distinct areas, all governed by The Last Hope - a new green activist party.

    My next call was to Josh. He''d been a reliable source back in the west, and I asked him to dig into the party, to scrutinize their funding and any connections they might have. Meanwhile, I put on hold pursuing the lead that had me most intrigued: the unusually swift cremation process.

    In Tokyo, the wait time for cremation services was almost a week. Had all the victims been funneled to the same crematorium, or was that the quickest available option used each time? And how could I gain access to such sensitive information without blowing my cover or attracting attention? Was this is one-time anomaly or a pattern?

    I had to be sure before I proceeded with this line of investigation.

 Ch 6: Ledas: Misunderstanding

    Chapter 6: Ledas: Misunderstanding

    It was a dirt road flanked by endless golden grain fields under a sky too vast to comprehend. Two figures, cloaked in worn robes with wide-brimmed hats shadowing their faces, ambled towards the next village. Despite the small one''s restless movements, the heavy backpacks on both the boy and his father, Zander, did not slow their pace. The wind played with their hair and clothes in a carefree dance.

    "What spell will you teach me today, Dad?" the boy buzzed with excitement. "

    Hmm¡­" Zander paused, scratching his temples darkened by the sun. He glanced at the nine-year-old boy, who was smiling from ear to ear.

    "You already know how not to thirst or suffer from hunger outside, nor can the cold or hot sun harm you. Weights don''t slow you down, and chains cannot bind you. But can you mend your clothes? How about sewing? Magic can''t mend clothes, and it''s a skill you ought to have."

    Zander''s clothes bore the testament of numerous patches. "I don''t want that! Teach me how you walk on air or disguise yourself!" the child protested, pressing his lips together and folding his arms in defiance.

    "Sunshine, magic loves the humble. Plus, your trousers will soon have some holes." Zander took out a box with needles and threads as they halted under the shade of a big oak tree.

    "I can do it, dad, it''s simple I saw you doing that!" The boy grabbed a needle from his father''s hand, trying to prove that he could do it all, only to prick himself. When he pulled his hand back it was covered in blood.

    Abruptly, the warmth drained from the air; the sun hid behind dark clouds, and the golden fields vanished, replaced by barren land. The oak providing the shade was gnarly and dry. He was alone on the road as a chilling mist enveloped everything, obscuring his hands before his eyes. Something freezing grasped his leg, pulling him down as if into a bone-chilling river.

    Jerking his leg away, Ledas''s eyes snapped open to rapid breaths. He found himself on a bench in a small, chilly, windowless room illuminated only by the flicker of a lone torch.

    What''s going on? Where am I? Ledas''s mind was clouded as he tried to remember what had happened previously.

    To Ledas it looked like a detention room, or a prison, why else would anyone have such a room in the basement?

    Finn and Flynn rushed towards him but halted: repelled by an unseen barrier. Their hands banged against it, their shouts silent to Ledas''s ears.

    He looked at the brothers; all he could guess was that he was either in a force prison or¡­

    "Just use the door" Ledas sighed as he rubbed his face in disbelief, trying to eject the remnants of the strange dream from his mind. The twins stopped shouting and banging the invisible wall. One of them grabbed an invisible handle and opened the invisible prison, entering it. The boys found this performance funny.

    "Did you know that you are the nemesis of fun?" The mimes were pouting and giggling to themselves.

    Relief washed over him. Thank the gods, it¡¯s not a real ''Force prison''.

    "Well, you almost got me,¡± He moved his hand as if banging an invisible wall. ¡° But some of your clothes passed through the invisible wall ¡°

    "That''s a bummer," one of the twins responded. "Anyway, the invisible wall is around the whole room. So we were having fun with it." The brothers were akin to puppies in their disposition.

    Ledas slowly began to recall events before going unconscious, growing more anxious. His thoughts raced: What the hell happened, did that mage figure it out? He quickly checked his ankle; it didn''t hurt. He got healed... But his ribs hurt like hell, so he was just quickly patched up with a local effect spell. If they had figured it out, he would have been in a dungeon or dead, not healed, so his secret was safe for now.

    A cover story¡­ he needed one, a well-prepared lie. Why did I freeze? Why did I jump? How did I recognize that the court mage was about to cast a targeted spell on me? What have others already told? Where are Olaf and Arty, are they safe?

    So many unanswered questions spun in his mind, very little time to figure it out.

    "Where are the guys?" Ledas went for the important one first. They were probably fine; otherwise, the twins would not have been in the mood for pranks.

    "Blue-robed ones wanted to ask questions, so they separated us." Finn and Flynn were quite relaxed. "Good thing I didn''t pouch that ring," Finn made a gesture as if taking the sweat from his forehead.

    When the boys finished, Ledas had almost finished his cover story that didn''t include any magic, but could if needed. Before he tried to stand up, though, the door opened, and a thin film covering the doorway disappeared. The High Journeyman, who was organizing the loading, entered the room. In the dim lights of the room, sharp facial features and rectangular glasses made him look even more eerie. He showed the tweens to get out with his gaze, and as soon as they left the room, he focused his gaze on the porter boy.

    "Why did you jump?" Without greetings, the journeyman-robed mage started the questioning, leaving his opponent no space to maneuver.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon."Stick to the story," Ledas thought to himself in his mind. "I saw a mage casting walls of flame before burning my village, and that man stood just like him, so I thought that mage would burn me alive for dropping the sofa..." A nice half-truth is a good lie, that¡¯s what Ledas thought, but he was a mediocre liar.

    "Cut the crap! Your accomplices told us already that you are a mage and a thief!¡± Ledas had no trust issues with his companions, so the attempt was in vain.

    "Sir Mage, I can only make a couple of cups of hot water, and I have never done mage work for pay. I¡¯ve never avoided the guild tax!" Ledas was intentionally stuttering a bit, pretending to be more scared than he was. The response was a contingency, if asked; his band would mention the water, one of the simplest spells to drop off suspicion of him performing paid services without a license. Plus simple water magic textbooks were on the black market for quite some time now.

    "I see you are not cooperating! Fess up who hired you, scum!" The High Journeyman slapped the young magician on the cheek, disorienting him. The magician made a few moves back towards the corner of the bed, covering his head, afraid of the next hit. He glanced at the guildsman only to see murderous intent in the eyes of the man. Ledas was shocked; this man in front of him was a psycho, maybe not a skilled torturer, but definitely a violent psychopath.

    Instinct took over. "One of your people did, sir, to move things and pay a nice sum for that," his voice was uneven, his hands shaking. He remembered what life taught him. The more subservient you look to them, the higher the chances that they wouldn''t hurt you; a lot of mages and nobles are arrogant and full of hubris, so knowing one''s place was almost a sure way to avoid trouble.

    "And how much would they pay you?" The Journeyman felt like he was making some progress.

    "Two silvers, sir," Ledas was thinking, trying to keep his cool, and well, he had done nothing wrong, and the guild mages were not in favor any longer, they were not legally immune, so why was this guy so hostile? Mage moved his hand pronouncing an incantation, closing the door at a distance.

    "Wait? Why are you closing the door, what is going on?!" Ledas spoke with a shaking voice in his voice and screamed in panic internally, pushing himself harder against the wall, still sitting on the bed.

    The mage got closer, extending his arm; magic started to form in his palm. The forming spell looked like yellow lightning moving from finger to finger as the mage was speaking in an ancient tongue. A long-range precision lightning spell, looks terrifying, is he giving a last chance to talk or just intimidating? Three seconds felt like minutes, and all Ledas could see was the spell forming, waiting to be released at point-blank range. Can''t run, can''t hide, can''t dodge if he finishes.

    Before the last syllables of the spell, giving the vector for the attack, were given, Ledas dropped the act, kicking the guildsman in the gut, hiding his intent and gaze until the last moment, making the mage lose his breath and bend forward from the impact, but a magic film protected him from any damage.

    Ledas pulled the mage towards the bed, using him to propel himself towards the door, hoping he could escape and call for guards, he assumed mages wouldn''t dare to kill someone on the streets in this political climate. The door opened, but Ledas clearly saw an invisible magical wall closing his access to the corridor.

    ¡°Should I?¡± he asked himself tapping the source hidden in him. But feeling the power inside calmed his nerves instantly.

    Even if he could use all his trump cards to escape, he would end up in a situation where death would be preferable. The panic returned tenfold. He screamed as loud as he could, hoping it would penetrate the walls.

    "MURDER, HEEEELP" his voice was high and loud. He was in full panic about getting murdered and needed help, so it all sounded natural.

    "So that''s your last words?" - the mage was already up, not moving closer to a disadvantageous position, and the spell was still crackling in his hand.

    Mage sustained his focus, smiling like a predator who let his prey feel a breeze of freedom, just for a split second, only to take it away

    Fuck, that escalated quickly, Ledas thought. Ledas was screaming internally, trying to figure out a way to hold on, if a chance of help might arrive.

    He ducked, bending his shaking knees and facing the opponent with his knees shaking. Golden lines appeared on his hands as he quickly crossed multiple of his finders making complete runes at each stage of the spell.

    Water formed a thin grid in front of him to redirect incoming lightning bolt to the ground.

    His opponent straightened, dispelling the electrical current in his hand, and looked at the water grid grinning.

    Something firm grabbed Ledas'' shoulder from behind. It was the court mage, with his relaxed grin. Ledas'' heart skipped a beat. Images of him getting immolated to dust appeared in front of him. The water grid he created lost its cohesion and collapsed to the ground. It was over.

    "Sorry, lad, did Astolf scare you?" the old court mage was calm and his voice resembled one of a typical grandpa, his eyes smiling. "Here, for keeping a secret" he grabbed the hand of the scared teenager and put something in it, closing the fist. "Now, get back to work."

    Ledas moved slowly out of the room, through the corridor his whole body shaking as he reached the ladder upstairs from the cellar and outside the building.

    ¡°What the heck just happened, what¡¯s wrong with these people, is this why Father always warned me about guild mages?¡±

 Ch 7: George Yossarian: Yoshiro Tanaka

    The next day my bar shift ended early, and I hopped onto my bicycle. As I began to cycle home, I questioned who I should investigate first. The hermit-like NEETs, the overworked Salarymen, or the gifted prodigies? Though I could pass for a twenty-five-year-old, convincing people I was a friend to teenagers would be a stretch. How could I probe into their lives without alerting anyone?

    My restlessness pushed for action, especially as I had already lost substantial time on that lone municipality clue. Now, I waited for Josh''s feedback. Meanwhile, I pulled up the case map on my phone. It turned out I wasn''t far from the house of the first victim, a mere twenty-minute ride away. With a satchel slung over my shoulder and headphones in my ears, I navigated through the late-night silence toward Victim No.1: Yoshiro Tanaka.

    He had been a NEET who lived a solitary life in an abandoned mansion. The once grand pre-WW2 architecture of the mansion, though exquisite, now stood as a mere echo of its glorious past. The walled mansion was larger than I thought. It was an architectural relic which survived the bombings of the second world war through pure luck. I put on my latex gloves, hat, and a face mask and approached the side entrance. Only an old primitive cylindrical padlock stood on my way. With a bit of effort and the basic lockpicking skills I''d picked up during my intelligence training, I snuck in.

    The entrance revealed a wildly overgrown garden with large white stones acting as a pavement. An ancient dojo flanked one side of the property, a reminder of what traditions this house once upheld. Under the eerie glow of the moon, I photographed the spectral mansion and its untamed garden. To my surprise, the front door was unlocked.

    Carefully sliding it open, the unmistakable stench of decay and rot hit me. Only the decaying bodies in the jungles could compete with this one. The hallway was choked with garbage bags - a grim representation of Yoshio''s life choices and habits. It looked disgusting and depressing at the same time. I had never known a happy person who had more than one bag of trash in the hallway. I allowed some fresh air to weasel in, and hoped the smell wouldn¡¯t alert the neighbors. Now came the unpalatable task of sifting through this detritus to piece together the life of mister Tanaka.

    Among the remnants of instant noodles, mold-ridden pre-packaged meals, hentai magazines with suspiciously stuck pages, and assorted broken electronics, a Game Cube console caught my eye. I took a note of that. That was an old console in good shape.

    Continuing the search, I found a well-preserved black-and-white photo in a frame which stood out. It was lying on the ground under a trash bag. The image of an old man, gripping a bokken, eyes filled with wisdom, stared back at me. The frame bore the name Tanaka Hiroshi. I jotted it down in my case notebook and proceeded further.

    Sliding open another door, my flashlight revealed a big room. On the opposite side of it there was a small shrine, or what remained of it. Torn scrolls hung askew, and a broken, unsheathed katana lay underneath. Weapons and training dummies were strewn all over, each one either broken or heavily damaged. Someone had clearly vented his rage on the equipment. At least he had spent an inordinate amount of time snapping hard wooden bokkens and poles and even the metal katana. An item resembling a squashed can drew my attention - it was a bell, at least it had been.

    There was a nail between two torn scrolls at the shrine, with a differently colored patch of the wall behind, just the right size for the discarded photo frame. I hesitated, unsure if I should replace the picture. Maybe Yoshiro hadn''t wanted the old man to see the carnage he created here. Symbols and icons were ripped down, and the wall was pockmarked with empty nails. The accumulated dust suggested that the place had been untouched for much longer than the few months since Yoshiro''s unfortunate accident.

    Given that the victim hadn''t bothered to clean up, I surmised that Yoshiro hadn''t held the dojo or his family legacy in high regard. All this showed that he had been filled with anger and resentment. It was a long lasting and strong emotion, a willingness to destroy.

    I tried to mentally reenact the destruction of the dojo from the perspective of Tanaka, as I put myself in his shoes. I felt something more than disdain and anger. It was a deep, visceral hatred.

    Leaving the picture near the shrine unsure of what to do with it, I proceeded towards the living rooms, maybe Yoshiro''s room would provide some insights on his hatred. It felt wrong to leave this room in such a state, but I didn''t know how one should act in such situations.

    _________

    Messy. That was the word that came to my mind when I entered the room Tanaka probably lived in. This room was in a more modern style. A 30-inch TV, complete with 4 consoles, stood on a TV stand right next to a mattress lying on the floor. The sheets weren''t done properly, their uneven yellowish hue indicated that a sweaty and dirty person once lied on them. A can of soda sat next to a wireless controller. The curtains were shut, so I opened them for some extra light.

    A bookshelf was filled with light novels and manga. "To Another World with the Bow that Can Kill the Demon Lord", "Slayer of the Ancients Metadrones", and "Hero of the Holy Cross Fighting for Justice in Another World" to name a few. As I quietly giggled at the ridiculous names of the novels he had been reading, I noticed the symbol of Harvard Press. They were biology textbooks written in English. I opened them to find the books filled with notes in Japanese. One of the shelves fit tight with different textbooks, all printed at least 10 years ago and filled with notes and page markers.

    Stolen story; please report.

    So, I jotted that Yoshiro had been reading a lot of trash-light novels while being capable of understanding up to graduate-level textbooks a few years back.

    A pile of cardboard boxes was in the corner here, but no odor came from them. I thought he at least didn''t want his room to smell, but maybe my sense of smell had died from the stench.I just couldn''t tell anymore.

    I opened the boxes one by one. Underneath the console games and manga, mostly of the harem and hentai genre, I found a box with mementoes: A silver medal. Second place in an unknown martial tournament.

    I inspected further: more than a dozen silver and a couple of bronze medals from different tournaments, but not a single gold one.

    A picture of a young boy with an older version of Tanaka Hiroshi and another girl, all wearing kimonos. The second box contained cheap manga. Other living rooms indicated that he had used them sometimes as manga/light novel storage but did not use them otherwise, his collection of light novels and manga was massive. He had some source of income. His clothes indicated that he was at least 120kg and suffering from obesity. The kitchen was mainly used to brew coffee and heat pre-made food.

    One of the rooms was a home office. I checked the drawers. Something was odd with one of them. It was more shallow than it should have been. I checked and there was a double bottom in this drawer. I opened it. Letters, they were acceptance letters from European and American universities, not from the top 20, but good ones, they were dated 12 years ago.

    The toilet was not as dirty as I had expected it to be. The laundry machine was half full, indicating that he sometimes used it.

    It was time to summarize my findings. It was getting brighter outside, and I might get caught if I didn''t leave before people started to wake up.

    I turned on the recorder and tried to add up all the clues gathered here.

    "Yoshiro - 35 years old. A bit older than me at the time of the accident. Years on the medals indicated that up to 22, he was actively participating in regional and once in Japan-wide championships where he got bronze. Did he throw away the gold ones or never have them?

    I don''t know that. At the time he stopped participating or winning in the tournaments, he was studying sciences at an advanced level, which might mean that he was a University student trying to get his Master''s or Ph.D. abroad. Letters of acceptance indicated that he got accepted on both masters and PhD programs. But the letters of acceptance were hidden in a room Yoshiro didn''t use and clearly belonged to someone else, in a secret compartment. I assume someone wanted to hide them from him. But why not throw them away? Why keep them in a hidden compartment?¡±

    I looked at the acceptance letters, all opened. There was a possibility that he was the one who opened them but tossed them aside, and his family was keeping them safe from him. Did he even see them? There were some strange family dynamics I couldn¡¯t piece together with what I had. So I continued recording.

    ¡°For one reason or another, between that time and his death, his life had crumbled, as textbooks got replaced with cheap manga tomes, pornographic books, and an endless array of video games. Adding to that, he had had enough hatred and resentment to destroy the dojo, or never cleaned it up if that was done by someone else, but such possibility was miniscule.¡±

    I had heard about the second-place effect, where people who don''t get the gold but get the silver feel most distressed and less happy than bronze medal owners. Such effects usually don¡¯t lead to outbursts like in the dojo or personal collapse.

    I thought about the spy theory: he was too disorganized and depressed to be recruited as a spy, the chances of the Japanese government believing that they could fix that¡­ I doubted it. It looked like the owner of this place had long passed the point of no return of the mental stability required for work in intelligence.

    Serial killer theory made no sense in this case either. I doubted that a person who had so many trash bags stuck in the corridor left home often. Thus, leaving only the suicide or real accident as valid hypothesises of what happened here.

    ¡°I couldn''t find his university diploma or phonebook, so I am not sure how to continue the investigation. He had no social network accounts registered on his name where I could gather more, nor does his name come up in search results with anything notable. He clearly had some fall-off or a tragedy, but what happened years ago probably did not relate to the case."

    I remembered my brother''s theory on suicides and opened chapter 1 of "To Another World with the Bow that Can Kill the Demon Lord". On page five a fat and ugly portrayed character gets hit by a truck. The next page is from the perspective of a newborn. The next one was similar: Truck accident, but this time the protagonist was greeted by a goddess with a revealing outfit who gave him superpowers on page 10.

    I added to my recordings "Yoshiro Tanaka most likely committed suicide by throwing himself under a vehicle similar to the one in pulp literature he was consuming or died in an accident. He held no interest to intelligence, and I doubt a serial killer would target him."

    I turned off the recording, most likely Yoshiro''s case wasn''t connected to the cases of the prodigies.

    I put letters back, closed the curtains I had opened, and locked the side door that I entered through with my lockpicks.

    The dawning sun greeted me as I reached home. I took a cigarette and processed what I had learned. I tried not to rush to conclusions, but one conclusion was obvious: I needed to take a long night''s rest.

 Ch 8: Ledas: The Petty Thief

    Two mages stood in a dimly lit room, shadows dancing across their faces from the flickering torchlight. The grey-haired journeyman''s jaw clenched as the echoes of hasty footsteps faded away. He turned to face his mentor, eyes narrowed.

    Astolf''s robes billowed as he took a step closer, leaning in with a scowl. "Master Coll, next time you need to scare some kids, do it yourself." His voice dripped with disdain, the eerie calm long gone from his weathered features.

    The Master-Mage''s lips curled into a faint smile, unfazed. "Still, as I was right, the boy was a mage, while you assumed he was not. Moreover, a golden rune-using one." He clasped his gnarled hands behind his back. "Quite an expensive sight!"

    Astolf shrugged, the tassels on his shoulders swaying with the dismissive motion.

    "Sure, as if a mere sliver of extra control and speed is worth all of the deadly incidents." He snorted. "Oh, and it ages poorly when you lose all the strength in the fingers.¡±

    "One can never be too careful," The Master-Mage''s voice took on a lecturing tone as he paced slowly. "Someone trained that boy and spent a hefty sum to apply the runes to his fingers. A criminal faction, perhaps? A cult? Or even a country?" He paused, savoring the thought. "Such things are done to train spies and killers."

    Astolf rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Or maybe he''s just a runaway noble kid hiding from parents eager to marry him off to a girl he doesn''t fancy. Or his father was an abusive mage, that''s why he is so cowardly.¡± His voice was slowly rising.

    ¡°I don''t care. The time you have spent in the Royal court turned you into a conspiracy theorist. Clearly, the kid isn''t a spy, so he isn''t my problem.¡± Astolf took out his pipe and lit it inside the room. ¡°My problem is the hourly delay you created due to which I haven''t gathered my things."

    The old man chuckled, a raspy sound that grated on Astolf''s nerves like nails on a slate.

    "Maybe I could take in the boy? If only I wasn''t too busy and old to take students." He stroked his beard contemplatively. "The speed of that spell was impressive. He could become a fine asset with proper training."

    Astolf''s nostrils flared, and he fixed the Master Coll with an icy glare. "You always say that, old man. You interview everyone and fail them all." His voice rose, echoing in the confined space.

    "I spent an hour on this dumb investigation because of your inconsiderate use of magical scanning on people. You were asked not to do it, as it makes our colleagues uncomfortable. But you still do it! What next, are you going to stop and frisk your colleagues?"

    He jabbed a finger toward the old man. "This is unacceptable, I am sick of you! I will file a report on you with headquarters for violating the rules on which the guild stands!"

    Cole Ignassias: the Master Mage met Astolf''s fiery gaze with an impassive stare, a heavy silence hanging between them. The old man''s constant presence, his meddling and disregard for boundaries, had been grating on Astolf''s last nerve for the past week. Before, it was offset by the Old Man''s time spent in the Palace of Arshakion, weaving intrigues and plotting from the shadows.

    But now, with the guild branch closing and Astolf''s role as the person who was actually sustaining the guild''s day-to-day operations coming to an end, the old man''s antics were too much to bear. Astolf felt wrong, scaring kids was another order he shouldn''t have fulfilled. Now he had to pack his own things in haste.

    ***

    Arty was holding the forehead of his glassy-eyed friend, who was violently vomiting under the cherry tree in the far corner of the neat garden of the mages guild.

    "Mate we''ve got half a cart to finish, go rest. I¡¯ll smear a turd under their carriages, their journey ain¡¯t be nice and comfortable." Arty was caring but looked concerned. His voice was slightly uneven.

    "Don''t, they are all madmen. That bastard was just toying with me, like a cat with a mouse. He looked at me like I was a pile of meat. If we met in a dark alley at night I would be dead." Ledas was clearly shaking his face paler than usual making him look terribly ill.

    "Okay, I won''t do shit. We¡¯ll talk on this at the tavern evening. We are going to drink after this! We¡¯ve the coin." Arty cheered his friend up to the moment a smile appeared on the face of the team''s magician.

    "I¡¯m going to the tavern to fix myself." Ledas smiled at his friend, still looking a bit like a drowner from the bottom of a river, but a bit of rest and he would be like new.

    Arty left his friend, and went back to get the job done in that pit of snakes.

    Ledas sat on his knees under the trees for a few seconds and left the garden towards the back streets.

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    Natural healing of his blunt wounds would have taken a week, but he could do it himself using magic.

    He felt weak, as someone who can be tossed around or murdered on a whim. These bastards had a lot of fun. ¡°I¡¯ll fucking get you, cunts!¡± were the only words circulating in his mind. Power in his blood gently was reminding him about itself, as if asking to be used, but when he imagined himself using it for a payback he was quickly interrupted.

    ¡°Don¡¯t. That doesn¡¯t belong to you!¡± Ledas heard his father¡¯s voice in his mind again. That voice wouldn¡¯t even allow him to fantasize a bit, it was not magic, but something ingrained in him from his childhood. He clenched his fists, it felt unfair.

    He assessed his options: A turd? Easily removed with a spell. Poison? He has none. Magic? Good joke. Stealing? The wagons transporting equipment were probably protected.

    Ledas found a place with no witnesses: a closed latrine and quickly summoned a ball of flame in his hands. He submerged his fingers into the flames bringing his facial color back to normal and his mind into a more clear state. He took time to focus on his magical perception, an ability uncommon even among the mages: no one was following him, at least not a mage.

    He should have done that before summoning the flames, but he wasn¡¯t thinking with a clear head. It is not like his head was clear now, because he was heading back towards the guildhall.

    He decided to observe from a distance, hoping an opportunity would come for him to give mages some petty payback.

    Cole Ignacias exited the building and left with three guards without waiting for anyone else. Who needs proper security when a court mage is in the carriage?

    During the second hour, the porters finished their work, did something else, and received their payment from the bloodthirsty journeyman. The man was commanding the event, leaving from time to time and returning with some chests and bags which he loaded on the last wagon. Most of the mages were already sitting in the carriages or smoking just outside.

    It was a chance. The guild''s second-floor windows were open, and he knew that one was seen only from an alley.

    Ledas put on a worker''s hat, attached a fake mustache he kept in his performance suit, and moved towards the opportunity. A cheap fake mustache didn''t mesh well with his youthful appearance, and if anyone would pay attention to him, the stache would be the only thing they¡¯d remember.

    The whole action took around 10-15 seconds. Walk up, check that there is no one in visibility, climb the water pipe, get into the window, and look around again. The room was empty.

    He moved into the corridor. There were four or five bags there near the ladders. Sounds started to come from downstairs, and someone was climbing up.

    Ledas silently grabbed one of the more expensive-looking bags and glided back into one of the empty rooms, hiding behind the wall.

    His heart was racing. Not out of fear, no! Out of excitement. He closed his mouth with his hand to slow down his breathing as he clenched his trophy.

    ¡°Eat this you jerks¡± - he thought to himself while doing his best to listen to what was going on.

    "These are the last ones, right?" a female voice asked.

    "Yes, be careful, there are vials in the black one" a now familiar and menacing male voice replied.

    "It''s sad leaving this place. I grew used to it, to be honest." The woman''s voice reflected her words.

    "I did what had to be done." the journeyman replied.

    "Wait, it was you?" The woman asked.

    "Yes, the guild in Tigranakert is no more, so I guess there is no reason to hide it." The man sounded exhausted as his footsteps started to be heard on the ladder.

    Ledas'' body was tight as the couple continued their discussion while moving down.

    After he could no longer hear them, Ledas exhaled, remembering how to breathe again. They hadn''t noticed the missing bag. He moved back to the open window, looking from the side of it if there were any people in sight. "Jumping down is an option, but it will be too loud and can break the contents in the bag. Actually, what¡¯s even in the bag?" Ledas asked himself.

    Before he could investigate it, footsteps from the ladder returned. After a quick scan of the alley Ledas formed runes on his hands to arrest his fall. He stood up on the windowsill and jumped with his eyes closed.

    ___

    Astolf walked quickly through the second floor, but all the rooms were completely empty. He did a scan of the first floor and concluded that his travel leather bag was probably somewhere in the carriage. There was nothing magical in there to scry for.

    Near the entrance to the no-longer guild hall, he handed the keys to the building to the new owner and got inside the last carriage.

    ___

    At a distance, on the opposite side of the square, in a dark loft, a woman was looking through the window. She was observing the mages leave the building and crossing their names out on a piece of paper. Unexpectedly she saw a glimpse of someone not on the list breaking into the side window on the second floor by climbing the pipe.

    "Should I?" she asked herself. "No, I shouldn''t".

    When only the last carriage remained, she saw the burglar jumping out from the same window. Instead of collapsing though, he softly landed on the ground and moved quickly through an alley putting a leather bag into a cloth one. Sadly only his back was visible. But still¡­

    The woman raised her brow. "Should I?" she asked herself again. Looking at the list there was only one name left. "I probably should." She jotted a sentence down onto the paper, and after a minute she crossed out the last name "Astolf Z.".

    The door knocked in a secret code. "Ma''am, it is Smoothy, your attention is required!"

 Ch 9: George Yossarian: Yamamoto

    Rain, the smell of gunpowder, the cold and slimy dirt of the trench. My hands, cold and shaking, fumbled to change the lens on my camera. One false move and my chance to capture the horrifying beauty of this chaos would be gone. A rebel fighting for a dream of a better future for his people I had interviewed an hour ago was manning a machine gun. My hands moved slower than they should as if time itself slowed down. The rebel fell with his head snapping back. I froze, the lenses slipping from my grasp, I didn''t want to capture him lifelessly lying on the ground.

    The mid-day sun greeted me as I woke up from my nightmare, drenched in sticky sweat. The sunlight glared down on me through the small window, reminding me once again how uncomfortable sleeping on a futon was, but this apartment didn''t have beds. My legs hurt from the hours spent standing at the bar, my back ached from my poor sleeping arrangement, and my body was doing its best to remind me that I was no longer 21. At least my bartending job covered most of my expenses. The pain in my back suggested that maybe, just maybe I should have taught English to children instead. I put a black pin on the Crematorium on my map and took a deep breath.

    Deciding to check the salaryman addresses, I dressed in a hat, wig, eye lenses and a medical mask and grabbed a package with a delivery firm sign on it. It was a poor disguise considering I am still 185cm tall white man, but it was better than going in plain sight. I played the part of a delivery man, making an excuse that a package had arrived late from abroad, months after the deaths of the recipients. The first two flats were rented out to new tenants. The third had been sold off by the extended family. The fourth flat was for rent, which I managed to lockpick my way into, only to find it thoroughly cleaned. Of course, it had been five months since the accident. I put the lockpicks back in my pocket and moved on.

    The apartment complex of Kento Yamamoto, the next on my list, was a bleak one. No CCTVs near the entrance, much to my relief. Yamamoto''s name was still on the mailbox placard. As I was about to get out of the elevator on Yamamoto''s floor, a familiar face appeared, about to step inside. Nakamura from the bar who had given me the clues on strange municipality behavior. She glanced at me, and entered after I stepped outside, I barely avoided showing off the surprise. I guessed that I did, but hopefully not.

    I slowly made my way to Yamamoto''s flat and picked the lock to enter it, checking for any people around. It was a 35sq m flat, dusty, but extremely tidy. A cursory search of the bathroom revealed a few long black hairs in the bathtub drain, possibly Nakamura''s, though only 1 toothbrush and 1 shampoo bottle, so I wasn''t sure. The kitchen revealed a mostly empty fridge with mostly pre-prepared supermarket food and untouched knives indicating that he was rarely cooking at home.

    The first thing standing out in the main room was that there was no TV here: a drawer containing a futon and his clothes, and a working table on which I found financial reports, some partially filled and dated up to his accident.

    I looked in the drawers. There was only one book called "Sun and Steel" on his desk next to a gym membership card. The small book had around a dozen or two page markers in it. The man had eight of the same shirts, sleeveless shirts, underwear, and even socks and pants that were all the same aside from his training attire which was in a sports bag.

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    His computer was probably with him at the time of the accident, but it still made sense to check his working desk. Oh, there was a handheld gaming device with a collection of about two dozen game cartridges. When I was a teenager, I had always wanted a handheld. "Otome Heaven" was the game cartridge in the console. All the game boxes featured a few young attractive men and a young lady. I quickly searched on my phone, and I learned that otome games were visual novels for women usually involving attractive men. I turned it on to check the account: the device was on his email.

    A drawer filled with medicine revealed various anti-cancer medications in weekly organizers. I wrote down the daily dosages and sent them to my family doctor asking him if maybe he knew what this meant. While Yoshiro''s house had revealed a dramatic tale, this place held nothing more than clean rooms and TEEN-rated romantic games.

    I looked up a synopsis of "Sun and Steel", it was something akin to a philosophical book on exercising and sunbathing.

    "Whatever," I told myself.

    I wrote down my findings and went home getting feedback on my way home. The drugs in said dosage were used in terminal stages of brain cancer. Before going to my evening shift at the bar, I quickly wrote down all I''d found, and I relayed it back to Josh and others.

    "Yamamoto. A very organized, overworked salaryman who brought his work back home. He spent his free time playing romantic games, most likely knowing his days were numbered because of his late-stage brain tumor. Despite all that, he was still doing some physical activity. This, I believe, does not add up with the government program for spies theory. Why would anyone stage the death of someone who was about to die anyway?"

    Before I was able to finish writing, my phone rang. It was my boss from the bar. In an angry tirade, he accused me of trying to seduce Nakamura the previous day, and a few others before, "You''re fired, pervert!" he bellowed.

    Well, I indeed was pouring her spiked alcohol to open her up... but not in that way. I needed to turn the tables at him to shut him up, or I would gather unnecessary attention.

    I shouted back at him, "Your clients are drunkards! That woman who you are accusing me of trying to seduce is a whore. She was staying late at the bar to seduce me for a week already, and I was fending her off. But you closed your eyes on her harassing me because of how much she spent, you greedy prick! I am gay, I am not interested in women! You know what, I don''t want to deal with you, you can suck your own flaccid cock!" I hung up the phone, confused about my actions.

    The old intelligence tactics had kicked in instinctively - turn the tables, gaslight, create confusion. It was a dirty trick, but effective. I had just accused an innocent woman and pretended to be gay, yet in that moment, I had believed every word I said. For a moment I felt as if the instructor patted me on my back saying ¡°God job, Yossarian!¡±

    Was this investigation pushing me too far into old habits? Was it that after war correspondence I didn''t consider my case serious? No matter what the reason for my outburst, energy was flowing through me. I felt akin to how I did when I started my MI6 service. I felt 21 again.

 Ch 10: Ledas: The Short-Circuit

    Chapter 10: Ledas: The Short-Circuit

    Ledas put his hand into the bag. Amidst the clothes, something made the sound of silver coins. "I need to hide all this," he muttered. Moving through the alleys, he removed his disguise and blended into the Sunday evening crowd until he reached the gates on the opposite side of town, closer to the tavern, where the guards were regulars at one of the places the band performed.

    After a friendly chat with a guard, he slipped out of the town, heading towards a small forest to bury some of the identifiable treasure. Under a tree in a small clearing, he properly examined the contents.

    Inside was a set of fine clothes, requiring a bit of slimming to fit Ledas properly, as he figured out by trying them on. He could adjust them himself later. There was also a pouch with silver and bronze coins worth around 30 drahms, three pairs of fresh socks, an unfinished textbook with "Property of the Mage''s Guild" stamped on the first page, and two flasks of sweet-smelling liquid¡ªbrandy. There was a perfume bottle with a rich citric aroma.

    Ledas grabbed a tin mug and conjured water in it, this time turning it into an ice ball. He poured a bit of brandy over it like he had seen affluent patrons do. "Crime pays," he whispered to himself, smiling as he slowly enjoyed the drink while counting coins, still wearing the fine garments. He looked at himself through the pocket mirror. The attire clearly was for a respectable man. He wasn''t one.

    Four gold worth of coins¡ª40 silver drahms during the day. That was a bit less than they had earned last month. Images of a good bed and a goose feather pillow filled Ledas''s mind.

    Ledas continued to submerge in fantasies. Maybe, they could buy a cart, and if things go well and items are fencable, a donkey to pull it, so when they leave Tigranakert when the roads will stop being a mess, they wouldn¡¯t need to worry about breaking their backs carrying all their stuff. Olaf would be pissed if he learned what Ledas did, but in his own mind, the petty thief did the right thing. He taught the asshole mages a lesson.. He felt empowered.

    In the middle of his daydreaming, something alerted him: magic was cast not too far away pinging his perception. The spell might have not been very strong, but it was large enough to catch his attention. It was maybe ten meters tall and about a hundred or two hundred meters away from him. The feeling of power he just obtained vanished as anxiety filled his mind.

    "This is too much for one day. I am out,¡± He wasn''t planning to figure out who was casting massive spells in the woods in the evening. Maybe this was some tracking spell, looking for a young thief who stole from the mages guild. He ran in the opposite direction for a couple of minutes, but he couldn''t feel any traces of magic cast anymore.

    He put his cheap cape back on, to cover his new expensive clothes he originally planned to hide in the woods. It was twilight when he returned to the town gates. The last groups of people were entering the town before the gates closed. Ledas hoped he wouldn''t be scanned.

    Suddenly, a horn sounded from the walls. "GET IN!" a guard shouted. Civilians were pushed inside as the portcullis dropped. Guards rushed up the stairs with crossbows ready. Horns blared, and ballistae fired. Ledas ran towards the tavern as the ground trembled beneath his feet.

    "FIRE!!!"

    Instantly, crossbows and ballistae started to shoot. A bestial roar shattered the evening calm.

    "Huh?" Ledas turned around as everyone was trying to figure out how to react.

    They were late, as an earthshaking explosion rocked the city. BAM!

    Ledas was knocked off his feet as rocks and debris flew through the air. Dust billowed around him, blocking out the setting sun and plunging the street into an eerie twilight. Next to him, he saw a man lying on the ground. From the looks of it, he was shielding his kid and wife. His back and occiput were red from blood but he was breathing.

    ¡°Huh?¡± Ledas tried to focus, a child was crying right next to him. A woman screamed at the top of her lungs seeing her husband. Shouts, screams, and the sound of breakage filled his ears.

    Dazed, Ledas uttered a spell he practiced for cases of emergency. He practiced it a lot to the point of doing it instinctively. Arty almost broke his neck a few times, so it was a must-have spell.

    "Mother of Mercy" he moved his fingers to skip the middle part of the incantation,- "Through my hands, life perseveres". The bleeding stopped, but Ledas was already looking towards the source of the explosion. That wasn¡¯t a wound Ledas could possibly heal.

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    Ledas struggled to his feet clumsily. Through the haze, he saw the thing¡ªa three-story tall, burning lizard-like monstrosity crashing through the town wall moving faster than a running horse. Its massive form was already pincushioned with crossbow bolts, but they seemed to only enrage it further. The beast''s roar was deafening, drowning out the screams of terror and pain that filled the air.

    Fear didn''t have time to take hold of him yet.

    He sprinted towards the Vishap''s Belly Inn which the beast just barraged through, barely 30 meters away from him. As he rushed through the street his hands moved in practiced motions, casting stabilizing spells on the wounded he passed, skipping the middle and the last part of the incantation by casting it with his runes. Red splashes marked where people had been crushed by debris or the beast. The longer he moved the more panicked he became. Ledas didn''t stop, he couldn''t stop.

    He burst into the now partially collapsed tavern through the absent wall.

    "Finn! Flynn!" he shouted, his voice cracking with panic. Olaf and Arty were strong. They should be fine. Dead and wounded patrons were everywhere. Ledas threw out a flurry of stabilizing spells left and right, almost unconsciously as he moved through the chaos. He checked every body covered in dust to see if they were his friends. He was desperately calling for them.

    ¡°Olaf! Arty, where the hell are you!?¡± Each spell to stabilize someone produced slight black sparks on the runes of his hands, zapping him slightly with magic, but he barely felt it. The innkeeper, white-faced and trembling, pointed towards the stables as Ledas stopped his bleeding.

    Ledas raced out back stumbling on the rubble, only to find the stables in even worse condition. The roof had caved in, and flames were already burning the hay and horses alive. His heart stopped as he saw a pool of blood seeping from beneath a fallen wall ¡ª and a small hand in a white glove lying next to the rubble.

    "No, no, no," he muttered, his voice breaking as he recognized the twins'' clothes. He bit his fist, biting slightly through the skin as he frantically moved from one place to another.

    ¡°OLAF, ARTY, ANYBODY HELP!¡± He cried so loud that his cords hurt. But only horses burning alive responded with their screeching. A weak cough caught his attention amongst the chaos.

    "Arty!" Ledas cried, spotting his friend pinned under a heavy beam, flames creeping ever closer.

    He tried to lift the beam with his hands, his clothes catching fire as he strained to lift it even a few centimeters. It was too heavy to lift with hands or magic, and it was too close to Arty to blast it with a spell, but if he could lift it just enough for Arty to slide under.

    Ledas tried to scream, but no sound came out. His skin was growing pale as pieces of ice formed on it, only to be melted by the heat in this burning room and to quench his burning clothes.

    ¡°Do something!¡± he screamed in his mind, breaking away from the paralysis.

    ¡°Right, Finn or Flynn might be alive under the rubble while I am standing here,¡± He tried to calm himself.

    He rushed to the rubble under which, he thought, Finn or Flynn, or someone else, might be trapped. After removing a dozen stones he found a face, with one of the temples swollen and eyes motionless. He jumped back in panic falling next to the burning hay, acidic juices from his stomach filled his mouth.

    He tried to cast the spell, but he couldn''t speak, so he substituted the whole incantation with runes. The spell went off, but it didn¡¯t stick to Flynn¡¯s lifeless body.

    He entered the burning stall the group occupied. His eyes darted wildly, landing on Olaf''s motionless form half-buried under rubble in the corner of the stall the group occupied.

    His hands scraped against jagged wood and stone. His cape caught fire from the burning hay, so he tossed it aside. Moving on instinct alone, Ledas grabbed Olaf and dragged him out of the burning stable, struggling with all his limited might to move the heavy strongman out.

    As they emerged into the street, Ledas pulled his friend behind him, looking for any help. A building next to him collapsed. The monstrous beast was mere yards away, engaged in combat with a knight wielding a burning greatsword. A dozen soldiers lay broken around them, their weapons ineffective against the creature''s thick hide.

    Ledas couldn''t move. It was over. He jumped out of the fire and into the pit. His hands moved automatically to cast a healing spell on Olaf, but something felt wrong. When the spell failed to go off, he looked down at his hands. His stomach lurched¡ªtwo of his fingers were twisted grotesquely backwards, blood coating the damaged runes etched into his skin. His runes were sparkling and fizzling with magical energy as he watched in horror.

    His own magic short-circuited itself through his runes.

    He collapsed next to Olaf, paralyzed, forced to watch helplessly as his best friend''s life ebbed away beside him. The knight''s burning sword cleaved through the beast''s foot, toppling it onto a nearby building. The knight jumped on the prone beast: his sword piercing its neck. With a final, earth-shaking roar, the monster fell still, flames erupting from its wounds.

 Ch 11: George Yossarian: Jobless Again

    The night rolled in and I, now jobless, compiled a summary to send via protected channels to Josh, Tom, and Erika.

    "RE: UPDATE ON THE CASE: (see attachments)

    Status:

    6/6 Salaryman - surface investigations completed. I''ve investigated their web presence - nothing of value. Their houses, but not much information there as places were thoroughly cleaned.

    1/5 NEETs - surface investigation ongoing. I''ve broken into one of the houses, the info is in the attachments.

    0/8 High School students - Investigation pending. I have trouble coming up with a good cover.

    Clues:

    <ol>

    <li> Nobu''s response. I already told about it, so will not elaborate.</li>

    <li> 3 days after accidents with trucks there are prolonged electricity blackouts/brownouts, suggesting a lot of power possibly used. But for what? If the power was funneled somewhere it would have been already investigated. I currently don''t have access to that information, will try to get it later.</li>

    <li> Areas of accidents without CCTVs - indicates a good preparation.</li>

    <li> Cleared-out records from the only CCTV which could have captured a thing.</li>

    <li> Quick cremation and funerals within 3 days after death organized by the municipality.</li>

    <li> "The Last Hope" controls all areas of the victims'' residence.</li>

    <li> Talented Students. - not investigated yet.</li>

    <li> Single NEETs and Salaryman might be as talented as Tanaka.</li>

    <li> Yamamoto''s terminal cancer.</li>

    </ol>

    Irrelevant clues:

    Yamamoto - Possible relationships, love of Otome, and workouts.

    Tanaka - rage and depression. Clan? Dojo? (see attached pictures.)

    Some clues support The Last Hope''s involvement as a municipality. All the events happened in parts of town where they are the municipal government, and probably as an aid to government-sanctioned actions. Spy theory makes no sense considering Yamamoto''s terminal stage cancer. Suicide cult with government support makes no sense, unless they are hiding truck suicides to avoid new waves of suicides.

    Human trafficking? Maybe for some WW2-style unethical experiments. A serial killer?

    Most likely if it''s government-related it could be different projects using the same way to make people ''disappear''.

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    I am currently out of my wits.

    Compiling a new working hypothesis: It¡¯s for you Josh, I know you love a good conspiracy theory.

    Someone from or connected to the Japanese government is planning the accidents meticulously. That''s why the lone CCTV was cleaned, and no other CCTV recordings available. They work with "The Last Hope" municipality. They are staging accidents with trucks and making everyone believe that victims are dead, or they do something with the bodies. They get rid of the lack of bodies in the crematorium by expediting the process.

    It is one of the two: Unethical experiments or the Japanese obsession with battle royales is pouring into reality.

    Some of the victims can fight and have martial training. This could explain the power blackout if they use a lot of electricity during the shows. Actually nevermind, Squid Game is Korean. :)

    P.S. Sorry guys, all I now have is some insane conspiracy theories.

    P.P.S. Tomorrow, I''ll start looking into high school students. No idea how tbh."

    I quickly stepped away from the laptop on the table as the "sent" notification appeared. Mixed emotions churned inside me. I pulled out a cigarette from a "Lucky Star" pack and lit it up, meditating as I exhaled the poison out on the balcony. Tokyo''s sky was starless, a light breeze conveniently wafted the excess smoke away from my face.

    My heart raced¡ªI hadn''t pursued investigations like this in years. These are ones that filled you with anxiety, where you never quite knew where you might make a fatal mistake. In a war zone, you merely had to follow rigid instructions and position yourself correctly most of the time. The safety rules there were written with the blood of hundreds, thousands of war journalists who died illuminating the world''s conflicts.

    Uncovering conspiracies involving governments, all while operating outside the protection of a large news network, was an entirely different beast. It was a dangerous dance on a knife''s edge where a single misstep could mean vanishing forever. There was more journalist blood spilled by the intelligence community than any other source. Sadly, it was hard to determine where exactly my colleagues had slipped up¡ªtheir traces were so scant, barely leaving behind lessons to learn from.

    On the other hand, I couldn''t ignore the thrill that was slowly consuming me, the thrill of being a rogue journalist undertaking a high-stakes investigation. I felt like James Bond. "George, George Yossarian." I should present myself with a seductive smile of 007.

    My steady inhales and exhales slowed my racing heart, and I came to a conclusion¡ªI needed to slow down. More information might shed light on what I was dealing with. If I rushed, I might save someone from being killed or kidnapped, but if I slipped, there would be no one to save me.

    ____________

    When I woke up the next morning I felt refreshed. Despite all the running my legs didn''t hurt and my back felt relaxed, as if futons were more comfortable than the top of the line mattresses advertised online. The sun was shining bright and the concept of not having to stand at the bar made me want to have a nice walk around the town.

    I checked my email and found a response from the "Tokugawa Elite Academy" sitting in my inbox. They had agreed to accommodate a representative from the agency I claimed to represent. Smiling at my screen, I typed out a polite reply and arranged a meeting for tomorrow, the closest time bracket they had offered.

    I walked through Tokyo making some pictures for social media, but mostly for Tom. Obscure things, going to places where tourists didn''t go. Pubs planned to translate some football tonight. I hated drinking while people were shouting next to me, so no bars and pubs for me.

    "Should I break into another NEET''s house?" I asked myself, completely disregarding my decision to slow down a day prior to that.

    "I do. Why not? It¡¯s a wonderful day for a break-in!" I replied in my mind. "Why slow down when I can speed up?"

 Ch 12: Ledas - In the hands of the Mother.

    General Drakon was wearing only his breastplate and helmet, both quickly donned when the horns rang. Built like a wall, he stood two meters tall, with broad shoulders and an impeccable physique for his fifties. He looked at the fallen beast as he pulled back his sword from its neck.

    "This is a distraction attack. Tell everyone to keep their positions and enable the curfew," he barked at one of the officers accompanying him. Twisting his head, he looked at a priestess in a porcelain mask of an acolyte moving towards him.

    ¡°I told you to stay!¡± He looked at the priestess again. ¡°Fine, stop idling. Get to the wounded! Alfred, don''t move away from the priestess." One of the knights reacted, standing as a bodyguard next to the priestess.

    The general moved towards the wall, looking at the broken guards, most of whom were heavily wounded. A few civilians lay dead, a teenage noble mage convulsing from a magical backfire, and fires licking a house next to the burning stables. A dozen or two damaged houses, five or six collapsed buildings, including a three-story jewelry shop, stables, an inn, and a few residential buildings.

    If not for the coincidence of him being so close at the moment of the attack and the guards shooting the eyes of the beast, the damage would have been far worse.

    "Mother of Mercy", the priestess began a long incantation to patch up several of the wounded guards at the same time.

    A shadow passed next to Drakon. "Someone tried to enter the previous location of the facility. They exploded on a trap before we could apprehend them. The current location is still secure." The man in the shadow was almost invisible.

    "It''s your failure, Wraith." The general glared at the hidden man.

    "True. Our western ''friends'' decided to be generous and spent a fortune on this after previous attempts fell short. It looks like we will have to speed things up. I''ll see you in an hour in the war room. King''s orders." The man hiding in the shadows merged into them, disappearing from Drakon''s view.

    The priestess stood next to a short-circuited mage in a fetal pose. "Noble kid?" She assessed Ledas based on his outfit and the glowing runes on his fingers. She grounded the excess magic with her staff, making the mage go almost completely limp with a loud, painful inhale. She prepared a full healing spell. "Mother of Mercy, grant me strength," she began, but the mage, now limp, moved his hand forward, pointing his twisted index finger at a commoner in terrible shape next to him.

    "Make life flow, cease the pain, and close wounds," the priestess saw the gesture and shrugged, pointing her staff at Olaf. "Through my staff, life perseveres." Red and green energy moved from her staff to the unconscious strongman. In a couple of seconds, Olaf''s bleeding stopped and the wounds closed. He started to breathe normally.

    "Your choice." She moved towards the next wounded, casting stabilizing spells on them.

    Within minutes, the place was filled with citizens removing debris and half a dozen priests from the nearby Temple of Mercy. Lying on the ground, Ledas could see people on the rooftops overseeing the scene. He was put on a stretcher and moved towards the Temple.

    Poor people were laid on mattresses in the main hall, but he was taken further. The corridor had a few clinic rooms. Ledas couldn''t move, or maybe he could, but he had no will to try.

    On the opposite side of the room lay a man with a deformed chest plate that two doctors were trying to remove. Another priest of Mercy entered and looked at Ledas.

    "What''s with him?" he asked his colleagues.

    "Stable, in shock, nothing life-threatening. Help me with the helmet."

    Ledas'' eyes didn''t move. Only one word played on repeat in his mind as he observed the surroundings without shifting his gaze. "Why?"

    In time, the sounds of pain stopped. The officer in the bed next to his was freed from his armor and partially healed with magic. Ledas''s fingers were set back in place, bandaged, and left to heal.

    The candles burned low, casting flickering shadows when a knight entered the room. He looked around, and another figure entered¡ªa feminine figure in a thin navy cloak.

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    She looked at the sleeping officer. "Mercy upon you. May sleep cure your wounds." The voice was familiar, echoing and sharp. It was the priestess from before.

    She turned around. "Oh, the mage from before! Alfred, any idea what''s with him? He looks like a dead fish." The knight moved to the bed and passed her the notes.

    "Oh." She read the short note and crouched in front of Ledas. Without the mask, she was a young, pretty girl with dark hair and blue eyes.

    "I''m practicing healing, so be a good boy and fall asleep." She smiled at Ledas, positioning her face where his gaze was.

    "Oh, right, the bulky guy will be fine. So, ''Slumber deep, fall into the night''s embrace, sweet dreams.''"

    As he drifted to sleep a sarcastic thought lingered in his mind: if he got a gold coin every time he was put to sleep with magic, he would have three gold coins. It''s not much, but, strangely, it had happened twice in one day.

    ___

    Olaf woke up with the first rays of the sun, painting colorful images through the stained glass in the cathedral of the Mother of Mercy. He looked around confused; maybe fifty or so people lay in 4 rows on mattresses on the ground, but it was warm in the temple. He hadn''t had a good night''s rest in quite some time, but he had no idea how he appeared here. A dozen or so priests of Mercy were present: some checking up on the patients, others sleeping on benches. A few armed men sat around the place. Some people were moaning in their sleep.

    When he stood up, a priest in a mask approached him. "Let''s go outside, I''ll explain." Once outside, the priest smoked his pipe and explained the gist of the situation to Olaf and another early bird.

    From the looks of it, it wasn''t the first time he had said those exact words. "You can stay in the care of the cathedral for now."

    "Have you seen two ginger twins? Or a thin guy like a stick around fifteen with long coal-black hair? A guy with ashen hair around the same age?" Every time the priest shook his head sideways.

    "No gingers, only a couple with jet black hair, but in their mid-twenties and thirties. No commoner blond males of that age. Though a couple had their hair burned completely, let''s check if that''s them." Each word made Olaf''s heart sink a bit more.

    At a distance, another priest told a second early bird that his son didn''t make it, and his wife would take a few days to recover. Crestfallen he went back and sat next to her, silently weeping. Olaf looked through the lines of people. There were familiar faces of people with whom he had interacted for the last couple of months while they were staying in Tigranakert. But none of his troupe members were there. A lump formed in his throat.

    "That''s all?" Olaf said with uncertainty.

    "Most of the people. Nobles and guards are in the adjacent facility. I guess no need to check there."

    "Right, I have to go."

    "I''m not going to stop you. Just don''t overexert yourself. A powerful healing spell was cast on you; it takes time to fully heal. But you will feel no pain to alert you if you''re hurting yourself." The priest was clearly tired; his speech was slow but methodical.

    "Thank you." Olaf nodded and left the cathedral.

    "May the Mother of Mercy save us in these trying times." The priest returned to one of the benches and put his head down to rest.

    Olaf carefully moved towards Vishap''s Belly, each step towards the inn feeling heavier than the last. People were still clearing up the residential buildings. A huge lizard-like monster lay collapsed at one of the residential houses. Guards stood on the perimeter around that house and the ruins of the jeweler. The Vishap''s Belly inn with the stables had almost burned to ashes.

    He asked around if anyone had seen members of his troupe, learning from one of the patrons who didn''t get hurt that Ledas had jumped into the burning stables after casting spells left and right. The man offered to help, so together they approached the burned stables and piece by piece removed piled-up rocks and burned wood. Olaf''s hands trembled slightly as he moved each piece of rubble.

    Around midday, they found the burnt top half of Arty. Olaf turned away to take an uneven breath and steeled himself to continue the task while he couldn''t clearly see through the tears blocking his vision. In a couple of hours, a few other bystanders joined them, and the twins'' bodies were uncovered. Others, seeing that Olaf bent in half from grief, moved him to sit on a bench near the crumbled jewelry store, while they removed the bodies from under the rubble.

    Sounds of a saw were ringing from somewhere above. With a loud thud, something fell a few meters from him. The monster''s severed head was slowly rolling towards him. It was big enough to eat a human in one go. Its sharp teeth were as long as daggers.

    "So it was you, piece of shit?" Olaf looked at it, clenching his fists. He stopped it with his hand and grabbed one of the monster''s fangs, pulling it out with a loud grunt.

    "Hey, what are you doing!?" a man who was cutting the monster shouted down.

    "Nothing," Olaf grunted. He kicked the head, making it roll back despite its weight. "Brothers, my dear brothers, if I have a chance, I will shove this fang into the guts of the one who brought this lizard here. I swear to you. I swear to you."

 Ch 13: George Yossarian: Haruka Watanabe

    9 PM: I did a small walk around Haruka Watanabe''s home. She had been hit by the truck 3 months ago. The house was a small two-story building in a suburban region; it took me quite a while to get to. There was blue light coming from the windows on the first floor. I sneak-peaked inside through the window to find a man in a wife-beater, probably in his sixties, sitting on a couch with a can of beer watching "Samurai Blue": the Japanese national team playing against South Korea. A couple of beer cans sat next to him on a coffee table and a beer bottle was in his hand.

    From what I have gathered on Haruka, this man was her father Hiroshi, a white collar worker in the private sector, at least that was the information he wrote about himself in a business social network.

    I evaluated the situation. I could try impersonation to get inside, but that would be hard. I could not pose as a maintenance worker to pretend to fix something. I was European and I had no knowledge of utility companies, not to mention that I lacked equipment for disguise.

    I could try to break in during the night. But bedrooms usually are on the second floor in this type of house. One creak of an unoiled door where Hiroshi sleeps and I will get spotted. The second option was to break in during the day. But after the recent fiasco with Nakamura, I really didn¡¯t want to break in while the sun was up.

    There are many ways to get someone out of their homes. Fake a gas leakage, claim to be from pest control, previously infesting the house with pests, send a tour voucher for the weekend, or a fake invitation to somewhere and even make a fake call from an emergency service requiring fast response.

    That¡¯s how one can do that working in MI5 - a Security Service operating inside their own country. Not to mention that they can also ask the police to arrest someone and hold them for the night, to release them with apologies a few hours later.

    There were issues with that. I couldn¡¯t fake an emergency call or an invitation, because I was unable to stop Hiroshi from calling the person I was claiming to be. I  couldn¡¯t pretend to be from utility companies, and even if I bought him a one-day vacation, I doubt that he would take it. I could also send the police on him, but if the government was involved in the case I would just alert them.

    I looked at the TV through the window. It was the 35th minute. Games took 90 minutes with a break for 15 minutes. So I should have had an hour to scoop the second floor, and ten minutes till the break.

    "I probably shouldn''t do it" I told myself, but the drive was pushing me forward. I was clearly not acting rationally, but how else could I infiltrate the place if the man left the house probably only during the day and slept upstairs where the living rooms were at night?

    I looked around to see if I could enter the second floor. The rooftop had a nice terrace and a side ladder to access it, and there was a balcony on the second floor. Big trees covered the front of the house. This was going to be the easiest infiltration ever; I just had to be quiet and careful.

    "Gloves on. A fishnet mask on. Medical mask on. Infiltrator''s kit in the pocket. Are you ready George?" I asked myself. "Yes, after all, I am George, George Yossarian" I answered myself.

    I waited till no one was walking by and hopped over the fence and ascended the ladder. Getting to the front edge of the rooftop, I slowly descended, putting my legs on the balcony railings, and then to the balcony itself. I looked around, and it was all clear, I wasn''t spotted.

    "High-trust societies are beautiful!" I thought to myself, remembering how the UK stopped being one during my lifetime.

    I looked at the balcony door. It was a one-sided euro-door that had no door handle on the outside.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "Why? Because fuck me, that''s why." I whispered to myself.

    I pulled out the lockpicks again, pushed the pick through the gap, and painstakingly slowly lowered the pulls for the door to open. It took around 2 minutes.

    I looked around in the process, and all was clear. I was sweating now and the medical mask and gloves didn''t make my life easier.

    I sneaked in and tried to close the door behind myself, but it wouldn''t fully close, leaving a gap, probably one of those doors that had hinges misaligned and required a good push to close. Why? Because life wasn''t all sunshine and daisies.

    I was in a corridor. It had 4 doors and a ladder leading down. No sounds were coming from either door, only the loud voice of the football commentator from the first floor. No lights were on.

    The toilet and bathroom were the first, the second was the master bedroom with a king-sized bed, and the third room welcomed me with air so stale I felt it even through the mask. It was a cozy room, compact and cluttered, about 6 tatami mats in size. I sneaked in. An inactive lava lamp was placed atop a wooden study desk unnaturally organized with a laptop, some books, and a pen box. I turned on the flashlight at its lowest and put it in my mouth to keep my hands free.

    Against one wall there was a small bookshelf with sorted light novels and manga. "Only the villain queen can stop the tyranny of The Hero with the power of love" Tomes 1 to 5. "My happy reincarnated life as the smartest librarian can''t go without adventures" Tomes 1-9.  3 copies of each tome. I quietly giggled at the sheer length of the names of the books and preferred not to read the names of the other titles so as not to laugh out too loud.

    To satisfy my curiosity, I opened a manga called "Endless Love Reincarnation Where I Change My Species to Find My Lover"; on page 2, a young girl was hit by a truck and died, getting reincarnated to another world as some winged humanoid.

    "Why is the truck drawn in a cute manner? Whatever," I murmured.

    I put the book back and returned to make observations.

    Various fantasy anime figures stood in curated poses on the shelves mirroring her favorite characters. All of them carried different magical staves. On the opposite wall, posters of "My Last Story" and "Two O''clock," j-Rock boy bands, gave me a hint of her musical taste.

    Her futon was neatly folded and placed in the corner, to free up space during the day.

    A kotatsu was just standing there in the middle of the room accumulating dust. Her desk had a laptop with an expensive drawing tablet next to it.

    I opened her laptop, and booted it up. 30 seconds later I was greeted with one user account, "Haruka Watanabe" which had a password requirement. Why? Because why wouldn''t it have one? It was a girl''s laptop, and of course, it had a password.

    I took out a USB drive from my infiltrator''s kit and plugged it into the laptop whispering, "Thank you for not updating your operating system for ten years Miss Haruka."

    The screen flickered as the malware began its work while I rummaged through her desk drawers. I wasn''t comfortable rummaging through her clothing, so I skipped the wardrobe: Spare earphones, pens, pencils... a lot of black pencils sharpened with a knife.

    The next drawer presented me with pictures, 3 albums of high-fidelity pencil-drawn pictures of places and people in a manga style, with the corners bearing a sign #HaruRise drawn on them.

    My phone buzzed indicating that a 15-minute break in the football downstairs began, so I hid myself and stopped moving.

    Second Buzz in 15 minutes told me that the football was on again, so I proceeded towards the laptop. It was unlocked. "Please people, never update your systems,." I whispered to myself with a grin on my face.

    The last thing she worked on was some manga in a drawing program. I looked at the name of the file "Smartest librarian can''t go without Adventures part 10 v2.1". Huh? She was a 22-year-old comics artist, not a NEET as I initially assumed. I already copied her email and passwords to the drive, so I plugged it out and prepared to finish up.

    "Who the Fuck are you?" - A man''s voice rang from behind.

 Ch 14 Ledas: Argument

    The two remaining members of the troupe reunited in the evening when all witnesses and victims had been questioned. They hugged after but didn''t exchange more than a sentence.

    For the next week, they lived in different places provided by followers of the Mother of Mercy. Olaf stayed in a merchant''s house in the city, and Ledas in a servant''s building on a nobleman''s summer estate outside of town.

    Olaf rested for a couple of days, after which he got a job at the builder''s guild. Ledas was approached near the gates on the second day. An older woman recognized him and returned the backpack he had dropped when the monster attacked. Everything was there.

    His hands were bandaged and keeping his body warm without flames was difficult, so he locked himself in the room most of the time and read through the stolen textbook next to a fireplace.

    The book wasn''t as detailed as his father''s explanations, but good enough to refresh his memories and, most importantly, keep his mind busy from playing out scenarios of the evening of the attack.

    It wasn¡¯t working as well as he would have liked though. His mind wasn¡¯t as easy to trick for too long though. Questions were flooding his mind. What if the magic he felt in the woods was something connected to the beast¡¯s attack? If it was, maybe if he went there instead of running away things would have been different.

    Maybe if he just scouted the palace and saw the beast he could use a magical flare to alert the city of something incoming. The monster was big and intimidating, but maybe his trump card would have been enough.

    All his thoughts about using his only one-time use trump card he had were met by his father''s words appearing in his mind again and again ¡°Under no circumstances you should use it. It will solve nothing and you will get yourself killed as a result. Don¡¯t even think about it. This power is not yours to decide what to do with it anyway.¡±

    He felt that power when he was getting cold under the blanket. Power that he once saw covering a pond with ice during a hot summer day and turning it into a winter. His skin and hair were turning completely white, and his eyelashes got covered in ice during the coldest nights, but he felt no discomfort.

    He wasn¡¯t leaving the room often, and he would heat himself only before going outside. Being in that state was soothing, while in it he didn¡¯t feel guilty for not coming up with a spell to save Arty.

    He had already come up with at least six different ways he could have taken out Arty from under the heavy wooden beam closer to the end of the week. None included using the cold running in his veins, as it would have most likely killed not only Arty but Olaf who was in the vicinity and him most likely too.

    He thought a lot about the reasons he short-circuited, it was a mistake that almost cost him and Olaf their lives. If not for a priestess passing by they both would have ended up dead, so he removed the bandages a few days earlier than the priests suggested before heading to the alehouse when he and Olaf decided to meet in the evening.

    His fingers were now in place, and his hands had only a few light scars left after magical healing. He activated runes one by one to see which of the nodes had issues, he returned and replayed each bit and piece he could driving himself close to a panic attack each time, but cold was keeping him in check. He needed to know what happened and the conclusion wasn¡¯t generous.

    Most likely when he bit his hand in panic he shifted his skin enough for it to connect to another line. Some runes were functional after healing, but needed repair, so he spent the whole day grinding one of the coins, purified it the way his father told him, and used a needle to slowly re-apply damaged parts of his tattoos.

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    They met as agreed upon at the end of the week in an alehouse: a small outdoor establishment with very few patrons sitting outside.

    "Holdin'' up?" Olaf gulped his ale. He had finished his second beer when Ledas entered.

    "No, you?" Ledas took out the bottles of whiskey and put them on the table. Olaf poured himself some.

    "No, I see they took the cast off."

    "I see your wounds are no longer present, as well," Ledas sighed as he poured himself some whiskey to match.

    "Where did you get this from?" Olaf enjoyed the whiskey quite a lot.

    "Stole it from the mages'' guild," Ledas shrugged as he spoke calmly and quietly, dropping a pouch on the table.

    "Well, I thought only Flynn could try to do something that stupid. What''s that?" Olaf''s voice wavered when he mentioned the twin.

    "Coins, what else... We''ll need that for the burial," Ledas'' voice was cold and unemotional.

    "The Church will do the ceremony tomorrow; they''re taking the expenses on themselves." Olaf''s voice was similarly detached.

    "Well, what should we do?" Ledas looked at Olaf.

    "I ain¡¯t gonna be able to perform. Don''t think you will either."

    "No, should we skip town after the ceremony?"

    "I¡¯m headin'' to the town guard recruitment tomorrow. You should try to get in with that magical association they¡¯re openin¡¯ up. Or find a teachin'' job. You taught me and the boys to read, after all."

    "Maybe, I guess. Don¡¯t know. Won''t be allowed to the mages exam anyway, and too young to be seriously considered as a tutor"

    "Or go back home if you got one." Olaf''s words felt cold. It had been three years, but they knew very little about each other''s past.

    "I never had one aside from the troupe." Ledas drank his whiskey warm. It tasted terrible, but it was strong.

    "Keep the money." Olaf pushed the purse back to him.

    "You might need it," Ledas retorted.

    "I have work now; you don''t. I know what you did that day, people told me.¡± Olaf looked at his friend in front of him whose thoughts were somewhere else ¡°Are you still in the burning stables?" Olaf knew Ledas too well.

    "..." Ledas didn''t respond.

    "I know you''re blaming yourself, but please, for my sake and your sake, stop."

    "If I only..." Ledas'' voice broke as he was about to break into crying. Olaf''s hand reached forward, grabbing the magician by his mouth, and shutting it tight.

    "There ain''t no ''ifs'' and ''buts''. I heard what you did durin'' the attack. You did all you could and saved quite a few people, includin'' me. Take pride in that." Olaf''s hand, now covered in Ledas'' tears, slowly released his mouth.

    "But, if only..." Ledas was interrupted by a big slap, turning the attention of the few patrons sitting not too far away.

    "No ''ifs'' and ''buts''," Olaf''s voice was slightly raspy. Ledas snapped back to reality. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but all the sentences started with "if" or "but", so he sat there opening his mouth silently like a fish. Olaf raised his voice as he looked at his dazzled and shaking friend in the eyes.

    "You wanna believe that if you did things otherwise, things coulda turned out different." His voice softened, "No. There were many times when we coulda done better. That day wasn''t one. You did more than anyone could have asked from you." Olaf hugged his crying friend, who mumbled loudly from pain in his soul until he went quiet.

    But Olaf didn¡¯t know what Ledas did. The mage never told his friend about the encounter in the woods, nor about ways he came up with that could have saved Arty. The argument that Olaf presented that Ledas couldn¡¯t have done anything wasn¡¯t true. Ledas couldn¡¯t tell, he felt ashamed. He pretended that the words of his friend reached him as he shed tears. He wanted something, he needed power

 Ch 15: George Yossarian : Hiroshi Watanabe

    I was spotted, and my mind immediately kicked into overdrive.

    If I were an agent right now, I would have smacked the man unconscious and pretended to be a burglar. Burglary gone wrong is a known strategy to play out when infiltration goes wrong. That would lead the police here, and my investigation would be done. I would have to flee ASAP or make the man disappear if I wanted to keep the police out for a few days. But I wasn''t an agent. Then it dawned on me:

    "I don''t have to lie. I AM a journalist, and I AM investigating the disappearance of this man''s daughter." I thought with a gentle bliss. I silently removed the hacking USB device from the laptop in a manner he couldn''t see and I raised my hands gliding it down the sleeve.

    "I shouldn''t demonstrate any martial training." I assessed.  As I was formulating my thoughts in Japanese, the man cursed at me.

    I turned to face Hiroshi Watanabe, Haruka''s father. He was younger than I''d thought, mid-40s rather than 60s. Large for a Japanese man, about my size. His face was flushed with anger and alcohol, a beer bottle clutched in his hand like a weapon.

    "Who... who the hell are you?" he slurred, swaying slightly.

    I raised my hands slowly. "Mr. Watanabe, relax, this is a misunderstanding, I can explain-"

    "Explain?" he interrupted, his words slightly jumbled. "You''re... you''re with that bastards! Stealing my daughter''s work!"

    Before I could react, his fist slammed into my solar plexus, surprisingly strong despite his inebriation. I folded slightly, gasping, but was fine, I could take a lot of beating before losing the ability to win the fight.

    "No," I wheezed, backing away. "I''m... investigating your daughter''s disappearance."

    Hiroshi lunged for me, trying to grab my neck. "Liar! She is... is gone!"

    I dodged, circling the small room. "The accident... didn''t it seem strange to you?"

    He flew at me with a clumsy kick, still managing to drive me into the wall. It was quite painful, but not as debilitating to hinder me. I decided that this was enough of me taking a beating and I would knock him out if he hit me again. I didn''t want my wounds to open.

    "Strange?" Hiroshi''s voice cracked, confusion evident in his tone. "What... what do you mean?" I caught my breath.

    "A road where trucks aren''t allowed. No CCTV in the area. Perpetrator not found. Cremation in three days. In Tokyo where it takes usually a wek or more, that''s... abnormal, don¡¯t you think so."

    The bottle slipped from his hand spilling the beer on the ground. Hiroshi''s eyes widened, his hands shaking as he struggled to process my words.

    "Who... who are you really?" he mumbled, his anger giving way to bewilderment and alcohol.

    "Someone who thinks your daughter might still be alive."

    Hiroshi''s face cycled through shock, hope, and suspicion, the alcohol seemingly clearing from his system.

    "Talk, NOW!" he bellowed. At this moment I was glad that it was not an apartment with thin walls.

    At that moment I tasted bits of metal in my mouth, which wasn''t the best feeling. It looked like my wound slightly opened from the strike before. I though I should have stayed at home for a few more weeks. There wasn''t much bleeding and had almost stopped. It was painful, but not even close to what had been in the hospital. Hiroshi, still full of distrust, was keeping me at a distance and ordered me downstairs. I guess he didn¡¯t feel well in his daughter¡¯s room. We sat around the table, the ad break just ended.

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    "Ah, I forgot about the added time of a couple of minutes after each half." I berated myself in my mind. That explained how I got caught.

    "Talk," Hiroshi demanded again, his eyes never leaving me.

    I laid out the evidence: the trucks, the lack of CCTV, the neglected areas, the police apathy, the hurried cremations.

    In the process of confirming that it was the same crematorium, and as a single father for the last few years, the municipality assisted in organizing the cremation and funeral as he was too stunned to arrange anything

    "How did you know about the cremation?" Hiroshi''s voice was hoarse.

    "I didn''t. I guessed. It fits the pattern." I leaned forward. "Did you see her body?"

    Hiroshi''s face crumpled.

    "No. They... they said it would be too shocking. Just showed me her tattoo on the wrist under the blanket. It was her hand." His eyes watered and his voice wavered.

    ¡°First destabilize.¡± I thought to myself ¡°A universal rule taught to all agents, I already won, I can give him anything, and he will eat out of my hand.¡± I hid my grid from appearing on my face.

    "Mr. Watanabe, I think your daughter might have been taken, not killed." I proceeded.

    "Taken? By who? Why?"

    I pretended to hesitate. "It might be dangerous for you to know."

    Hiroshi''s palm cracked across my face. "This is my daughter!" The Korean team scored in the background, but Hiroshi didn''t notice.

    I rubbed my cheek, this was going way better than anticipated. His reaction meant that he already believed that I knew things.

    "Most likely your daughter is fine and working now for Secret Services." I gave him a couple of supporting evidence while skipping over anything that might debunk it.

    I understood that it was very unlikely given factors like Yamamoto''s cancer, or Yoshiro''s overall state, but all was better than saying that his daughter was trafficked or committed suicide.

    Hiroshi stared at me, hope and disbelief warring in his eyes. "Why should I believe you? Why shouldn''t I call the police right now?"

    I met his gaze. "Because if I''m right, this might be your only chance to see Haruka again. If I''m caught, that chance disappears. If I get to the truth, she will simply be discharged, and you will meet again."

    ¡°I¡¯ll go to the newspapers, I know someone there..¡± He talked frantically before I cut him short.

    ¡°No, you won¡¯t. If you do that you will endanger your daughter by blowing off her cover if she is already deployed.¡±

    Silence stretched between us. Finally, Hiroshi spoke, his voice rough. "Get out. Before I change my mind."

    I nodded and quickly left the house and disappeared into the night. I didn''t have a chance to ask whom he confused me with, as it would have made me sound less credible. That was a problem for later.

    Ice-cold coffee from the vending machine was cooling down the cheek Hiroshi slapped as I headed home. "It would suck to have a beaten-up face tomorrow" I lamented.

    On my way back I tried to access Haruka''s PC through the malware my hacking device automatically installed, but something didn''t work, maybe it had no internet access, or Hiroshi turned it off.

    As I got into my futon, a message came from Josh with his findings. The crematorium had been purchased through child companies by "Ry¨±nosuke Press And Entertainment" 2 years ago. They were a major player in fiction book publishing, and were one of the biggest donors of "The Last Hope."

    I looked up their website. It had a lot of novels and manga. I remembered some of the names due to their ridiculousness. I searched for "librarian":  "My happy reincarnated life as the smartest librarian can''t go without adventures" by HaruRise was there.

 Ch 16: Ledas: Funeral

    The morning sun cast long shadows across Tigranakert as Ledas and Olaf made their way to the Church of the Mother of Mercy. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the solemn tolling of church bells echoed through the streets.

    Ledas''s mind wandered to happier times, just days ago. Finn and Flynn, the ginger twins, had been arguing over a new juggling and miming routines. "We should add more flips, and less miming, folk are getting tired of mime-play" Finn had insisted, his freckled face scrunched in concentration. Flynn had rolled his eyes, "And break our necks? No thanks. I am not Arty." Their bickering as mimes had been as much a part of the act as the juggling itself.

    Arty would do a backflip on the rope and fall into the haystack dramatically. "Oh nooo, I broke my neck."

    He would bend his neck in an almost unnatural position. "Just kidding, but if you want I can teach you how to do flips." smiling with his teeth.

    Olaf would look at Arty with disapproval while Ledas would giggle like a little girl, dropping one of the props from his sleeve.

    Now, such memories felt like ghosts, hunting both Olaf and Ledas.

    The Archbishop led a Requiem Mass, offering prayers for the souls lost in the monstrous attack. The streets were crowded with hundreds of people. Despite being at a great distance, Ledas and Olaf could hear the priest loud and clear. "Mother of Mercy, accept these poor souls into your warm embrace¡­

    Ledas, not a follower of the faith, was surprised to feel a soothing balm on his emotional wounds. Tears flowed freely down his face as the full realization hit him: he would never see Arty''s eager grin, never hear the twins'' playful banter again. The pain was raw, all-consuming, yet somehow, he sensed it would eventually fade.

    He wasn''t the only one feeling this way. A girl and her father, holding her in his arms next to him, had the same expressions. This was divine magic, and those who could feel it also felt the intention: pure and comforting, easing their collective sorrow.

    "Guide them into your eternal light so the souls of the pure could open their wings as angels and look at us from above, guiding and protecting us from the forces of evil¡­" the Archbishop continued. " Guide the children to Norits of Rebirth, so they can start their lives again¡­ and bless the souls of those who sacrificed themselves to hold off the beast, so they can fulfill their duty in eternal glory."

    An hour later, Ledas and Olaf joined the procession to a large graveyard outside town. There they placed the bodies into the graves, it was customary in Arshakion for family and close ones to cover the bodies with the soil themselves. Ledas didn¡¯t know much about the world and traditions in different places and the ritualistic meanings behind them, for him every spadeful of earth that fell onto the cheap casket ringed with agony.

    No one spoke as people were filling the graves, only the falling dirt and sobbing were heard. Wooden plates marked the final resting places of their friends, and placing them was an informal signal that people could speak now.  Ledas knelt before Arty''s grave, his throat tight.

    "Arty," he whispered. "I hope you pass on as a kid and the Merciful Mother guides you to Norits. Maybe in ten years, maybe twenty, we''ll see each other again. We definitely will." He stood, moving towards the twins'' graves where Olaf stood, his broad shoulders slumped in grief.

    "Hey, here you are!" A familiar voice cut through Ledas''s reverie. Nick, the owner and the innkeeper of Vishap''s Belly, approached very slightly inebriated.  He had a bottle of brownish liquid in his hand offering it to Ledas. "My condolences. Your brothers were really fine lads."

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    Ledas accepted the bottle, taking a sip. It tasted like weak mead. "Yeah, they were, glad to see you alive Nick." he managed.

    Nick nodded solemnly. "Well, that¡¯s thanks to you, saved my and a few of my friends¡¯ lives. I''d have bled out if not for you and your magic." He gestured to a small group nearby. "There are quite a few people who''d like to thank you too, and some are not from town. And thank you for what you did, master mage."

    "I''m not a master mage," Ledas protested weakly. "but you''re welcome. You would have done the same." He tried to give the bottle back, but Nick raised his hand.

    ¡°Keep it.¡± Nick''s eyes softened. "I wouldn''t have run towards the beast. If you need anything, I''ll try my best to arrange it. About others, should I ask them to approach later?" He glanced at the graves, then back at Ledas.

    ¡°No, its fine. ¡± Ledas gulped and took a deep breath, he needed at least some distraction.

    "Thank you, young sir," A younger man with his head bandaged and a walking stick addressed him first. "If not for you, I would have left my daughter an orphan and my wife a widow. Sadly, my house collapsed, so this is all I can offer."

    He passed Ledas a decorative brass lantern; it looked like an heirloom. Ledas didn''t recognize the man, nor the woman or child who accompanied him.

    "Thank you. It''s nice to hear that I at least helped someone." Ledas looked down at the nameplate with "Arthur" written on it, his face impassive.

    "Thirteen souls." A light-haired woman in black clothes interjected. "That''s how many people you saved from dying until the priests arrived. Don''t sell yourself short, young mage." Her voice was harsh for someone saying encouraging words. "That includes my brother in the tavern. He lost his leg, so he asked to thank you in his stead." She passed Ledas a dagger in its sheath with a large ornamented pommel. "He won''t be swingin'' it much anyway."

    Ledas nodded mechanically, taking the gift. An older couple offered Ledas and Olaf to stay at a farm a few days from Tigranakert with no limit if they would need a place to stay and a fine riding horse in a year when one grew up.

    One man who looked like a knight or a mercenary nodded at Ledas and handed him an envelope. Ledas nodded back, his emotional exhaustion evident. He could clearly see that the boy was trying to be left alone.

    As the crowd began to disperse, Ledas opened the envelope given by the armed man. Inside was a recommendation letter to participate in the newly created Tigranakert''s mage''s association examination without the fee. It was signed by some Sir Alfred Ledas never heard about. He looked at Olaf.

    "Have you decided to join the guards to learn more about the attack?" Ledas asked, his voice flat.

    "Yes, you heard yourself. No one talked about the perpetrators, as if it was a tornado, not an attack. You noticed it too, right?"

    "Yes. I was invited to try into the national mage''s association. I guess I can try to learn more there," Ledas responded, his tone unchanged.

    "So you will stop hiding that you are a mage?"

    "You saw the line gathered towards me. I guess there is no point when I get an endorsement from a knight, and I ain''t leaving till I find and destroy the bastards who did this." Ledas'' eyes glowed blue for a second as the air turned slightly colder, making Olaf take a small step back.

    "You looked scary right now, mate." Olaf was tense.

    "Oh, sorry," Ledas mumbled, taking a deep breath. The hostile aura around him dispersed. He opened his mirror locket to see his face; it looked slightly pale, so he drank a bit of mead left by Nick to fix it.

    "Let''s go. We have work to do." Olaf was stern, and his expression dark. Ledas''s expression mirrored that, though his eyes remained hollow. The two silently left the graveyard.

 Ch 17.1: George - Misaki Arashi part 1

    "What a nice day to be someone else!" I proclaimed while getting out of bed. Impersonation was my favorite part of being an agent.

    I compiled the tasks to investigate in my head:

    1. Finish investigations on talented students.

    2. Investigate ¡°The Last Hope¡±

    3. Investigate that Press company.

    4. Investigate the Crematorium.

    Today I was investigating Misaki Arashi, who had been struck by a truck 40 days ago, becoming the most recent¡ªand notably distinct¡ªvictim. The details in her obituary were succinct: 17 years old, the cause of death - a traffic accident, and a couple of remarkable achievements. Namely, a perfect score in the International Mathematics Olympiad and a silver medal in the International Physics Olympiad. Her obituary was the reason that has drawn me towards this investigation.

    Yet, her obituary lacked certain specifics. There were no mentions of funeral arrangements, and the only photos available online were from the championship events. I had attempted facial recognition scans across various social media accounts of her peers at Tokugawa Elite Academy but to little avail. A solitary formal picture of her, posing alongside student council members, had emerged.

    The school''s newspaper, occasionally cited by her fellow students, remained inaccessible, locked behind a private network. Sadly, it didn''t have an ancient security system I could bypass from the outside, but it would be fully accessible once I was inside. Both Misaki and Tokugawa Elite Academy seemed to hold privacy in high regard, guarding it almost zealously.

    I folded the futon and moved it towards the wall. The mirror in the bathroom revealed to me that after yesterday''s beating, my face was intact. However, my chest bore large bruises. Today my name would not be George Yossarian, but Adam Carter from Global High School Rating. His personality was based on a superintendent I knew a bit.

    I took a shower and put on my best clothes. I grabbed the camera and looked at the drone. The drone hadn''t been useful for any investigation up to this point, and I didn''t think a loud drone would help me today either. That flying bee had cost me a fortune and was partially responsible for my financial state being near catastrophic, so I took it everywhere I went, hoping it would pay off eventually.

    Adam Carter from GHSR arrived at 8:20 AM. Teenagers were arriving at school in their blue and white uniforms. Their eyes sometimes examined Adam as I moved toward the entrance. "Tokugawa Elite Academy" was a behemoth of marble and glass - a tribute to classical aesthetics and the massive private fortune that had paid for it.

    This bastion of education had been no stranger to praise, often lauded for its exceptional record of student performance and state-of-the-art facilities rivaling those of some universities. Today, I wasn''t there to learn of its education practices, though. My laptop was turned on in my backpack, ready to hack into the private network the moment it caught a glimpse of anything.

    Passing through the main gates, I was struck by nostalgia. The manicured grounds and imposing buildings reminded me more of my Western European university than my own high school, stirring a bit of envy.

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    Mrs. Miyako, the academy''s international liaison, greeted me at the entrance. Petite and sharp-eyed, she carried herself regally and spoke formal English. After all, I was from GHSR, and making a good impression was important for both of us. We exchanged pleasantries and proceeded inside.

    "So, Mr. Carter," she began as we navigated the well-polished corridors, her footsteps echoing off the walls, "we take immense pride in our well-rounded curriculum and an environment conducive to cognitive development. You see, at Tokugawa, we believe that holistic education is the key to creating responsible leaders of the future. I believe that is what every school should work towards."

    Her words felt hollow to me, though the word ''leaders'' instead of ''citizens'' or ''members of society'' told a lot about who the students here were, and about the sizes of their future inheritances. This should have impressed Adam Carter, so I nodded in agreement.

    As we toured the school, I noted the open, airy classrooms filled with natural light, well-equipped science labs, and an extensive library boasting books of every genre and new computers. Both Adam Carter and George Yossarian were impressed.

    I peppered Mrs. Miyako with questions about teaching methods, class sizes, parental involvement, and technology integration. Her patient, detailed responses betrayed her pride in the institution. I confessed my envy of the students here, and she smiled, admitting she sometimes felt the same.

    Rounding a corner, my eyes landed on a portrait of a young, half-European, half-Japanese girl. A leather-bound book sat next to it on a small table.

    ''Ah,'' Mrs. Miyako''s voice softened, ''that''s Misaki. A remarkable student. Her accident was... devastating.'' I noted her use of Misaki''s given name - perhaps adopting Western convention for my benefit."

    "What made her remarkable in your eyes?" It was a very rude question, but the fact that I was a representative of GHSR made Miyako more talkative to me. I went into more western inappropriateness and opened what I assumed was a memorial book. Miyako''s voice was uneven, and she responded:

    "Misaki was exceptional in all that she did, always trying to achieve more. She was the top student for 2 years straight and was second in the student council, simply because she wanted to have at least some free time to practice music. I have never known someone so talented in academics, sports, and arts¡­ While others were spending their free time in leisure, she would strive to strike perfection."

    Her voice gave off notes of grief, but aside from that, her emotions were hard to read. The words "strike perfection" gave off that Miyako herself was someone who strived towards it. "I only regret that no one was willing to keep up with her," Miyako finished.

    Misaki felt lonely to me after that remark. It takes growing up to learn not to feel inferior around those who are more talented. I didn''t think her schoolmates had acted like adults.

    I was unable to read anything from the book, it would have exposed that I knew Japanese. The only observation was a picture of her smiling with a rifle next to another boy the same age next to a dead deer. Only the first two pages were empty.

    I apologized for the insensitive question, after which we walked and talked a bit, and I asked to talk with the other members of the staff. She led me to the counselor''s room, where the counselor was made aware of my visit. She was the only person who was currently unoccupied: it was 9:10 AM after all.

 Chapter 17.2: George - Misaki Arashi part 2

    The counselor''s office bore a visual resemblance to the office of the NA Times psychologist: two expansive leather armchairs from Herman Miller, designed for face-to-face conversations, alongside a couch, perfect for psychoanalysis sessions where patients could comfortably lie down. Combined, they''re worth a small fortune.

    Back at North Atlantic, visits to the psychologist had been mandated at least once a month. Journalists weren''t typically the picture of mental health. Then again, those in sound mind didn''t often masquerade as school reviewers or traverse the globe to uncover the mysteries behind the disappearances of individuals they''d never even met. As I held the principle of "truth above all," here I was, about to deceive the school psychologist, just as I had Nakamura and Hiroshi.

    My reverie was interrupted by Ms. Fujiwara, a middle-aged woman with a welcoming demeanor and brown waving hair. "You must be Mr. Carter!" she greeted in nearly flawless British English, accompanied by a warm, inviting smile.

    "Fuck, I dazed off and lost control over my face" - I thought to myself.

    Hiding my internal panic, I returned the smile and entered the role again. How much of my grim expression had she caught as I lost myself in thought? What had my face been showing as I lost focus on my role? Had I compromised my cover? I strove to recompose myself.

    "Yes, and you are Ms. Fujiwara, correct?" My mask slowly reconstructed as she appraised me with a discerning gaze.

    Tea was gracefully served in delicate white and blue china. We took our seats in the plush armchairs, yet to me, it felt like leaning on daggers.

    "Pardon my brief distraction," I began, taking a moment to clear my throat. "This office just reminds me so much of my brother''s workspace. It momentarily transported me back home." I fabricated on the fly. While it was true my brother was a psychologist, his office most likely didn''t resemble this one in the slightest. I''ve never been to his office.

    With a slight tilt of her head and her smile unchanging, her probing eyes stayed locked onto mine. "Not to worry. How may I assist you today?" Her kindly grin betrayed a touch of amusement, the same kind one might reserve for a teenager caught in a white lie. She had seen something while I was in my thoughts, yet, I didn''t know what. Regardless, knowledge of deceit didn''t reveal motivation.

    As I savored a sip of the aromatic green tea, the armchair''s discomfort began to ebb away, so I slightly leaned back.

    "You see, the American education system is failing, and the issues are slowly spreading to private schools. Affluent parents are now considering sending their kids away to receive an education far from the new ideological biases. We''re trying to accommodate that trend."

    It sounded natural, as both Adam and I deeply held this belief, having observed the decline of Western education up close.

    "I wasn''t aware the situation across the Pacific had become so concerning," she remarked, taking a brief moment to weigh my words. She then fixed her gaze on mine, questioning, "You''re interested in how affluent Western students might integrate at Tokugawa?"

    I mixed and matched the issues plaguing the US to move the dialogue in the direction I needed. "Indeed. Even kids of Asian descent who grew up in the West and are more attuned to Western sensibilities often fall victim to racial prejudices due to their mixed or foreign heritage.

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    Ms. Fujiwara delivered her next statement with a rehearsed air. "Here at Tokugawa, we assist our few foreign students in navigating cultural differences. With time, they seamlessly integrate.".

    I finally found a space to shift the conversation to Misaki.

    "While touring the school, I came across a portrait of a mixed-race girl... Misaka, was it?" I purposely got Misaki''s name wrong. "Ms. Miyako seemed to imply she stood out rather than blending in."

    It was a deliberate prod, I knew that, and she knew that. But I had the upper hand here.

    She would aim to conceal the minutiae that would intrigue Adam, not the elements crucial to my investigation. In truth, I didn''t give a fuck to whatever might fascinate Adam or GHSR.

    "Arashi Misaki was an exceptional student, loved by her peers and teachers alike. As soon as we were informed about the tragic incident, we organized grief counseling sessions and provided the students with a safe space to express their emotions."

    She diverted from Misaki''s fitting into the school response, assuming it''d slip past me. Adam missed it, I didn''t. I also noticed her using the phrase "safe space to express emotions", it sounded completely unnatural, especially in a setting like Tokugawa that held Japanese customs in high esteem. The President of Tokugawa had mocked weakness and lack of order in Western schools in one of the recent interviews.

    This was the kind of sentiment Adam would have latched onto. So I played subtle cultural ignorance to get the information I needed.

    "Were her class''s classes not called off in observance of the cremation ceremony?"

    Ms. Fujiwara corrected me again, with a tone of slight annoyance towards me. It was fine, Adam was annoying and slightly disgusting, someone who needed to be put in his place. I would need to take a shower after I donned his mask.

    "Firstly, cremations are for family members only and on the same day as the funeral, the public part. We couldn''t cancel classes for the funeral because it was on a Sunday. More importantly, we believe maintaining a sense of routine and unity provides comfort for students during hard times. Many students came to visit me the following day and through the week."

    She articulated her next words slowly as if she were asserting professional dominance. "We recognize the weight of grief and the proper way to address it. A week later, we conducted a memorial service at the school, allowing all of Arashi''s friends and classmates to bid farewell."

    All her words were tailored for Adam, but I got what I came for. Her quick pivot from discussing how Misaki fit into the school''s response suggested Misaki was indeed isolated. The funeral being three days post her disappearance implied the cremation was on the third day, similar to others.

    Meeting Fujiwara''s gaze, it was clear she was irritated at Adam. I quickly apologized for my cultural insensitivity and shifted the conversation toward topics frequently highlighted in GHSR articles.

    The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of activity. I was shuttled from one impressive facility to another, each stop on the tour carefully choreographed to showcase Tokugawa''s excellence. The science labs gleamed with state-of-the-art equipment, the art studio with copies of classical works, and the library''s vast collection left me genuinely impressed.

    Yet, beneath the polished surface, I couldn''t shake the feeling that something was off. Nothing in this place felt genuine. Everything was an act and a flex, and that act was not for me. Everyone here was acting. I didn''t envy the students of this place anymore. It probably sucked to learn in this sterile environment.

    Ms. Miyako had suggested I review the extra-curricular activities, so at 4 PM, I was in the school cafeteria, which looked like an outdoor cafe, penning down notes on Misaki, waiting for extra-curricular to begin, left alone for the first time during the exhausting hours I had been there. During this whole day, not a single student went near me. It was neither good nor bad, just an observation of social distance.

    I closed the notebook and allowed myself to enjoy the view from the panoramic windows framing the courtyard bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun.

    The lights in the cafeteria flickered. Lights in the streetlights and people''s houses mirrored the flicker. It was a blackout¡­

 Ch 18: Ledas - The Zanderian

    Chapter 18: Ledas - The Zanderian

    Renting a room was way more expensive compared to a place in the stables. Unlike the spacious stables where the troupe could rehearse, the room with two beds, a table, and a wardrobe was barely enough for sleeping and studying. Most importantly it was warm and comfortable.

    A small gold coin a month was double what they paid for stables. Nick, the owner of Vishap''s Belly, arranged the place with a common kitchen and in-house plumbing for half the price for them.

    Despite that, it was not sustainable, considering food, new clothes, and the decision to focus on getting better jobs instead of taking odd jobs.

    Olaf was actively training to pass the guard''s exams. That mostly included practice in writing on a clay tablet. Knowing how to read and write was a good asset, but writing was important for someone who had to fill in reports.

    Physical strength-wise, Olaf was a strongman, but swinging a stick without supervision wouldn''t make him a good spearman, so there was no need to bother.

    Another gold piece evaporated for access to the library. The magician needed to read a lot to remember the magical theory he was taught by his father. Sadly, public libraries held limited knowledge of magic, most of which was considered either generational knowledge among battlemage families or non-disclosable knowledge of the guild of mages. Everything here was what Ledas had been taught by his father when he just started learning magic. The stolen textbook provided something new, but only some bare-bone basics.

    Some books caught his attention though. For example, "Summoned Heroes: How Otherworlder''s Technology Affected Industrialization" by Ignacius Cole. That was the imposing court mage of Ashakion''s court Ledas had met a few weeks ago. Plumbing at the end of the corridor was a direct result of summoned heroes some eighty years ago.

    "Ancient Rituals: Dictionary on Runic to Modern Power Symbols with Illustrations," 3rd edition by Ledas Sunders, printed 20 years ago.

    Ledas looked at the name of the author with his brow raised. It was the first time he had seen someone with the same name as him. The author section described him as an Archmagi of Runes of the previous century. The book itself stated the possibility of applying golden runes like tattoos on the body to cast spells, similar to how his father had applied runes on him. Ledas frowned.

    Did his father plan to apply runic tattoos to him when he was just born, or was it the name that gave him the idea? Was he named after an Archmagi? Who the hell was his father Zander?

    Too many questions, and no way to find answers. Ledas took a deep breath and pushed the intrusive thoughts aside. One question was hard to push away: was his comprehension of magic high, or were the books just for novices?

    During the week, Ledas checked Olaf''s writing and visited the examination site to register and verify the authenticity of his recommendation letter.

    The Mage''s Association had taken over the International Mage''s Guild building, which the troupe had once helped clean. Now, royal battle mages served as examiners, and the furniture was new, though less extravagant.

    "Your name, sir?" the clerk at registration asked.

    Ledas hesitated. "It''s Ledas. Here''s my recommendation letter, but I don¡¯t know the person who gave it me." He passed the letter over, his voice barely above a mumble.

    The clerk examined the stamp, eyebrow raised. "Looks genuine, but we''ll verify it to avoid  possible issues. Please wait in the adjacent room while we confirm."

    The next two hours stretched to an eternity for Ledas. He sat in a plush chair, occasionally accepting refreshments from passing servants. To distract himself from his mounting anxiety, he immersed himself in a book from the library. The musty smell of old pages and the quiet rustle of turning leaves helped calm his nerves. It reminded him of sitting near his father during his learning routine when they were not yet separated.

    When the receptionist finally called back, Ledas was still lost in his reading. The clerk''s voice startled him back to reality.

    "Apologies for the wait. The letter is indeed genuine. Let''s proceed. Your family name, Sir Ledas?"

    "I don''t have one," Ledas mumbled, averting his gaze.

    A well-dressed man in his mid-twenties behind Ledas laughed. "That''s a good joke! A mage without a family name."

    Ledas turned, meeting the man''s amused smirk. "But I really don''t have one."

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    The man''s smile faded. He leaned in, whispering, "Invent a last name, or you''ll be seen as the peasant you are. Use your father''s name and add -ian. It''s local custom."

    The clerk cleared his throat, "Please, let''s not hold up the line. Age and date of birth?"

    Ledas''s mind raced. "Oh, family name Zanderian. Born December twentieth, fifth year."

    "So you''re 15?" The clerk jotted it down. "Here''s your examination number, Mister Zanderian." He handed Ledas an envelope and moved on to the next person.

    Outside, Ledas approached the man who''d helped him. "Thank you, sir." He bowed slightly.

    The man waved him off. ¡°Keep it to yourself. If you somehow pass, it''d be a disgrace to be listed alongside a peasant. We nobles must save face, so make up a legend - like coming from  Elsomere or Mirage.¡± With that, he climbed into a waiting carriage and departed.

    Despite the man''s harsh words, Ledas felt grateful. He returned to the library, throwing himself into preparations and studying various books.

    By week''s end, Olaf had easily passed his guard examination. His literacy, strength, and sociability put him on track for a low-ranking officer position from the start, provided he distinguished himself.

    Before Ledas knew it, the day of the mage''s association examination arrived. He found himself in a massive auditorium with about thirty other candidates of varying ages and social standings. The scratch of quills on parchment filled the air as they tackled questions on magical theory, rituals, and spellcraft. Ledas wrote meticulously, detailing each step and possible complications.

    The questions seemed surprisingly simple to Ledas. He wondered if the bar had been set low to quickly fill Tigranakert''s need for mages. Yet, he couldn''t shake the feeling that some were trick questions. Upon closer inspection, he realized his instincts were correct.

    The only difficult part was the ritual magic, he finished the other two in fifteen minutes, but for the remaining 45 he was trying to figure out how to reduce magic consumption in a small piece of a looping effect that had to work for more than a week.

    There was not enough information to figure out the best approach based on what ritual was for and what its other parts meant so he wrote a few ways things could work, and based on them where he would try to cut the number of unnecessary calculations by the ritual.

    As he left the examination hall, Ledas felt confident he''d advance to the practical phase. But he''d have to wait until tomorrow for the results.

    The next morning, Olaf, already at work, couldn''t accompany him to see the results. Anxiety gnawed at Ledas as he approached the mage''s association. Two other examinees were already there, their nervousness palpable.

    "If they''d been certain of passing, they wouldn''t be here so early," Ledas mused.

    The receptionist noticed Ledas. "Sir Ledas, please proceed to the waiting room."

    Confused, Ledas glanced at the other candidates as the receptionist led him not to the waiting room, but upstairs to the Guild Mage''s former office.

    Inside, a formidable man in black clothes sat at the edge of the desk, a sword at his side. His lean frame and the slashed scars across his face spoke of a life of combat.

    "As requested, sir," the receptionist said, closing the door behind Ledas.

    "Please, sit, Mister Zanderian," the man said, his voice smooth but commanding.

    Ledas lowered himself into the indicated chair. "Is there a problem?"

    The man''s lips curved into a slight smile. "No problem. You passed. But how you did so is most interesting. So, tell me: who are you?"

    The man''s deliberate lack of introduction and the room''s oppressive atmosphere left no doubt in Ledas''s mind. This was an interrogation.

    "My name is Ledas. I''m 15. Until recently, I was a magician with a troupe of performers," Ledas answered, striving for honesty.

    "And a thief, right?" The man''s smile widened. "Didn''t you jump from the window downstairs with some of the guildsman''s belongings?"

    Ledas''s throat went dry. He swallowed hard. "Yes, sir. I... I ask you to hear my case."

    "Proceed," the man said, waving his hand.

    Ledas recounted the events at the guild in detail, only to be cut off as he began explaining his motivations.

    "Enough," the man interrupted. "So you''re saying you''re no one, from nowhere, yet you placed second in magical theory? I''d think you were a spy if not for your obvious incompetence. Who taught you magic?"

    "My father, sir," Ledas said quickly. "I haven''t seen him in over three years."

    "Your father''s name?"

    "Zander, sir. But I know little about him, including whether I''m truly his child or adopted. We lived on the road as long as I can remember."

    The man leaned forward, his eyes boring into Ledas. "So, you''re a nobody from nowhere, raised by a wandering mage skilled in high-grade golden tattoos. You''ve attained near-master-level ritual comprehension by age twelve or thirteen. The only person who knows you is a strongman you''ve performed with for three years. All this time, you''ve chosen a vagrant''s life in cold stables over the luxury of a mage''s apprentice or journeyman. Don''t you find that suspicious?"

    Ledas''s heart raced - cold sweat beaded on his forehead. "I-it is suspicious, sir. But I haven''t mentioned most of what you''re saying."

    The man''s smile softened. "Relax, Zanderian. This is a friendly chat. We''re just getting the facts straight."

    Ledas took a deep breath, trying to slow his pounding heart. The man seemed genuine, which helped Ledas regain some composure.

    "Do you do such checks with everyone?" Ledas asked.

    "No," the man replied. "It''s just coincidence that I was looking for a nobody from nowhere, skilled in ritual circles and with few worldly connections. And here you are." His eyes glinted. "I don''t believe in coincidences. So, Ledas, tell me your life story. If you do, your life might take turns you''ve never dreamed possible."

 Chapter 18.2: Ledas: Who is Ledas Zanderian

    "How should I address you, Sir?" Ledas inquired of the man.

    "Sir is fine. You will learn more if I find that it''s important. I am from the hiring department, as you may have guessed." Ledas lampooned that the swordsman was definitely not from the ''hiring department'', but intuition told him not to fuck around or push his luck in front of the "Sir" under any circumstances.

    "Where should I start from?" Ledas inquired.

    "Go reverse chronology, or chronological, I don''t care," the swordsman stood up from the end of the table and took a seat in the chair intended for the future head of the association.

    "We got to Tigranakert with the troupe around 3 months ago. We needed a place to stay for the winter, and it was the closest big city. We performed in different taverns, and by this time should have already left, because our show yielded less and less profit."

    "I don''t need economic details," the swordsman cut him short.

    "Uh, sure. For the last three years, I have been traveling with the same vagabond troupe. We have been from the Eastern parts of the empire to the border towns in the north of Partha and trade towns in the south of Darbin. We entered the lands of Arshakion about half a year ago."

    "And when did you learn magic during that time?" The swordsman looked with apathy.

    "Books, sire. I had a small collection with me for the first couple of years but had to separate from them when we got attacked on the road and had to flee."

    "So you''re saying that some rabble took your possessions despite you being a mage?" The swordsman''s eyebrow was raised.

    "I don''t know how to fight properly. I have been in bar fights, but not against armed people. I might be a quick rune caster, but not faster than a slash of a sword or a dagger thrown." Ledas was honest; he just hoped that the swordsman would not try to test it.

    "Well, that''s something that can be amended. Proceed." The swordsman didn''t test Ledas'' words.

    "Before I met the troupe, I was traveling with my father for as long as I could remember. He was the one who applied the golden runes on me and taught me spells." Ledas channeled his magic into his runes to make them glow.

    "Were you traveling somewhere specific? Did he mention why he was teaching you magic? Or anything of possible interest? Anyone you should avoid or who was he working for?"

    "We frequented ruins, where he would usually find nothing, but sometimes something he later sold. Usually, we stayed in villages and hamlets, never being in one place for more than a day. He always told me to avoid the Mage''s Guild and that I had a specific calling he never disclosed, though he never mentioned any allies." Ledas skipped a couple of important details, but they were not something the interrogator directly asked him.

    ¡°One last thing. You were invoking the Mother of Mercy without being a priest, how many of the granted spells can you invoke?¡± This was a trick question, Ledas knew that invoking a deity was a privilege of a priest, and by any means using it without a position was frowned upon.

    ¡°I can preserve life, suppress pain, and stitch minor wounds. Am I in trouble?¡± Ledas felt as if his heart was about to leave his chest.

    ¡°Yes, it''s frowned upon using arcane while invoking the name of a god, as it might anger the god,¡± the swordsman grinned, ¡°Your father told you how to do that?¡±

    ¡°No, father never even tried that. It was mentioned in an inscription on the walls of an ancient underground temple. But I did and it worked somehow.¡±

    ¡°So, you can heal only what apprentice priests can and you invoking the name of Mother of Mercy didn¡¯t anger her. That¡¯s good, the church was interested in you. But they told me that they won¡¯t press claims if you don¡¯t know how to invoke major gifts. It all adds up with what you said about avoiding the guild of mages. That''s good."

    "Why so, what adds up?" Ledas inquired.

    "I was thinking whom your name reminds me of. There was a rogue rune mage some years ago. Master Alexander Sanders, son of the Archmage Ledas Sanders. He burned a mage''s guildhall with everyone inside..." Before he could finish, Ledas stood up angrily.

    "My father would never¡ª" The swordsman didn''t like being interrupted. His sword was next to Ledas'' neck. Ledas hadn''t seen the movement, just the blade at his neck slightly piercing his skin.

    "Sit!" The commanding tone of the swordsman made Ledas obey the order. "And don''t interrupt me. Understood?"

    "Yes, sir." Ledas nodded as the sword was removed from his neck. The swordsman gave him a napkin, pointing at his neck.

    "So, Zander, Alexander, Iskander. The same name. Rogue rune mage on the run. You probably are indeed adopted. He was a Southerner from Zarat; they rarely have blue eyes or ashen hair like you."

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    Ledas sat confused, putting the napkin to his neck. He knew almost nothing about his father, who was very secretive about his past. He knew that they were running from something but never knew from what. It all made sense and made none at the same time.

    This didn''t answer the question, why would his father, who used violence as a last resort even if cornered by thugs, burn people alive indiscriminately? Ledas remembered his encounter with mages from the guild and thought, "Maybe he was justified, no, he was definitely justified. Guild mages were insane people, and my father was always kind to everyone."

    "I believe I don''t pass and should gather my things," Ledas stated trying to leave the room as quickly as possible before the mood of the man from the hiring department soured and he got arrested. His eyes look at the ground. He was the son of a fugitive and his apprentice, no one in his right mind would want someone like him. He stood up and grabbed his coat.

    "Where are you going? Sit, they will soon bring the tea." His hand pointed at the chair, and unlike the previous time, this was clearly not an order, but an invitation. Ledas felt surprised and sat without a word.

    "Take a couple of minutes to think. I see you are stressed. Don''t be. As I said, this is a friendly conversation. First, the guild was burned in the southern parts of the Empire and we don¡¯t send extradited people to them, and second, children don''t pay for the crimes of their parents." The swordsman was calm and even supportive.

    Ledas started to think.

    "One: might he know what happened with father? Two: was I adopted? Three: is Ledas Sanders - my possible grandfather - still alive, and if yes, where?"

    He noticed a servant entered the room when a cup of tea with a plate of cake was put in front of him.

    "Help yourself." The swordsman smiled and started to eat his cake. Ledas chimed in.

    The tea was warm and had a rich, relaxing smell with a slight bitterness balanced by the sweet cake with mead and nuts.

    "I have heard enough, ha-ha. Aside from your lack of combat training, you fit the job. The position of the court mage is empty." The swordsman laughed and grinned, while Ledas choked on his tea.

    "Me? Why?" Ledas was surprised and confused. Why would someone offer him such a high stance after learning he was a son of a criminal and a vagabond?

    "I was planning to interview the top five candidates, but this job has one main criterion: Loyalty, and you, without properly thinking, gave a hook on yourself which will never allow you to betray even if you want to." As Ledas still looked confused, he continued, "If you try to defect to the Mage''s Guild or anywhere they operate, we will just release information on your heritage, and even if you somehow run away from us, you will be hunted to be made an example of."

    "But I am sixteen, and not strong at all! Your previous court mage could have killed me in five seconds! Who even are you?" Ledas was now confused about the identity of the man in front of him.

    "My name is irrelevant, but I am the Wraith, the head of Ashakion''s secret police and intelligence. You can call it ''the Hiring Department''" Wraith was grinning as if he got a jackpot. Ledas, on the other hand, felt his hands shaking under the table. "Don''t worry about age and power. For power, we have battle mages, and for age, it''s something I am taking on myself."

    "I agree, but under one condition." Ledas still didn''t know how to react. He remembered his goal of learning who killed his friends and organized the attack on Tigranakert.

    "Go ahead, what do you want?" Wraith sipped his tea.

    "During the attack on Tigranakert, my friends were killed. I want to know who did it and help to enact revenge." Ledas looked into the eyes of the head of the secret police in front of him.

    "Sure, I¡¯ll give it for free. We currently believe that these were agents from the West. The Thalassian Empire, to be precise. Everyone who participated in the attack is dead. So if you were planning some revenge, it''s too late. Unless you have means to defeat the Emperor, the strongest summoned hero of this age surrounded by the best bodyguards one can find." He was quite friendly for someone called "Wraith".

    "They are all dead?" Ledas was surprised by the quick answer he got, and Wraith instantly understood his intention for asking the question.

    "Yes, everyone who brought the beast and tried to use it as a distraction is dead. Now that this is out of the way, it¡¯s time to sign the documents, but before that, we will need to change your made-up family name."

    Ledas blinked twice. Then he realized, "Oh right, I said that I''d agree on a condition, and he immediately fulfilled it." Papers without his name were on the table. It was a contract, and it had the King''s stamp on it. The head of the secret police looked at the new Court Mage with discerning eyes.

    "Your salary will be six small gold pieces a month, or sixty silver drahms. Salaries are reviewed twice a year at the beginning and middle of each year: summer and winter solstice. You will be provided with accommodations inside the castle and most of your expenses will be covered. Your responsibilities will include maintaining certain magical devices and conducting undisclosed magical rituals. All that remains is your name and the signature." Wraith spoke fast, leaving Ledas no time to think or mentally maneuver.

    "Are you sure?" Ledas asked him, not sure if he fit the role.

    "Yes, if you are still not sure because the salary of your class of mage might quite soon get higher than that, I would like to remind you that earnest and loyal subjects of the king can get a premium with land and opportunity for their honest work. As I said when we began: your life might take a course you never thought possible."

    "I was not asking about that," Ledas replied. Six gold pieces a month was a ridiculously high salary to him.

    "I know. Ledas Runeward. I know." He stood up and put on his coat. "My time is up; I have duties. You have until tomorrow noon to decide. If you take the deal, bring the documents to the castle chancellery. If you don''t: burn the paper. If I find it on the black market, I will take your innards out. Understood?"

    Ledas nodded ¡°And what about the Church?¡±

    ¡°Unless you openly provide healing for gold they won¡¯t force you to join. Aren¡¯t you a lucky bastard?¡±

    Ledas looked at the paper as the shadow disappeared from his view. The doors and windows were still closed, so Ledas frantically looked around for a few seconds when he noticed the abnormality.

    He grabbed the parchment and put it in his bag. He needed to talk with Olaf about this.

 Ch 19: George Yossarian: Unhinged Tally

    The flickering lights reminded me that I had completely forgotten about the blackouts. I got a dead end when I was investigating them.  Now it struck me.

    Each blackout happened on the day of the cremation as far as I knew.

    The government was turning a blind eye to the blackouts despite how outrageous they were, and the media was underreporting it. Everything in Tokyo runs on electricity, how wasn''t this each political party¡¯s talking point?

    Someone pulled off traffic accidents with no one found guilty for twenty times. At least two times the municipal government took care of cremation, putting the body ahead on the waiting list.

    The company that owns the crematorium is connected to the company which produces books and comics about people getting hit by a truck and they support a specific party ¡°The Last Hope¡± which controls the municipalities where all of the victims lived. Neither Nakamura nor Hiroshi Watanabe saw the bodies in full. I considered this to be the case for all the victims for now.

    An author of one of the ¡°hit by a truck, transferred to another world¡± type of manga was hit by a truck. Most likely no one came to Yoshiro Tanaka¡¯s funeral as he didn¡¯t leave his home for around a decade.

    It was not a spy program, it was not a suicide cult and it was not a serial killer.   ¡°THEN WHAT IS IT?!¡± I shouted in my mind.

    I drank my tea under the flickering lights, while my eyes darted left and right as I was building the picture in my mind. It was a puzzle that I almost solved, just one last step and I will unveil a massive conspiracy right under everyone¡¯s noses. I unknowingly was shaking my leg in frustration until I noticed my whole body shaking.

    As I checked for truck accidents every day I knew that none had happened three days ago.

    There was only one time a blackout happened when there were no truck accidents prior in the last two years. I was unable to find any clues on what happened around that time.

    Every clue led to the crematorium. My intuition was screaming that I was missing something and that something was on the surface. Something I had to open my mind to comprehend. My mind didn¡¯t budge as I became more and more tense.

    I took out my backup phone with the satellite connection I used in Tingal and quickly sent the updates I wrote in my notebook to Josh with a tag.

    RE: ASAP.

    "Josh, I think I''m about to crack this case. It all leads to the crematorium. Something is off with it. Can you check the plans? Here are all the updates on the case. See pics attached. Call me. I''m wiping soon." Wiping meant that I was going to delete all data on me before proceeding aside from the encrypted paper notebook. It¡¯s to avoid compromising the investigation if I get caught.

    I felt there was something big happening. The crematorium was around 5-7 km away from here, I could still make it till the blackout ended. I had maybe 3 minutes before the lights would go completely out. I would have to either go into the fray or chicken out, and there was no time to think.

    I jumped up, striding towards the exit quickly putting my backpack on. In the hall, I saw Ms. Miyako with a question on her face.

    "Are you not staying for Extra-Curriculars?" she asked.

    "Sorry, I have an emergency, I''ll contact you later." My facial expression answered any possible future inquiries with "LATER!".

    I strode, not breaking to a run which could raise suspicion. As I reached the gates I looked at possible places to catch a cab, but there were none. Instead, the traffic was jammed. It was about 15 minutes by car to get to the crematorium from here or an hour during the jam which promised to intensify during the blackout.

    I looked at the side of the road. A student of T.E.A. was about to grab the last electrical bike on the docking station. It was the only bicycle around, so I got to him and asked in Japanese.

    "I really need a bike right now, could you concede it to me please?"

    He hesitated for a few seconds and looked at me. I had no idea what he was thinking about. He took his time hesitating and that frustrated me, but Adam Carter was calm on the outside.

    "Fine," he finally replied before getting off the bike.

    I hopped on, counting every second as a loss. It took twenty for the bike to unlock. As I rode as fast as I could, the lights went out completely, including the traffic lights. The usual hum of electricity faded, the one I didn''t notice existed so much. I started to maneuver at the maximum speed this bicycle could possibly move as the wind hit my face and slight discomfort struck my chest wound.

    I was adding reckless driving to the list of unethical or straight-up criminal things I had done during the last couple of weeks. Slander, information scraping including from high schoolers, break-ins, impersonations, and infiltration of a school. It was all or nothing.

    Making it even more reckless, when Josh called me I shoved headphones into my ears while I drove between lanes in the jam.

    "Uncle, there is another blackout here, I am riding to the crematorium, I know the answer lies here, and it''s not secret services." I heard his breaking voice in response.

    "Are you in¡­ mind ¡­ you want¡­ to ¡­ heart attack. Wind ¡­mic " Josh probably questioned my sanity and mentioned that there was wind blowing into the mic of my headphones.

    "Can you ask your hacker friend to check the floor plans of the place?" I repeated it twice.

    "Already did, Wait." A few intersections later I heard Josh''s voice again.

    "Erika and Tom are looking through municipal files right now," Josh stated while I drove through a narrow gap between two cars grazing my leg with a rearview mirror.

    "Fast work!" I shouted forward.

    "Expensive one!" Josh grumbled.

    I heard Tom''s voice.

    "George, that place doesn''t make sense. The floor map in the database is 2/3 of the size of the satellite view. Pictures indicate that there is some unaccounted space behind it."

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    "Send it over," I shouted.

    "Compiling will take two minutes. George, be careful."

    Distracted, I didn''t notice a car door opening in front of me, hitting me on the side of my abdomen and leg. I almost fell on the ground, in between the traffic, but managed to regain my balance and continue on my unhinged tally.

    ¡°Konoyarou!¡± a driver shouted from his car, calling me a bastard, or something like that. Well, I indeed acted like one.

    Overall, after twenty minutes of reckless driving full of pain and sweat, through 2 wards (Districts in Tokyo) I got 300 meters to the huge complex dedicated to the burning of human remains. Even from this distance, I could detect the faint, stench that always lingered around such places. I was dripping in sweat and my heart was racing. My best-looking clothes were not fit for such rides. At least I didn''t feel the metallic taste of my blood.

    I had around 15 minutes before the blackout was over.

    I unlocked my phone, it had 2 new files. "FloorPlan" and "README!"

    I opened Readme.

    "It is 3 in the fucking morning, we were looking for the floor plan and Erika for the scarce pictures. You owe me 2k for hacker''s services. Looks like the building has some extra space between the highlighted walls with the entrance possible only from the outside at the back of the building.

    The hidden room is right next to the inner walls of the furnace which could indicate that caskets could be switched. There are no photos of the back of the building so we can''t confirm if there is an entrance there. Just for the love of god, don''t go there. And if you do, wipe. You have 24h to reconnect before I will call for aid."

    I dove in a secluded industrial alley multitasking as a second nature. I sent the drone behind the complex at a high altitude to scout for cameras and entrances while I checked the maps they sent me. At the same time, I hid the USB drive which ran my computer in a pipe, and ran a protocol on my phone.

    There was no back entrance at first glance. I looked around with my drone, scanning the area for any clues. And then a man emerged from a wall, revealing a narrow hidden entrance.

    I called back the drone.

    "I got what I needed, I will plan a break in tonight," I told myself. I wanted to enter the place, but doing so during the day was unwise, and I had less than 10 minutes before the blackout would finish. Too little time left for a good infiltration, so I decided to wait till the night.

    When I was catching the drone mid-air I noticed something unexpected; a well-hidden CCTV three stories above me.

    In a narrow alleyway with no one living in the area over 300 meters away from the point of interest.

    When the drone stopped buzzing I closed my eyes to hear better, someone was approaching trying to remain silent, they were walking slowly from behind one of the corners, so I maybe had 10 seconds.

    I quickly strode in another alleyway and when I looked up there was no CCTV there, I placed the drone in a cardboard box lying on the ground and hid a bit further behind a trash can.

    The plan was simple - try to knock out the pursuers and try to flee by any means necessary.

    I heard faint footsteps as someone was carefully walking down the dark alleyway I was in.

    Reflection from the turned-off screen of my phone showed an Asian man with a gun. His movements were barely heard, but this part of the city was silent with no sounds of electrical devices.

    I took a calm deep breath and gently pushed the stick on the drone controller. As the drone flew up from the crate I saw the man turn around aiming his gun on it, while I dashed towards his back. He tried to turn towards me, but I was already right at him, hammering my fist on his wrists, forcing the gun out of his hand and onto the ground. Lucky for me, no shot rang.

    The man struck with an open palm at my neck with a rapid strike, but the initiative was on my side, as I barely blocked it with my shoulder. He tried to enter some kind of stance, but that was a mistake on his side, as I jerked my leg up putting myself off balance but able to kick him right between the legs.

    ¡°Sucks to be you mate,¡± I told him as I made a very clumsy roll towards his back, grabbing the gun from the floor. He was holding his crotch for less than two seconds, but despite me aiming the gun at him he rushed straight at me.

    I jumped back and grabbed the flying drone mid-air instantly throwing it at him as a feint.

    The buzzing machine stopped itself mid-flight to his face as he tried to parry it way closer than it was leading him to hit it with his face. But as the buzzing machine was doing its job I had an opening. I used the gun to hammer him to his chin from below, sending him flying to the dumpster.

    ¡°Good night,¡± I whispered.

    Before he could react I smacked the lid on his head finally knocking him out. I quickly checked his pulse. He was alive, but now was missing some teeth. I shoved his body in the communal bin with a quick move, grabbed the bag and the drone in my hands, and started to sprint.

    I ran through the alley, and another alley shoving my drone into the bag.

    I checked the gun. Glock 17, its handle¡¯s weight indicating it was fully loaded.

    I ran so fast last time when I was in Tingal. Adrenaline was rushing through me and I felt neither the wound in my lungs nor any other injury.

    I had to run away from the CCTV view if I wanted a chance to run away or win a gunfight if I would have failed.

    I heard shouts way behind me, and ran out of the alley straight into the street.  The next moment I was flying towards the ground, bracing myself and rolling down the street like a ragged doll.

    I laid face down but didn¡¯t feel any pain, I saw the truck that just hit me and tried to stand up, but before I could. Two men in utility uniforms jumped out of it and one punched me straight in the jaw making me fall again. They grabbed my semi-conscious body and tossed it inside the back of the truck.

    ¡°Hey, he is still conscious!¡± one of them argued to another in Japanese.

    ¡°What should I do about that, they usually all get knocked out, who is this guy.¡± responded another.

    The truck started to move, and a hand from behind moved into my chest pocket and took out my passport and the gun.

    "So you are George Yos-sar-rian." He spoke flawed English with a heavy Japanese accent. "Congratulations, someone wants to speak with you!"  He put a bag on my head after that.

    I smiled under the bag. I was in deep shit and my inner voice became a sarcastic narrator as my blood was pouring down my face from my forhead.

    ¡°Dear readers of my blog. I am George Yossarian, a military journalist with a short background in foreign intelligence. A few months ago I was shot in the chest and barely survived. My friends and family were very happy to have me alive and in one piece.

    But I didn''t learn the lesson of valuing my life and the feelings of people close to me. Today as I was about to unpack a huge conspiracy, the tables have turned and now a huge conspiracy is going to unpack me. My body will most likely be turned to ashes in the crematorium I am investigating.¡±

 Chapter 20: Ledas Runeward: Choices

    Olaf had a work shift from midnight to noon. Some hooligans painted slurs on one of the walls, so he was a part of a four-person unit that patrolled the poor neighborhood investigating the misdemeanor. It took them 4 hours to figure out who did it, a couple of hours to find their location, and a few minutes of intensive chase throughout the poor parts of the town and on the rooftops leading to arrests of all but one of the perpetrators.

    Olaf wasn¡¯t fast, but once he caught one of the young vandals they had no chance of running away.

    After a shower at home, Ledas came with a parchment, asking Olaf to read it. That he did.

    ¡°Did you decide to do forgeries, or is this some kind of a joke?¡± he asked in disbelief after reading the text.

    ¡°It''s real, I passed the test almost ideally. The only person who did better was the one who wrote it,¡± Ledas responded coldly.

    ¡°Oh, so¡­¡± Olaf stood up and made a medium bow his head low ¡°Congraduglations, Court Mage Ledas Runeward¡±

    ¡°What are you joking about? It''s a serious matter.¡± Ledas was defensive until he saw Olaf¡¯s wet eyes and wide smile when his mate lifted his head.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Ledas looked furrowing his brows.

    ¡°I¡¯m so happy for you,¡± he sniffled, a tear going down his cheek, laughing a bit. ¡°Come, let me give you a hug.¡± He didn¡¯t wait and hugged his young friend, in a firm bear hug.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet,¡± Ledas¡¯ voice was muffled as he was speaking into Olaf¡¯s chest.

    ¡°What are you thinking? Are you drunk? It''s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! A one-way ticket to a better life! Why in the nine hells would you reject it?¡± Olaf was far more excited than Ledas.

    ¡°What if I can''t do it? I never worked as a mage, let alone as someone important!¡± Ledas was conflicted.

    ¡°Dude, just take the job, you were offered it. I don''t think they made a mistake. I took you in after a minute-long talk, forgot that?¡± With a smile on his face, Olaf shrugged, his eyes were still wet.

    ¡°And if I fuck it up? I¡¯ll get hanged!'''' Ledas retorted.

    ¡°No, the one who hired you will get fucked, not you¡± Olaf laughed from his belly. ¡°If you can''t, you can join the guards with me. Don¡¯t believe in yourself. Believe in me, who believes in you.¡± Olaf was shining with confidence, and some of that confidence stuck to the young mage. Ledas was a poor decision-maker, he knew that he acting emotional sometimes, so he valued the opinion of Olaf way more than his own. If Olaf was confident, it meant it was the right decision.

    In the evening Ledas decided that Ledas Runeward was a good enough name, and he went with filled parchment to the castle chancellery. The castle accountant looked at the paper, and at Ledas, and then at the paper again. After which, he raised his eyebrows while slightly shaking his head, and opened one of the drawers.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Welcome to the castle, Courtmage Runeward. Here is your front payment.¡± the castle accountant said as he put two small gold coins and thirty drahms on the table. That was a lot of money for single Ledas who now didn¡¯t have to pay for food or accommodations. ¡°Each week on the first afternoon you can come to claim the salary. Master mentioned that you might come. Follow Smoothy, he will show you the way.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, but what is smoothie?¡± Ledas gently put his newfound fortune in his inner pocket.

    ¡°I am Smoothy.¡± a voice rang next to Ledas¡¯ ear making him shudder. Smoothy was a slim man in a brown cloak and leather armor, slightly taller than Ledas, and the way he stood made Ledas feel the grace and agility coming from him.

    ¡°Follow me.¡± They got to a ladder upstairs and Smoothy looked at Ledas. ¡°Do you know how to survive here Runeward?¡±

    ¡°Survive? What do you mean?¡± Ledas asked.

    ¡°So you don¡¯t,¡± Smoothy said with a grin like it was some game ¡°Let me lay it out for you. I was spying on you for a few days, just so you know. From the moment you got into the Temple of Mother of Mercy¡±

    ¡°Oh. that explains why Wraith knew so much about me,¡± Ledas replies. He felt as if confusion was slowly waning. Though his heart skipped a bit when he thought that Smoothy could have seen manifestations of his cold blood, he then realized that if the spy had seen a thing, Ledas would have long been dead.

    ¡°Yeah, so listen. I am telling you this because I like you. That scene when you and your friend were drinking and confessing your feelings brought a tear to my eyes. The way you tried to decline what people were gifting you, and giving in just so they will feel better. So pure, truly heartwarming,¡±

    Smoothy stopped and turned to shocked Ledas. ¡°So I learned that you are a naive idiot. No one here is your ally, no one should know what my master knows already. I am not your friend, nor am your ally. This is not a park, this is a warzone. There is a hidden currency here - favors. But you can¡¯t do favors to nobles, they will never want to owe you until you prove yourself. Focus on servants and staff. If you scratch their backs they will scratch yours twice because of your status.¡±

    ¡°Anything else I might need to know?¡± Ledas looked with an inquiring expression.

    ¡°I like you so, it will be 10 drahms.¡± Smoothy grinned as Ledas gave him one gold coin begrudgingly.

    ¡°Avoid the princess at all costs. Her staff is cool though. Hmm¡­ One more thing, early birds live longer.¡± It didn¡¯t look like Smoothy was going to explain, so they proceeded to walk forward. Ledas was not sure that he was scammed, but maybe knowledge to avoid the princess was worth it, so he didn¡¯t complain.

    In the office of Wraith was only one writing table with a few files on it. There were two people inside, Wraith and a familiar face: the well-dressed mage who suggested Ledas to take a second name in the registration line a few days prior.

    ¡°Oh, it''s the Zanderian, right? What are you doing here?¡± the well-dressed man was even more stylish today. The red and blue military outfit of a battlemage highlighted his excellent physique.

    ¡°It''s our new court mage,¡± Wraith answered before Ledas could. ¡°Ledas, Let me introduce you to Baron Vahan Karian.¡±

    ¡°Honored to meet you again Baron.¡± He shifted his face towards Wraith ¡°I decided to do as you suggested and changed to Runeward, sir. How may I be of service?¡±

    ¡°Can I challenge him to a friendly sparring in the Arena?¡± Baron Vahan was slightly agitated.

    Wraith looked at the young Baron with slightly tired eyes.

    ¡°Do you want me to find a replacement?¡± There was no sarcasm in his tone.

    ¡°No, I will be gentle. I promise he will be fine.¡± Baron laughed. ¡°Want to spar, court mage?¡±

    A voice in Ledas¡¯ mind played the recently heard phrase ¡°No one here is your ally¡­ this is a warzone¡±.

    ¡°It''s better to try my first time with someone who is experienced and at least promises to be gentle,¡± It was only after he said that Ledas understood his mistake. ¡°Oh, sorry, let me re¡­¡± Ledas was cut off,

    ¡°Wraith, why have you hired an idiot?¡± Baron looked at Ledas with slight contempt.

    ¡°You are lucky you said it here, not somewhere else. Come back after you are finished. Dismissed.¡±

 Ch 21: George: The Missing

    We drove for about 90 seconds. I deduced based on directions taken that they indeed were taking me to the crematorium. At some moment my hands were tied with a zipper.

    I was taken out of the truck and led on my two somewhere with a bag over my head that was stuck to my face because of all the blood.

    Two people checked my possessions and took everything aside from clothes and the well-hidden notebook. They grabbed me by my arms and led me somewhere into the crematorium. Despite the bag and all the smell of blood inside I could feel the stench of the crematorium getting stronger.

    When the bag was removed I was already sitting on a chair in a concrete room. Now all I needed was to not get myself killed. Even if someone would send help it would be too late for me.

    The men who led me here left. In front of me, a few meters away was a massive circle, as if from a satanic ritual. It was glowing blue and in it was a kid around 15 years old lying dead in funeral garbs. This was not something I was expecting to see.

    ¡°So where are you from George?¡± A voice rang behind me. It was a white man speaking American English, maybe in his early twenties with gray hair to his neck, he had some skin condition as his cheeks and temples were covered in scales. He didn¡¯t give me time to respond and got closer to maybe 20 centimeters from my face. I saw his eyes, big green glowing Irises with vertical pupils.

    I fell from the chair from this jumpscare and froze looking at him.

    ¡°What the hell of a freak are you?¡± I thought to myself. There was some satanic shit happening here. I have heard some people doing surgeries to look ridiculous but he was clearly overdoing it.

    ¡°Are you from Templars?¡± he looked for my reaction intensely ¡°Maybe Zion or Esoteric Order?¡± He tilted his head.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you are from Stormbringers, nah, that¡¯s not likely.¡± he continued.

    I was still silent¡­ What the fuck was he talking about!? Templars and esoteric orders¡­ This made no sense. Are these new names of gangs in Tokyo? Was he referring Mossad when he mentioned Zion?

    My head hurt a lot from getting hit by the truck, and the pain was slowly seeping in as adrenaline was going down.

    ¡°Excuse me, I don''t understand you.¡± I decided against standing up as I felt my legs didn¡¯t listen to me.

    ¡°You fought against Stormbringers in Tingal without knowing whom you were fighting?¡± he had his brow raised.

    ¡°Who the hell are these Stormbringers?¡± I questioned myself. Was I already dead? Was my brain hallucinating due to my heart no longer supplying oxygen to it?

    His coat buzzed, and he took out a phone, it was my phone.

    ¡°Someone wrote you to run with all capital letters, mister George, what should I respond?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± It was probably Josh, he probably read through the evidence and assessed the danger lever better than I did. Why is this man so sure my phone wasn¡¯t recording?

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid that the phone might be recording?¡± I asked him bluntly.

    ¡°Of course not, there are microphone jammers all around the facility. Their humming is extremely annoying.¡± he smiled with a slight condensation. I heard no humming, but I understood what he was talking about. ¡°I quickly looked at your background George. I believe I even read your articles on Tingal¡¯s war a couple of times, so I''ll ask again. Why are you here?¡± A snake crawled out of his suit towards his neck.

    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA¡± my internal screaming filled my mind as I started to lose my composure. Nothing made sense. Satanic rituals behind hidden walls in a crematorium, Templars and Esoteric orders, snakes crawling out of the clothes, and a freak who made his pupils vertical and grafted snake skin with some surgery. I can try to take this guy by surprise, but there are armed men outside.

    ¡°I saw your photo with a gun in Tingal. You instantly earned my respect. So how did you get here?¡± The freak was extremely calm and pressed on. He was definitely a madman.

    ¡°I was investigating missing people, and they led me here.¡± I decided not to test a madman''s patience making him ask for the fourth time. I was slowly removing the zipper tying my hands behind my back.

    ¡°Oh, and did you notice the two things that united them?¡± He asked with a grin. It was a rhetorical question.

    ¡°They all were hit by a truck, sent here for cremation without waiting in line, and sacrificed in a ritual?¡± I replied with a question.

    ¡°Sacrificed? No! We don¡¯t kill people here, we send them to a better world. The answer to my question is that they were like you. They all tried to commit suicide, just like you did today.¡± He looked deep into me. He wasn¡¯t threatening me, he was stating that my coming here was akin to suicide, and he was going to ¡®send me to a better world¡¯.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    He went towards my back and he probably saw the half-removed zipper. The next moment my hands were free as he cut the zipper with something. He moved around the room and took out a small notebook from his inner pocket.

    ¡°Huh?¡± I thought to myself. ¡°Well, this guy is sure of himself that I am no danger to him. Most likely to be close quarter trained.¡± I assessed.

    ¡°Aki Kurosagi, whom you can see sleeping in the portal circle took twenty sleeping pills and got himself into a coma half a year ago, three days ago he was stabbed by a drug addict stealing cash from a shop. Misaki Arashi - after her grandfather died she felt so lonely and oppressed by her own family that she tried to shoot herself with her grandfather''s rifle, but her family¡¯s butler was able to take away the gun mere seconds before she blew her brains out. I can continue, but I believe you can the pattern.¡±

    Portal Circle? Suicide? What the fuck was he talking about? I got captured by a cult, a very strange cult. I was controlling my breathing so as not to fall into a panic attack completely.

    ¡°I never tried to commit suicide!¡± I told him standing up on my feet. I probably should try to fight, it''s always better to die fighting than to be sacrificed.

    ¡°Even now you are trying to throw your life away. Like in Tingal doing war journalism or here, investigating something that reeks of powers outside of your comprehension. Are you looking for a nice hill to die on? ¡± When I was about to pounce at him I realized that my body was paralyzed. When did he manage to poison me? I asked myself. My body barely listened to me. I looked down and saw a snake biting my now immobilized leg.

    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± I asked him as my voice became slightly hysterical. Everything happening left my comprehension.

    ¡°Oh, me. I am Ryu, the real owner of ¡°Ry¨±nosuke Press And Entertainment¡± and a Dragon. But don¡¯t worry, I don¡¯t eat humans. I even don¡¯t kill them!¡±

    ¡°What the fuck are you talking about?¡± I shouted at him, and as I did the door from which I came from opened, with a man aiming his gun at me.

    Ryu raised his hand with a halt signal and the security man closed the door from the outside.

    ¡°It¡¯s in the name. I am a dragon in Japanese ¡°Ryu¡±, I have an assistant; ¡°Suke¡±, who is keeping my business operations afloat. But I guess that wasn¡¯t what you were asking.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t feel my presence?¡± He asked me with one of his brows raised.

    ¡°The only thing I feel is the poison spreading through my body,¡± I replied in a neutral tone.

    ¡°Oh, so you are a zero, that explains it. Well, that¡¯s an uncommon sight and not a good one.¡± He looked with pity at me. ¡°I even feel bad for what I am about to do.¡± He took out a handgun from a holster and pushed it towards my stomach.

    Now the panic attack finally hit me, I was unable to move, left in a room with some freak calling himself a dragon with a poisonous snake as a pet. And that maniac was about to shoot me. I started hyperventilating and my heartbeat was clearly audible as my heart was about to leave my chest.

    He didn¡¯t pull the trigger on me though. He stuffed the gun behind my belt.

    ¡°Huh?¡±... with what was this man planning to frame me?

    ¡°What should I write to your friend so he won¡¯t worry? You don¡¯t want to put your friends in danger right?¡± He smiled at me with a smile that looked eerily genuine. He was very close, and at that moment as he stared at me I saw starry night in his eyes, and stars were moving and shining, getting brighter and brighter as the glowing circle was increasing its brightness as if in unison. As I looked at them my panic quickly left me leaving me weak and burned out, most likely poison was also relaxing my nervous system. I was about to collapse ahead, but he held me in place.

    ¡°Write that I struck a deal, and now work for you. To not investigate and wipe, Add 007 at the end. That''s something the other side will understand.¡± I didn¡¯t want Josh, Tom, and Erika to get into this.

    Ryu typed something down with one hand and I saw that his fingers now looked different. Covered in scales with nails now looking like claws. Like dragon¡¯s claws. My mind stopped trying to comprehend what was happening.

    ¡°I got caught but we struck a deal. I was mistaken about the situation, but won¡¯t be able to return for quite some time. Do not investigate. Wipe, 007.¡± He spoke out words out loud as he typed. I nodded slightly. Paralysis already reached my neck.

    ¡°So, where did I slip up?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°Oh, that! You did it twice.¡± He squashed my phone in his hands like it was a piece of cardboard. ¡°Someone entered an old mansion, but we initially assumed it was a thief so haven¡¯t responded. When within the next few days someone was seen near three houses we oversaw. We dispatched our people to the remaining houses of the heroes, but you came straight here instead! That were some good disguises you had! We figured out the events were connected and rang an alarm when you went through all the overworkers¡¯ homes.¡± Ryu¡¯s voice was joyful as if he was playing a game.

    I chuckled at my situation, I was too reckless. Ryu continued.

    ¡°Oh, and there are radars and cameras all around the facility, so we noticed your drone a few minutes ago. Sad that we will have to abandon this nice place. It was a pain to install all the hidden cameras around the district. We are not some sloppy intelligence agencies after all.¡± We looked at me checking if I had anything else to ask. He was very considerate as a murderer.

    ¡°Thank you for the explanation. But why trucks?¡± I asked him. He was insane, calling people whom he sacrificed heroes. But I wanted to know why he mainly used trucks. Considering what he said and what I knew there were no chances I was leaving this place alive, so I was about to become a ¡®hero¡¯ too.

    He grabbed me by the neck and lifted me up. He was smaller than me but did that without any visible strain.

    ¡°I just love Isekai manga. Goodbye George, it was nice to talk to you, but the time is up!¡± He smiled at me without any hostility.

    ¡°It was nice talking with you too, Ryu.¡± I didn¡¯t know why I responded that way, but for some reason, it felt the right way.

    ¡°See you!¡± He threw me into the satanic circle with ease as if I was as light as a pillow. When I fell to the ground, the strange symbols lit up and blinded me, and it all went dark.

 Ch 22: Ledas Runeward: Cavern

    Chapter 22: Ledas Runeward: Cavern

    Baron Karian was striding, leading the new court mage through the castle. They passed the training grounds in a courtyard where an empty arena stood.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t this the arena?¡± Ledas was keeping up with Karian¡¯s quick steps.

    ¡°Yes, but I am not going to fight you here,¡± Karian spoke quietly as he turned his head towards the new hire. ¡±Do I really need to explain?¡±

    ¡°I would be grateful for that,¡± Ledas replied quietly. He had poor understanding of why they were speaking that way and moving down, towards the dungeons.

    ¡°Ugh¡­ I think Wraith really wants me to babysit you¡­¡± it was almost impossible to hear what Karian said despite Ledas being next to him.

    They moved through the dark castle dungeons until they reached a door leading to a wet cavern, that looked like a cistern. The air was heavy with moisture and the stone walls glistened. It looked like a water reservoir with a railing in the middle forming something of a similar shape to an arena. The place was cold and a light shaft from above illuminated the center of the circle, it felt eerie.

    For some reason though, he was sure that he would be fine. Baron Karian didn¡¯t make him uneasy, but it was clear to him, that he was about to lose in a mage¡¯s duel. They walked towards the circle, and the echo of their footsteps was the only sound one could hear.

    ¡°Get into the circle Jester Runeward.¡± Baron was putting on gloves on his hands and stretching his neck. ¡°You still don¡¯t get it?¡±

    Ledas obeyed and entered a poor low stance crossing his fingers into patterns. ¡°No, Sir, I don¡¯t¡±

    ¡°What do you think would have happened if we fought outside in the Arena?¡± As the two stood at the opposite sides of a 5-meter arena Baron was no longer whispering.

    ¡°We would have been in a place where people could see us I guess?¡± Ledas was unsure.

    ¡°Yeah, now defend yourself¡± Baron threw his palm, his glove which looked normal moments ago had a glowing red circuitry on it producing a small fire ball flying towards Ledas.

    Ledas threw his hand forward forming a gallon of water between himself and fire, which in contact with fire quickly turned it into steam. But most importantly for him, the fire was quenched.

    Karian was already in his flank, driving his fist into Ledas¡¯ side from a very low stance, making him lose air, as the force made his ribs constrict, forcing him to bend sidewards. The fire spell was a distraction. Ledas quickly formed a spell in his other hand, trying to blast away the assailant.

    Karian didn¡¯t try to dodge, instead grabbing Ledas¡¯ arm and pulling it to the side making the new court mage lose his balance

    The air blast Ledas had been forming shot off to the side hitting the metal railing of the arena, bending it with a resounding clang, echoing in the cavern.

    Karian drove his knee into the opponent''s solar plexus making Ledas fall to the ground with a splash. His vision went dim as he was reaching for air lying in the shallow water.

    ¡°I brought you here, so others won¡¯t see how weak you are. I didn¡¯t even need to use spells to crush you. It''s more than enough for General Wraith to see this. The Royal court should not be disgraced by weaklings like you.¡± He shifted his gaze from Ledas lying in the shallow water towards the entrance. Wraith was indeed standing there and watching.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ledas slowly regained his air while on the ground ¡°for your consideration and gentleness.¡± He said slowly standing up. The punch was painful, but it was clear that his sparring partner was holding off.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°Well, at least the kid could tell that you were nice to him.¡± Wraith chucked, already sitting on a railing of the improvised arena when Ledas caught his breath. ¡°If you don¡¯t like his battle prowess it''s decided, you will train him, so he not bring¡­¡± he made a dramatic pause with a grin appearing on his face ¡°...disgrace to our Royal Court. The decision is final unless he runs away today. You can show him the basics..¡±

    ¡°Yes Sir!¡± Baron gave a salute to General Wraith. His other hand grabbed Ledas by his collar lifting him up to his feet like a dog lifting his puppies.

    Ledas copied the movements Baron did while saluting and stood still. Wraith left the cavern waving his hand as he passed the doorway. ¡°Dismissed!¡±

    Ledas relaxed and lowered his hand moving his fingers to apply some healing to his side.

    ¡°Hey, Court-mage.¡± Baron looked at Ledas with the corner of his lips slightly twitching, still holding him by the collar. ¡°It looks like I fell for a trap, and now we are in this shit together. Time for round two!¡±

    Ledas slowly stood up after losing consciousness in round two. His hair was electrified and stood vertically. His head and the whole body hurt, as if needles pierced through everywhere, but Ledas felt excited. This round Baron Karian was deliberately slower, telegraphing his movements and not entering close quarters. Ledas had tried to block an electrical blast with a water grid, but Karian blew the grid on Ledas with a wind spell, making the weakened lightning spell more painful on the impact than expected.

    It was a brand new world of magic usage he had never seen before.

    ¡°You are fighting like you were trained by a hundred-year-old textbook, Runeward. Ones written for formal mage¡¯s duels, and even in them you are suck!.¡± Karian was helping his new student to stand up. ¡°Still want to join the court?¡±

    ¡°If that means having such a great tutor like you, yes.¡± There wasn¡¯t a single note of sarcasm in Ledas¡¯ voice.

    ¡°And there I thought you were at least smart! I don¡¯t know what Wraith wants from you, but he told me to teach you basics or scare you away. So don¡¯t simply blast air left and right like an idiot¡±

    ¡°Thank you again.¡± Ledas fixed his hair. ¡°You could have removed me from here without an issue if we sparred upstairs. As almost no one knew I accepted the job, it wouldn¡¯t have been a disgrace to the court, to you, or to the General. I guess I owe you a favor?¡±

    ¡°Oh, so you have noticed. Maybe you are not so hopeless after all.¡± Karian entered a firm stance. ¡°Try to copy my movements, we will go through stances, if you can¡¯t move properly in at least three stances, you can¡¯t be called a battlemage!¡±

    Ledas was glad that his magic was able to heal bruises, but despite all the healing after an hour of training his body felt broken and every move produced a phantom pain from all the strikes and spells that he had taken. His clothes were wet and beyond repair after the third round, and he had ten. Each round was no longer than half a minute, but still quite taxing on Ledas despite Karian being careful with his spells and strikes.

    Still, it was the first time in three years that he properly crossed spells or discussed magic with someone. It was already three years that he got separated from his father and up to a few weeks ago he followed his father¡¯s instructions to never use magic in public.

    He was excited. Yes, it was painful and he lost his consciousness two more times for a few seconds, but he never knew that fighting with magic could be so¡­ fun and fulfilling. He stood no chance in the fight, and if that was a real one he would have been dead within at most three seconds.

    This wasn¡¯t a real fight though it was sparring with a gentle teacher who controlled his output like a true master. Even if he would use all the tricks and a trump card which would make him lose his life he would still lose within ten seconds.

    The only hit he landed on the Baron was a trap Ledas eagerly jumped in, only to find himself on the ground as a result. It was probably a lesson to teach him to avoid rushing in with attacks. The time almost stopped as he felt the agitation more and more with each time.

    ¡°Hey, kid. I think it''s enough beating for you. You look like you are about to kick the bucket.¡± Karian removed his gloves.

    ¡°Huh, no, I am fine, what do you mean? Can I try to counter that strike one more time?¡±

    ¡°Kid, your face is pale as hell, you are probably out of energy, both magic and body. Don¡¯t overexert yourself.¡± Karian didn¡¯t wait for a response and moved towards the exit.

    Ledas¡¯ eyes bulged out. He was not out of magic, he had a lot of it left. It was chilling cold here, and in all this time he didn¡¯t notice. He looked at his hands, they were almost white. His heart raced so fast he could hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears. A lump formed in his throat, as he lowered his face. He froze.

    ¡°How bad is it?¡± was the only question that ran in his mind. He waited until his new teacher left stepped into the light and opened his locket with a mirror.

    It was fine. He indeed looked pale, but his eyes and hair still had normal colors and veins were not protruding. From experience, he probably had another half an hour in a cold place like this for his features to turn disturbing.

    His heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Still, it was a close call.

    He moved out of the dungeon towards the closest latrine trying to avoid people on his way. The first such place had a proper toilet and a sink: two of the best things otherworlders have brought with them after penicillin.

    He washed his face until no grime was seen on it in the metal mirror hanging on the wall. He conjured the flame and forced his fingers into it while his face in the metal mirror on the wall quickly turned lively again. Doing that third time today wasn¡¯t the best experience, but during winter he needed to do that up to six, so it wasn''t that bad.

 Ch 23: Josh Yossarian

    Chapter 23: Josh Yossarian

    Josh waited for 5 minutes. Erika and Tom were still up and anxious. This was not the first time George made them worry about him. Something told Josh that his nephew was in grave danger.

    He entered the hidden of the Esoteric Order he was a member of, looking to hire a rescue team.

    The next available group in the Asian region was in 4 hours.

    That was good enough.

    Now he needed more information. He opened Enigma_AI which was now in the released version and fed it all the information that George sent.

    It took 2 minutes for it to respond. ¡°As an AI I cannot provide information regarding 21 great mysteries. You will be contacted soon, stay connected.¡±

    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± Josh looked at the text in disbelief.

    ¡°What are 21 great mysteries?¡± he typed in.

    The response came immediately. ¡°Sorry, as an AI I cannot provide information regarding 21 great mysteries. You will be contacted soon, stay connected.¡±

    Josh¡¯s phone rang, it was a call through an encrypted connection and the caller was not revealed.

    ¡°Hello brother Josh. What are you doing?¡± a young man on the other side was the Magister of Knowledge, one of the twelve heads of the Esoteric Order. Clicks and clacks of a keyboard were heard non-stop in the background.

    ¡°Sorry, to alert you, I didn¡¯t mean to. I just got a personal issue and your system said something about 21 great mysteries.¡± Josh was confused. He was under the Magister of Speech - propaganda department of the Esoteric Order and was never contacted directly.

    ¡°I see you put a request on a rescue team in Asia. And some documents my system considered above your access level. What is that about?¡± Magister¡¯s voice sounded tired and sleepy as if he had just woken up, but the sound of typing never stopped. Things were bad. He quickly sent a message to George with one word ¡°RUN!¡±

    ¡°Are you going to make me wait?¡± the Magister yawned.

    ¡°My nephew got into some trouble, it looks like. His investigations led him to something your system considered one of the 21 mysteries. Tokyo blackouts and people getting into strange accidents.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Tokyo blackouts. Right, it is indeed one of the 21 great mysteries that brothers and sisters are banned from investigating. Is that the same nephew that you ordered an emergency medevac for?¡±

    ¡°Yes. The same. But why are we banned from this case?¡± Josh needed some information to work with, he already lost his only son, and he didn¡¯t want to lose his nephew too.

    ¡°Brother Josh. You are asking too many questions, but so be it. You are a brother of Speech, knowledge is not your specialty.¡± The keyboard stopped making sounds. ¡±Think. In one of the most populated cities in the world a few times a year there is a total blackout for an hour. This has been happening for three years. Electricity is still produced, but something is consuming it. Let me reiterate. Something in Tokyo is consuming all the electricity the city gets for an hour, and no one cares. It''s almost never mentioned on TV, it''s not talked about in the press as if it''s normal. Who and what can use 20 gigawatts/hour of energy? That''s about a hundred times more than CERN draws from the French grid. The government turns a blind eye to that despite possibly losing hundreds of millions per year.¡±

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    Josh felt overwhelmed with sweat popping on his forehead. It was worse than he thought, way worse.

    ¡°What should I do, Master?¡±

    ¡°Well, your nephew will not hold on until the rescue team arrives at the location. It will take them at least 7-8 hours to get there. So I am canceling your request. As for you¡­ You were most likely compromised, so request an identity change, I see your record has enough merit points to do that for yourself and for the people in the room you are in. If you don¡¯t want them to die of course. The issue will be discussed between masters at the end of the week.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Master,¡± Josh was unable to finish the sentence as the other side disconnected.

    Josh ordered Tom and Erika to gather their belongings. As he gathered him, his phone pinged.

    ¡°I got caught but we struck a deal. I was mistaken about the situation, but won¡¯t be able to return for quite some time. Do not investigate, wipe. 007.¡±

    Josh¡¯s shoulders relaxed. 007 was a joke only George could make. It''s as if he said ¡°Bond, James Bond¡± at the end. It could mean many things, but most likely meant that now he worked as a spy for the people who held one of the 21 great mysteries. Which was better than dying.

    Still, it was better than losing him. Josh just hoped that George hadn¡¯t sent this message to comfort him and protect his family, and he was truly fine.

    <h2>Esoteric Order</h2>

    12 magisters sat in a video chat together, their faces blurred and voices changed.

    They discussed Stormbringer¡¯s attempt to capture one of their facilities, which was most likely leaked to them by Zion. Zion was definitely pissed after Order stole an artifact from them.

    So they planned a retaliation attack and decided whom to strike first: Zion or Stormbringers. After discussing sending a strike team at Stormbringers and not escalating with Zion they moved towards discussing the new information on one of the 21 great mysteries. ¡°

    Brother Knowledge, how many people have we lost gathering this?¡± - Brother of Swords sounded excited even after the voice change.

    ¡°None. It was gathered by one of the contacts of Brother of Speeches man. Sadly the contact went missing soon after.¡±

    ¡°Hah! So what are we going to do? We have some very good hints on who shoved us and Templars out of Japan!¡± Brother of Eyes sounded agitated. His scouts disappeared three years ago, investigating the first two Tokyo Blackouts.

    ¡°Nothing.¡± Brother of Control interjected. ¡°We will do nothing. Didn¡¯t you read the report? The whole place exploded in two minutes after the last message was sent. They took some radical measures to clean up their operation. If these actors are connected to the third great mystery, we will get ourselves into another war before we will be able to deal with Stormbringers.¡±

    A voting menu appeared in front of all participants. ¡°Investigate¡± ¡°Do nothing¡± or ¡°leak the information¡±. After the vote ended Brother Knowledge declared the results - ¡°7 votes for Do nothing, 4 for Leaking, and 1 for investigating. I believe we can proceed to the next topic.¡±

    And so they did.

 Ch 24: The Suit Makes The Mage

    Ledas put on his cloak to hide his tattered clothes and moved through the castle. As he was about to leave the gates, he heard a familiar voice right next to him.

    "Hey, noobie. Already running away?" Ledas jolted in surprise, seeing Smoothy right beside him.

    "Please don''t do that! Do you find it funny spooking me?" Ledas was a bit jarred by this behavior. Usually, kids acted like that.

    "So, are you running away towards the sunset?" Smoothy behaved like an actor, completely different from Wraith.

    "No," Ledas responded with a blank face.

    "I got a message in that case. Your workday begins at noon tomorrow. But before that, you''ll need proper garb, so visit a tailor at the intersection of five and fourteen named ''Suits and Robes'' and pass him this. Just don''t fight in those clothes; if you damage ''em, it''ll be at your expense." Smoothy passed him a receipt and went back inside the castle.

    It was already getting dark when Ledas entered the tailor''s shop.

    "Excuse me, we''re closing soon. Please come back in two days," the old tailor said as he was cutting fabric.

    "I was told to pass you this." Ledas put the receipt on the table.

    The tailor glanced at it, his brow raising slightly upon seeing the royal receipt. "Oh, sorry, didn''t realize. So, for what role should I sew a set?"

    "Court mage," Ledas replied while looking at flashy attires on the mannequins inside. One of the costumes was quite similar to what Baron Karian wore when they first met during registration. Though, most garbs were three-piece suits.

    "Do you have his measurements with you?" The tailor put his scissors aside, now giving full attention.

    "No, but we can take them, I think..."

    "Do you know how to properly take measurements? If not, come with the court mage when he''s available, and we''ll quickly take them."

    "Um... I am the court mage." When Ledas said that, it felt strange to him, a bit surreal.

    "Lad, do you know what the punishment is for wearing an official''s garments?" The tailor looked at the receipt closer, examining the paper. He lifted his eyes to look at Ledas more carefully. "Hey, I saw you. Aren''t you a street performer?"

    Ledas stood for a second, thinking how to respond to this. He clearly didn''t want another misunderstanding to happen.

    "Yes," Ledas responded. He focused on his magic and released a bit of it into space, manifesting his aura using the air around him. Wind surrounded him, lifting his ashen hair and making his green eyes glow with magic. The whole workshop was filled with wind for a few seconds, only to calm down instantly when Ledas stopped pouring his magic out. It was a good ability his father had taught him to scare away animals or weak monsters on the road. It had other uses, but they had separated before his father could show them.

    The old tailor hid behind the counter, slowly lifting his head when the wind stopped. He looked around. Everything looked intact aside from a few clothes falling on the ground.

    "My apologies, um..." Ledas cut him short.

    "No need. If you had told me I would be court mage three days ago, I would have laughed." Ledas put back the hats his wind had blown from the mannequins. "Shall we proceed?"

    Gregory the Tailor took the measurements quite quickly and offered a few options. Ledas had no idea what was proper to wear, so he left his personal preferences aside and nodded along.

    "Come any time after dawn; it should be ready for final adjustments." The tailor instantly started to work on the request. It was very obvious he valued his client from the royal chancellery.

    Ledas went on a shopping spree, buying necessities for his new job. Coming back, he got lost a few times and arrived home almost at midnight, when Olaf was preparing to leave for his night shift.

    Ledas removed the cloak at the entrance and yawned. "Good evening, Olaf."

    "How did it go?" Olaf turned back to see the state of Ledas'' clothes: burned, cut, tattered, with stains of blood here and there. "What the fuck happened?"

    "Oh, nothing serious! I got the job and got into a small sparring match." Ledas had a smile on his face as he hung his cloak.

    "It looks like you were murdered a few times!"

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    "Nah, it went perfectly. It could have been better only in dreams." Ledas was a poor liar.

    "You know what, if you ain''t willing to tell, don''t. Just don''t lie straight to my face." Olaf was frustrated but left the room without banging the door. Olaf had endless composure.

    Ledas took off his clothes and now could see what made his friend uneasy. If he saw the clothes just by themselves, he would assume they were taken from a corpse. He laid on his back on his bed, feeling agitated and unable to sleep. He drew magic runes in the air with his fingers. He tried to recreate a spell that mages had used on him in the guild but said the words that the priestess had said in the temple.

    "Slumber deep, fall into the night''s embrace, sweet dreams." Target - Self... He decreased his heart rate with a spell and slowed his mind with what was usually an offensive spell, slowing down his cognition until his eyes closed and his hands fell from the air.

    ___

    "Father, can you teach me how you did the sound barrier so people could not hear you from the outside?" Ledas inquired of his father, taking a seat on a stump near the beach.

    "Where have you seen me doing that?" His father raised his brows, only to furrow them. "I ordered you before not to follow me when I am leaving."

    "But you left me for a day!"

    "That''s not an excuse. You will wait as much as necessary unless I tell you otherwise!" Zander shouted at the kid and lifted his hand, whispering words and moving his hands. Ledas knew this spell''s effects too well, so he focused on finally deciphering how it was produced. The boy''s body bent with pain jumping through his whole body, making him fall to the ground. He wanted to cry out in pain, but his body didn''t obey him.

    "When I tell you things, you do them!" Zander released the spell, making Ledas go weak on the ground with tears coming out of his eyes. He had finally figured out this spell: it had a vector, trait, two arrays, a function, and a loop with a break to stop the spell from hitting the caster back. Ledas stood up.

    <blockquote>

    spell_ChainingAnguish {

    vector: target_direction line trace

    If hit ¡°get all objects with trait¡±: "muscle" if else - break.

    Create array[1]: all_muscles

    Create array[2]: affected_muscles

    function induce_pain() {

    for muscle in all_muscles {

    if muscle not in affected_muscles {

    randomly_induce_pain(muscle)

    add muscle to affected_muscles

    }

    }

    if all_muscles == affected_muscles {

    break

    } } }

    </blockquote>

    ¡°I understand. But will you teach me the spell?¡± the twelve-year-old kid cleaned up his tears after standing up. The pain spell looked very inefficient from a magic spending perspective, but

    ¡°Fine. But I will be showing it only once.¡±

    ¡°Sphere, get force, loop, apply force¡­¡±.

    ___

    "Sphere, trait, get all force," Ledas woke up in silence despite his mouth moving. His hands were forming runes in the air. A sound barrier surrounded him. He cast the spell in his dream again. This hadn''t happened in almost two years, but Ledas wasn''t scared this time.

    The last time he had used magic in his sleep, the troupe thought he was possessed, as he had hidden the fact that he was a mage from them.

    This time, he needed to hide only one small thing, which was completely negated by two to three flame spheres a day during cold days or nothing during the summer.

    It was more of a nuisance than an issue, but now he had a more comfortable solution. He conjured a flame to light up the room, but no sound came out when the flames began to whirl, slightly distorting the shape of the sphere of the sound barrier.

    "Oh, the spell doesn''t account for the difference in density and the speed of sound... that explains why it fails in water and during rain," he spoke, but no sounds came out of his mouth. He only heard parts of his voice as it vibrated through his skull. Aside from that, only the blood flowing through his veins was creating a sound ambiance.

    "Right! I forgot to put an exception," he twisted his hand, changing a variable in the spell, and now he could hear his own voice. "I think I know how to counter sonic blasts now. Just need to make the sphere one-sided somehow if I want to attack with sonic damage too."

    Ledas looked outside; the twilight of early morning seeped through the window. He went to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. He took a shower, heating the water pipe with magic. It was a delightful experience compared to putting the tips of his fingers into the flame.

    Yesterday, he had bought good soap for a silver coin with a gentle aroma but was too tired to use it. The slight burning in his eyes was nothing compared to the feeling of cleanliness that a simple magic spell could not provide.

    He looked in the mirror. A court mage was looking at him from it, and that court mage was slightly hungry. He went to the kitchen to grab something to snack on.

    He put on his worker clothes and stuffed the tattered ones into a bag, then left for work while the sun wasn''t yet in the sky. He wasn''t planning to fight in his new expensive garb, so he needed spares.

    He walked through the streets with a smile on his face. He felt free. He WAS free. He could cast any spell he wanted. He had almost forgotten the feeling of improvising magic. It was way more enjoyable than improvising magician''s tricks.

    The town felt magical to him as he moved through it. First, he went towards the tailor''s shop.

    The glow of a magical lamp was coming from it. He knocked lightly and entered when he heard "Come in" from inside.

    The old tailor circled a mannequin wearing attire made of three pieces. "You''re earlier than expected, but I am finished. Please try this on." Ledas felt surreal; he was changing from worker''s robes to court mage''s attire tailored specifically for him.

    He put on the clothes without examining them at all. He just wanted to see himself in them.

    The deep vest went up to the neck, forming flame patterns with brass and accentuating the neck. Light greyish robes with a tint of blue had magical symbols written on them reading as "Pure Human," "Mage," "Service," "Lord of Lords," "Ice," "Barrier," and "Runes," or as Ledas translated it to normal language: "Mage under direct service of the king. Cold Runeward." He enjoyed his outfit and was gushing over it, aside from the word "Ice."

    "Why Ice?" Ledas was slightly discomforted by that word on his robes.

    "I apologize if I made a mistake. My wife looked up how to translate your name, and it was mentioned that the archmage of old, Ledas Sander''s name meant ''Icy'' or ''Cold.'' If you don''t like it, I can change it by nine in the morning."

    Ledas felt slightly stunned. "No need, it''s great. Thank you! I didn''t know that." It all felt like a sick joke, and he was the butt of it. He shivered slightly, trying to push these thoughts away as if something wicked tried to occupy his mind.

 Ch 25: Kento Yamamoto - a few months ago

    Chapter 25: Yamamoto - a few months ago

    Yamamoto was returning from his workout, his muscles feeling sore, which he enjoyed. It made him forget about his condition. He stopped at an intersection. He was listening to music, slightly stretching his neck. A school kid was crossing at a red light, reading something on their phone. The kid froze.

    Out of the corner of his eye, Yamamoto saw a car about to crash into the kid. Before he could comprehend what was happening, his legs moved on a pure instinct and he pushed the kid out of harm''s way.

    When he woke up, he saw a purple sky with stars brighter than any he had seen in his life. He was lying among clouds that formed a ground softer than anything he had experienced.

    "So, I guess I died, or maybe I''m in a coma. Hmmm..." he thought for a second. "Still worth it!" he shrugged.

    "What is worth it?" Yamamoto saw a beautiful woman standing not far from him. Her face was veiled, and she looked like she had stepped out of a painting of an angel. He stood up and bowed.

    "I took a hit instead of someone else. Considering I had maybe two years to live and the person in front of me had a whole life ahead, it was most likely a worthy exchange. So, no regrets." The man smiled with the brightest smile ever.

    "And if you weren''t sick?" the woman asked him. That was an uncommon reaction for the otherworlders appearing in her domain.

    "Would have done the same. It''s the role of men to protect women and children, even if that means covering for their mistakes. Though it would have been a sad day for my family." From his mouth, that sounded like something self-evident. "My name is Kento Yamamoto. May I ask yours?"

    "I am the goddess of death and rebirth, Noritz." The goddess was slightly stunned by his behavior.¡±And here I thought gentlemen had died out on Terra Mundus."

    "Thanks for the compliment. It''s nice to meet you. How may I assist you?" Yamamoto looked genuine. He was not like anyone she had guided to Terra Arcana for years.

    He acted like a gentleman and looked handsome. His skin was marked by the sun, and his body was hardened by steel. Despite having just moved here he radiated an aura of a developed hero, an aura of masculinity and gentleness. This aura made Noritz curious, but she proceeded with the protocol.

    "You were chosen. You will be summoned to another world to become a hero. Here, it is my responsibility to mend the minds and souls and prepare them for their arrival. As well as to all heroes, I will grant you a boon that will aid you in your new life. In your new life, you will no longer be bound by limitations of growth in power like normal humans, nor will you suffer from the affliction you had." Noritz repeated the prepared words.

    "What''s the goal?" The man was focused.

    "You will learn of it on your arrival." The goddess couldn''t shift her gaze from him; she was glad she was wearing a veil.

    "And what kind of place will I be summoned to?"

    "Sadly, I can''t tell, aside from that it''s a world where humans live and magic of different kinds exists."

    "Are there others being summoned?" Yamamoto inquired.

    "Yes, there will be a few more." Noritz sighed. It was going to be another anti-hero ability requested.

    He looked at his body, which felt a few years younger and stronger, within human capabilities, but closer to an Olympic athlete. He didn''t need Noritz to tell him about the limits; he felt them very well. They were quite hard to comprehend, though.

    With enough practice, he could turn his body to be tougher than steel and stronger than a plane, and if he trained his mind, he could overcome those limits too. He was far from that, but it was achievable with enough practice and determination.

    He knew he wasn''t suffering from the tumor as there was no tinnitus in his ears that had accompanied him for the last few months. He felt that he was healthy the moment he woke up. "Give it to someone who would deserve it and might need it more."

    The man radiated confidence. Noritz''s eyes widened under the veil. "Repeat that again?"

    "I don''t need it. I have the power of my will and my body behind me with only the sky as the limit."

    "But, why?" Noritz wasn''t used to gifts being rejected. "They are quite universal. Each summoned hero gets one. An artifact like a weapon, an item from your world operating in the world of arcane magic, or a repository of scientific knowledge imprinted in you. An ability that slightly alters reality."

    Yamamoto was smiling. "I already have the greatest gift. It''s hard to explain, but whatever you are offering doesn''t feel earned. I want to focus on this." He lifted his hand in front of him. He smiled, seeing no tremor. He slowly formed it into a fist and held it tight to sense his power.

    Noritz felt that power too. It was a weak, insignificant power. A drop in a sea compared to hers, but it shone, radiating gentle light. The man had attuned to his magic before he even arrived to Terra Arcana.

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    She felt that he was too good of a person to be true. His confidence, selflessness, and gentleness were too much to withstand. Heroes rarely crossed into her realm. It was unbearable to be in his radiating aura. But it was not the amount of the magic. It was the color of it.

    He shone gold like the sun, reminding her of something long lost, something which she was reminded of too much, a wound that was not allowed to properly heal.

    For a second she thought it was That person¡¯s reincarnation, but that was impossible and Yamamoto¡¯s glow was different. Not to mention that That person lost the golden glow a long time ago.

    The more she looked the more she could see how the glow was different, but she still longed for it and desired its wielder.

    "There is something I need help with..." Noritz averted her gaze, pretending to be shy. "It''s so lonely in here; people take me for granted as if I owe them. You are the first one who asked me what you can do for me, not what I can do for you. Can you spend a bit of time with me?"

    "That''s not an issue. What do you have on your mind?"

    "Well," she gently moved her hand on his chest. "There is something on my mind. If you don''t mind." She wanted to be slightly selfish for a bit.

    "I won¡¯t." This was neither the first time nor the hundredth that a woman had shown interest in him. ¡°That was unexpected,¡± he thought to himself. This was the first time that a goddess was interested.

    _____

    When Yamamoto woke up, he was in a magical circle drawn on the floor. Completely naked, Noritz was not in his arms anymore. He was in a circular room with a wooden floor and walls made from big stones with no gaps between them.

    ¡°You are finally awake! Even yesterday''s storm didn¡¯t wake you up!¡± - an old man in a wizard¡¯s hat greeted him, offering a cloak. ¡±Welcome Hero!¡±

    Yamamoto looked around. He relaxed when he saw no women in the room.

    ¡°I am Kento, nice to meet you. Do you have any clothes my size by chance?" he responded in a language he didn''t know and grabbed the cloak putting it on. It felt strange to him, he used his first name to introduce himself even though he didn''t even know this Westerner old man.

    ¡°Ledas Sanders, follow me to the dressing room.¡± The mage looked old and frail, but Yamamoto had heard of mages in fantasy: the older mage usually meant a stronger one.

    The house where he was summoned looked like a wizard¡¯s tower from books and anime. It was still raining outside when he found barely fitting clothes in one of the wardrobes.

    ¡°You hungry?¡± Mage inquired.

    ¡°No sir, Why have you summoned me?¡± Yamamoto was straightforward as always.

    ¡°Before we go to that I have a few questions I wanted to ask. Where are you from, Yamamoto?¡±

    ¡°Tokyo, Japan. Though I was born in Okinawa.¡±

    ¡°Who won, axis or allies?¡± the mage asked with great interest.

    ¡°Allies.¡± Well, that was a strange question.

    ¡°Good! And Fascists in Japan?¡± the old mage¡¯s mood was quickly improving.

    ¡°Destroyed. Lost. Why are you asking me history questions?¡± Yamamoto was startled.

    ¡°And Hitler?¡±

    ¡°If I remember correctly, he shot himself when Berlin fell¡± Yamamoto was having trouble recalling the contents of his school history class.

    ¡°What about the USSR?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t exist anymore. Why are you asking these questions, again?¡±

    The mage was livid.

    ¡°Forget that I asked. I just had too many questions haunting me for decades.¡±

    ¡°Were you¡­?¡±

    ¡°A participant of the war, but I didn¡¯t summon you here to ask you questions.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s good. I don¡¯t enjoy talking about history and politics. Too often that leads to conflicts. If you want to know, our country didn¡¯t participate in wars for 80 years.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all I wanted to hear. Let me explain why you are here. This world is changing. Countries got access to summoning rituals and are doing them left and right, boosting their military power, and starting wars. No one cares about the possible coming of the end times, neither the upcoming rebirth of the Lord of The Wicked nor the prophecy unleashing the God of Thunder, they all ignore the old me.¡± the mage took a long pause.

    ¡°And what is your cause?¡± the summoned hero was unsure of what the old man wanted.

    ¡°I am too old to defeat the Lord of The Wicked again, but the younger generation of heroes might stand a chance. That¡¯s if they stop killing each other on behalf of petty kings, of course. I need someone to prevent that. So, will you join the cause?¡±

    ¡®By this god of thunder, you mean Zeus from Greek mythology?¡¯

    ¡°No, I mean the god of tyranny¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡±

    The Archmage did not respond for a whole minute.

    ¡°That will be for another day. The old me rumbled too much. I think one task at a time would be more easy.¡±

    ¡°Agree. The world war and this Wicked Lord sound like more immediate tasks.¡±

    The mage exhaled audibly, ¡°So, I see you are up to the task. That was easier than I expected.¡±

    ¡°And what if a summoned hero doesn¡¯t agree?¡± Yamamoto asked out of curiosity.

    ¡°There are a few ways that were used when others and I were summoned years ago. It''s a long story. Prepare yourself.¡±

 Chapter 26: Ledas: Nowhere to Fit

    Chapter 26: Ledas: Nowhere to Fit

    Ledas walked through the morning town towards the castle in his new garbs, but they didn¡¯t bring him the joy he expected of them. His mind was strangely occupied by hatred of himself. His father, Ledas Sanders, whose name he bore had most likely already passed away. He felt like a mess. He was one.

    ¡°I was named after an affliction that is ruining my life. It¡¯s sick, it¡¯s disgusting. If I had a chance to change his name to anything else he would do so immediately and without hesitation.¡° he was uncharacteristically muttering to himself. ¡°If I had learned of the meaning of this name before, I would have been already Bobby or Jimmy for fucks sake! This is some sick joke¡±

    He felt disgusted towards his father, not sure exactly why, but something was wrong, and he was unsure if his thoughts were his own or if he was overreacting. He stopped. ¡°Grandfather was named Ledas too, it¡¯s a common tradition to call someone by the name of a grandparent that had nothing to do with powers of cold in his blood. It meant Ice, not Cold.¡± His attempt at rationalizing calmed him slightly, but he quickly returned to self-loathing while striding towards the castle.

    ¡°Hey, Court Mage Runeword!¡± - a familiar voice pulled Ledas out of the downward spiral. ¡°Your new suit suits you.¡± Ledas looked at four guards not instantly recognizing Olaf as the one who called him out.

    One of the guards asked another, ¡°Hey, isn¡¯t that the guy who did card tricks?¡± he wasn¡¯t exactly subtle, so everyone present heard it.

    ¡°Good morning Guard Olaf.¡± Ledas felt relieved that his cycle of thoughts was abruptly stopped.

    ¡°Let me introduce you guys to my old friend Ledas Runewards, the Court Mage of this place.¡± he turned to Ledas ¡°These are my colleagues, Arthur, Betty, and our sergeant Shaun.¡±

    ¡°Olaf, quit messing with us.¡± Shaun was quite dismissive. ¡°I saw this guy in Vishap¡¯s belly, I think I even treated you guys to some beer.¡±

    ¡°Did you think my tricks were just sleight of hand?¡± Ledas looked at them with the most serious expression he could make. Their eyes opened widely and their jaws dropped slightly. ¡°It was¡­ a sleight of hand¡± his serious expression broke apart as he finished the joke. Betty giggled slightly, while others broke into laughter. ¡°Hey, guys I am not joking¡± Olaf was being patted on the shoulder as his colleagues didn¡¯t believe him in the slightest.

    Ledas had a choice in front of him. A choice of a magician, one who controls attention and expectation. He could either wait for them to learn about his current stature in quite some time when everything will be declared officially, and prank Olaf in a mean way, or¡­ start a small performance. He closed his eyes in preparation for the performance. There was a spell improvisation he wanted to try out from the moment he woke up. Sphere, force field, force multiplication, light barrier¡­ he had no idea how to make the whole effect into one spell, but he could do it with two. He grinned moving his hands forming runes behind his back. He never performed an actual magic show in front of people before. The first spell was a simple one he quickly named it ¡°The area of darkness¡± but most likely this spell already existed in hundreds of variations, he set up a light-absorbing cube encompassing all five of them. It was slightly above the ground and had the function of allowing light in, but not out. The most important piece here was a simple delay to activate the effect.

    The second spell was a modified sound barrier. He called it the ¡°Echo sphere¡± in his mind. A sphere of not letting sound out, but echoing it back. He just needed to copy the sound canceling and run a similar loop with negative values inside the sphere, slightly amplifying his voice.

    He waited until the delay in the first spell ended and the area suddenly became dark. Town''s Guard including Olaf looked around in shock, but they only saw each other and Ledas, even the ground they were standing on was pitch black making them stand in a pure endless void. It was time to release the second spell. Ledas unleashed the second spell with the release of mana. Winds blow around him. His eyes glowed and his hair stood up.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°How Dare you disrespect Me! Vermin, get on your knees!¡± His voice echoed in the sphere, reverberating as he opened his hands widely. Ledas laughed maniacally looking at the guards. Betty was no longer giggling, she froze just like Arthur and Sean. Olaf was different though, he quickly recovered from the initial shock and was just observing what was around him.

    Betty¡¯s legs were shaking, and she frantically looked around, especially at the Sergeant, whose hand was shaking somewhere between his hip and the hilt of his sword. ¡°Ledas, stop fooling around!¡± Olaf¡¯s voice reverberated too.

    ¡°Fine, fine¡±, the wind stopped the light and the sound instantly returned to the world. Guards were standing just where they were, their hands ready to reach their weapons. Ledas looked at Olaf with a guilty face ¡°It was too much, right?¡±

    Arthur and Betty fell on their knees catching their breaths, their faces were displaying utter shock. Sergeant Sean was in shock too, but it looked different. He made a bow.

    ¡°I apologize, under no circumstances I intended to offend you, Lord.¡± He wasn¡¯t as much afraid of the magic as the fact that he and his colleagues publicly showed disrespect to the court mage. There was no one on the streets, so maybe, just maybe the mage would take their apologies, or not demand a harsh punishment.

    ¡°Umm... Sorry guys, I got carried away,¡± Ledas saw the mini havoc he wrecked in the minds of Olaf¡¯s colleagues. His hand was scratching his occiput as he averted his gaze slightly bowing. ¡°Let''s pretend that this never happened?¡±

    ¡°Huh¡­ ¡± Sergeant quickly understood what had happened. The new court mage was an immature person, who could be barely considered an adult.

    ¡°Sure¡­¡± Olaf and Sean helped their shocked colleagues stand up.

    ¡°I guess I¡¯ll go¡­¡± Ledas quickly left the scene with shame on his face and in his voice.

    As he was outside the view the Sergeant looked at his new addition to the team. ¡°Is your friend always so unhinged?¡±

    ¡°No, This is the first time I see him like this to be honest. Don¡¯t know what bee bit him.¡± Olaf has never seen Ledas use such magic before, only occasional small spells to light a fire, or protect from rain on the road, but nothing like this ¡°I guess he is just stressed, it''s his first day as a Courtmage¡±.

    ¡°Slap that kid when you see him next time,¡± Arthur had already regained his composure. ¡°I almost shat myself because of this. Who the hell makes kids courtmages?¡±

    ¡°Sure. I''ll berate him.¡± Olaf was the only person who saw things as they were, a show going wrong from someone who loved to show off.

    It was slightly after dawn that Ledas reached the castle his mind now occupied with the stupid show he just performed. He felt unbalanced, the ground itself was hostile when he walked on it. He wanted to lie down like when he was hiding in the room for a week after the incident.

    Only the staff and the guards were awake, so he went to the chamberlain''s office for the keys to his room. It was empty. He asked a maid in the corridor if she knew where the man was.

    ¡°He is in the staff¡¯s kitchen, Magister. It is breakfast time for servants now.¡± She bowed before Ledas. This treatment felt strange to Ledas, the understanding of his role had not yet formed. Ledas remembered the advice given to him by Sweety:

    1. Wake up early.

    2. Favors are the local currency.

    3. Nobles won¡¯t accept favors for now.

    So, he went to the staff kitchen. He navigated through the narrow passageways to the kitchen. When he entered, the people inside were quite cheerful, eating their breakfasts, but as soon as they noticed him the atmosphere rapidly changed into a tense one. No one made a sound. A couple of maids were about to ask the chamberlain something about the intruder, but stopped halfway when they read the room.

    ¡°Excuse me, how may I be of service, Magister,¡± the chamberlain stood up and made a bow.

    ¡°Sorry to interrupt your breakfast¡± Ledas looked around. There was a cook, a few maids, and a couple of guards here, he was out of place, and he wasn''t blind to see how some people froze. ¡°Actually, never mind me.¡± He turned around and closed the door behind himself and cringed from himself. ¡°How the hell am I even supposed to connect with people here if I don¡¯t belong to anyone here?¡± He whispered to himself as he moved towards the chamberlain¡¯s office, to wait for him there. "It was a mistake to take the offer. Should have declined right away..."

 Chapter 27: Misaki Arashi

    Chapter 27: Misaki Arashi - one month ago

    Misaki drove her bicycle home after classes. These thirty minutes per day were the only ones she had to herself. Her headphones were playing an audiobook. The narrator was describing a battle of heroes in a showdown.

    Archmage Sanders was the last one standing against the severely wounded Demon Lord. He had a choice; use his remaining magic to end this all, or heal his allies, just enough for them to survive. The Demon Lord had a similar choice - use the last bits of waning divinity he had left to curse Sanders and die, or try to flee with his tail between his legs.

    It was a stalemate as both aimed their staves at each other.

    ¡°Go, and never come back!¡± - Sanders made his choice.

    The Demon Lord smiled. An Ant was threatening him. Would he still consider himself a demon lord after losing his army and running away like a coward? NO! No one ordered Him!

    ¡°Mashta SAKAN! Curse you to the seventh generation, so your children will betray you and each other and you never know peace!¡±

    Sanders saw the divine circles on the staff of the demon lord but used healing on his allies instead of protecting himself. If that was the price to save his friends and defeat the demon lord. It was worth it.

    Misaki drove on the bike lane through the intersection. The moment she noticed the truck, it was too late. She didn¡¯t try to brace herself. At that moment, she didn¡¯t care. A second later her body lay on the ground motionless. She saw a puddle of blood forming under her face as her vision turned dark.

    ¡­

    ¡°It''s time for you to wake up, my child¡± - a gentle female voice made Misaki open her eyes. She was lying on something soft; it felt like clouds made out of cotton and looked like them. She looked around. A beautiful woman offered her a hand.

    ¡°I am Noritz, the goddess of death and rebirth. Unfortunately, you have died, but I am here to guide you to your new life.¡± Her face was covered in a veil, making her features vague.

    Misaki grabbed the offered hand and stood up.

    The sky was bright, but the stars were brighter, making them clearly visible in the cherry sky. The goddess in front of her wore clothes akin to ones of a Christian angel on a Renaissance painting and emanated a visible golden aura, engulfing Misaki in warmness.

    Misaki touched her face and tried to use the offered hand to stand up. The moment she touched it she felt air entering her lungs, she pleasantly shivered as if she just learned how to breathe again. It felt like a new life was breathed into her.

    ¡°So I have died. So where am I?¡±. Her voice was confused as she looked around.

    ¡°You are standing between worlds. On a crossroad. But Heaven or Hell is not something destined for you.¡±

    ¡°And what is?¡± Misaki didn¡¯t question much about what was happening.

    ¡°You were chosen. You will be summoned to another world to become a hero. Here, I will grant you a divine boon. A blessing that will aid you in your new life.¡±

    ¡°Choose someone else,¡± Misaki responded categorically. ¡°I don¡¯t want to get summoned, or be a hero.¡± Misaki was shaking her head as she sat on the cloud which acted like a chair. She was sobbing.

    ¡°Why are you crying child?¡± Noritz gently patted Misaki¡¯s head, kneeing to get their faces on the same level.

    ¡°I thought it would end. I don¡¯t want to go to another world to be miserable there too! I just want this all to end!¡± Misaki covered her face with her hands. Noritz thought for a few seconds.

    Goddess pursed her lips. Ryu has been sending her mentally broken people for quite some time, but this was too much even for her. It was hard to tell what the dragon was trying to achieve. Was he assuming she was going to fix them all with her divine presence?

    ¡°You won¡¯t be. There are people on the other side expecting you.¡± Noritz was cut off.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a hero. I don¡¯t want others to put their expectations on me. They will just put me in another cage.¡±

    Noritz knew that this was the case for most of them and people who payed to summon Misaki were extremely generous.

    ¡°If you want, you can end your life here and now.¡± Noritz dropped a dagger on the floor. ¡°Not anyone gets a second chance. Don¡¯t squander it. But if you plan to squander it anyway, just drive the knife through your own heart, and that would be my blessing to you.¡± The dagger unsheathed itself and flew up in Misaki¡¯s hand.

    Misaki looked at it and grabbed it with her two hands driving it into her chest without hesitation, her face twisted with pain. A second later Her lifeless body fell on the ground and blood poured on pink clouds.

    Noritz looked at the girl and returned to her desk, approving and declining rebirths of souls, as the pile decreased. A minute later she went back to Misaki¡¯s body and pulled the dagger out of the girl¡¯s chest.

    ¡°It''s time to wake up, Misaki!¡± Noritz pointed her hand towards Misaki, whose wounds had closed.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Misaki woke up with a sharp inhale and a cough, the leftover taste of copper left her mouth. This time the shivers she got were not pleasant at all.

    ¡°Huh? What? Why?¡± She looked at herself in shock, her hands and chest were covered in her own blood, and Noritz was in front of her, but the aura of warmth was no longer emanating from the goddess. She touched the place her wound was, but there wasn¡¯t even a sign of it left.

    ¡°Congratulations, you have successfully killed yourself in the presence of a goddess of rebirth. Are you happy now?¡± Noritz sounded harsh and patronizing. Misaki still felt the phantom pain of the cold dagger piercing her heart, her body was cold, and she felt like she lost a lot of blood, but that feeling was quickly waning. ¡°I don¡¯t have an eternity to spare, I have thousands of souls to send to their rebirth. If you don''t choose a boon in three minutes, the ritual will finish, and you will get transported anyway.¡±

    Misaki barely moved. She looked mentally drained her eyes lacking any glare. ¡°So even here I can''t decide what to do with my own life.¡±

    ¡°You decided to kill yourself, and I decided to give you another chance, even though you don¡¯t deserve one. When you are in my domain, you obey my rules.¡± Noritz was piercing the girl with her bottomless gaze, which she felt even through the veil.

    Misaki nodded, still shocked that she died two times and was still alive. Sme moved heavily and clumsily despite her body being fine. She asked herself if she was happy about killing herself, but she couldn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°Are you ready?¡± Noritz asked in a commanding tone and moved towards an ivory table standing in the room.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Misaki looked down. She was always easily giving in to pressure.

    ¡°You will most likely be trained as a mage, with your attributes you will become incredibly powerful within a few years, so I would advise against legendary weapons or staves, as they will outlive their usefulness very quickly.¡±

    ¡°Is there something that will make others not put any expectations on me?¡± Misaki asked.

    ¡°That dagger in your heart, I won¡¯t be reincarnating you again,¡± Noritz replied harshly.

    ¡°Something that will make people like me?¡± Misaki continued.

    ¡°Do you want all the perverts in the world to like you? You already look beautiful for a human female.¡±

    ¡°Something that will help me find friends?¡±

    ¡°You were supposed to be smart.¡± Noritz sighed  ¡°If you want you can burn your boon to make someone care about you. It¡¯s magic that can slightly affect the world. It will search the whole planet and call someone to your aid, but it will be up to you to make that friendship. Also, they will have the right to decline your call.¡± the goddess handed Misaki a small flying crystal.

    ¡°This is a Crystal of Authority. You can create an item or an effect or alter reality in the most subtle ways. From it, all other boons are created, but you can use yours directly when¡­¡±

    Misaki touched the stone, it looked like a quartz, but when she touched it she felt that this small item contained endless magic lines and runes.

    The whole planet Earth was connected to the stone, and she was connected to it too. It was like a big screen with a lot of smaller screens and each smaller screen had more of these screens showing a place in the whole world.

    The moment she looked somewhere, she was looking through someone''s eyes. She saw through the eyes of a bee, a fish, and a bird. This was raw magic, an endless one, and completely unrestrained. The goddess was talking but she couldn¡¯t hear, no¡­ the time around her stopped, she felt lonely looking at the world. She wanted to know if someone thought about her after her death. She wanted to see if her parents or caregivers at least cared, or maybe someone from school. Anyone.

    ¡°Is there someone who thinks about me now?¡± Her will was connected to the crystal, and her perspective shifted, she was not at home as she expected, and any attempts to find it were in vain. No one at her home thought about her at the moment, it was more painful than the dagger through her chest.

    She was in someone¡¯s big kitchen in a European style.

    ¡°Victory is mine! The machine is just hallucinating again!" - a blond European man in his late twenties spoke with three other Europeans sitting around a big kitchen, drinking beer and eating crayfish. He was looking at something on the screen, so Misaki peeked too.

    "There is a 95% correlation between Tokyo blackouts and fatal truck accidents three days prior.

    Victims of the accidents;

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Misaki Arashi: 16, died in a truck accident three days ago. [link to news article] [link to obituary]¡­ ¡± </li>

    </ol>

    She felt a cold thrill run down her spine. For the first time, she properly understood that she was dead, and worse than that the only person who thought about her just saw her name on a screen, she felt sickened.

    She tried to grab the mouse to open the link, but she wasn¡¯t physically present in the room. Blondy put his hand to close the laptop and that made her feel even more lonely, as if when the lid would close the last memory of her would disappear, and no one would remember her ever again.

    ¡°Of course, no one cares!¡± She shouted, tears coming from her eyes, and George, as if reacting to her, stopped himself from closing the laptop and clicked on the first link.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Blondy said as if replying to her.

    ¡°Hmm¡­ 16 years old kid, that''s sad. Died six days ago, poor fella. Wait what? Double Olympics winner. I should check the others. Oh my, oh my. Something is off here¡±. She could hear him mumbling quietly to himself. ¡°That¡¯s bullshit. No way this is normal by any means.¡± Geroge looked at obituaries side by side, his fingers tapping on the table. He leaned back looking where Misaki¡¯s point of view was at that moment. She felt that he saw her crying face. Blondy looked at her for a few seconds pursing his lips.

    "Guys, I found something strange. It looks like Japanese gifted kids die a lot in truck accidents. Any suggestions?"

    Misaki snapped back to the place among the worlds. The crystal lay shattered in her hands; she had just used something so powerful to make one person read her obituary.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t let me finish and used the crystal while not connected to Terra Arcana. Before I explained how to use it. I congratulate you. I don¡¯t know or care what you did, but good luck.¡± Noritz waved her hand as Misaki slowly vanished into thin air.

    Noritz slowly exhaled despite not needing to breathe at all. ¡°Making that deal with a dragon was a foolish mistake¡­¡±

 Chapter 28: Ledas: Rituals

    Chapter 28: Ledas: Rituals

    "When I told you about early birds, I didn''t mean for you to come before they even prep your room." Smoothy was yawning at Ledas, who was leaning against the wall next to the chamberlain''s office. "Don''t you need sleep? My shift ended after midnight yesterday. I like to sleep too, you know."

    "Oh, sorry?" He apologized, though he didn''t catch the meaning.

    "Shove it," Smoothy grumbled. "Since you are an early one, Wraith made the other two get here too."

    "The other two?"

    "Follow me."

    A few minutes later, they were in the Wraith''s office. There, Wraith just gave him an old book and ordered him to follow the greedy spy with a hand gesture. "Your first assignment," was all he said.

    Smoothy was silent as they moved down to the dungeon and even deeper through a hidden passage.

    The whole way was lit with gently glowing magical lights, providing just enough light to avoid stumbling as they walked the hundred-yard-long corridor.

    It ended in an octagonal carved-out room about 6 meters wide. Two battlemages sat on the far side. In the dead center was a glowing red crystal as tall as Ledas himself. It was etched with runes filled with gold. Lines from the runes led to stone tablets positioned on a circular table around the crystal.

    Ledas felt fascinated. He had seen such crystals before in various ruins he visited with his father, but most were looted, golden filaments stripped from them by looters, and the crystal itself broken down to souvenirs often found in nearby villages.

    He looked at the runes, trying to decipher them. Collision, trait check, identifiers, and something that created barriers and force.

    "Oh, the masterful court mage has arrived," one of the battlemages proclaimed with a sarcastic tone.

    "Give the kid the benefit of the doubt. Hello, kid, I''m Victor, this is Ben." The second mage sounded unenthusiastic and slightly patronizing.

    Ledas looked at the stone and tried to perceive it through his magical sense. It was not a precise sense like vision, but more akin to hearing with your ears stuffed or a sense of smell.

    The crystal was filled with magic; it felt like a lot. He had no point of reference, though, so ''a lot'' was an abstract feeling. Enough to make him snap out of the self-inflicted enthrallment.

    "Hello, I''m Ledas, nice to meet you." The runes and the tablets completely captured his attention again. These were arrays of traits and exceptions.

    It was a sphere spell, a massive one. He did have a reference though; it was way bigger than the ruins of a castle he was exploring while his father went to the dungeons below.

    "Is this the city barrier?" Ledas asked the two mages standing there, making the first one raise his brow.

    "Yes. We need to add that thing to the barrier activation." Ben the battlemage pointed somewhere behind Ledas.

    Ledas turned around. What he saw sent him into a panic. He jumped back, falling onto his back, and hastily cast a shoddy barrier spell in front of him. Cowering behind it, he crawled backward, barely managing to stand before running into one of the corridors. He saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing but sheer terror.

    When he finally came to his senses, he felt that he had hit his head some time ago. He was sitting on a bench in the corridor right next to the octagonal room. Water was pouring on his head from a spell. The Victor guy was crouching in front of him, gently slapping his cheeks.

    "Wake up! Hey, do you hear me?" He turned to Ben. "Ben, if he doesn''t come to his senses, you''ll be doing all the work yourself!"

    "Why should I do it? Stop whining, Victor. How could I know the kid would almost piss himself from it? You said not to treat him like a child, he''ll be fine. Plus, I didn''t put it there. It''s needed for work." Victor continued to pour warm water over Ledas'' head.

    "Why is that thing here?!" Ledas asked, coming to his senses. He no longer sounded scared but pissed off. He strode into the octagonal room.

    The beast''s severed head was massive; it would take three people to form a circle with hands around it. It was no longer burning by itself like it was during the night of the attack, but its massive jaws still made Ledas very uncomfortable. Well, as it was not a jumpscare, Ledas felt more or less fine around it.

    It could barely have passed through the long corridors leading here. It felt slightly absurd to the battlemages that he hadn''t noticed it in the side of the room when he entered.

    "We need to add beast traits to the barrier''s protection system. They''re not native here, but someone still managed to bring one, so it''s a security concern. It''s not that scary; it''s dead," Ben shrugged.

    Ledas knew this thing was a security concern a bit too well for his own liking. He nodded to the mages and delved into the task laid in front of him. He would make sure these types of creatures would never get through.

    Ledas opened the book; it was the instruction on the town defense and a ritual circle to figure out someone''s "traits".

    This book stated that the ritual was created almost a millennium ago to answer the pure scientific question of whether Elves, Dwarves, and Humans were descendants of Elves as Elven legends claimed, or not.

    The short answer was no. Elves, Dwarves, and Humans have <<Humanoid>> traits, as well as specific race traits. The research written in the book did lead to a few things though: A race war between Zarat which had a large <<Beastkin>> population and Mirage <<Elves>> where the research was conducted. Not to mention a bunch of pogroms in the Far East where not a single race was left unscathed.

    Ledas loved to read magical books'' intros and it took only a minute or two.

    It took an hour to figure out how to do the core of the ritual. One can draw and do movements as required in a ritual, but just as in shorter spells, most of them require comprehension for the mental part of the spellcasting to work.

    The core of finding the traits was quite short, so he drew an empty circle on a piece of paper and moved his hands to form runes instead of drawing them.

    One has authority over one''s body, so one can ''ask'' one''s blood about which main traits one has.

    A drop of his blood in the middle of the circle on the paper, a chant, and he connected the spell he was keeping formed with his runes to the circle on the paper. In a few seconds, he had an impression of words in his head.

    Two strong ones: <<Magical Aberration>> <<Humanoid>>

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    And two weak, distorted ones: <<O^t&rh3dr@>> <<******>>

    Ledas blinked a few times; it worked from the first try! He felt so fulfilled that he almost forgave his father for slapping his hands with a stick every time he made a mistake in the arcane theory.

    It was strange to be confirmed as an aberration though, knowing that the two battlemages playing cards on the bench were most likely very proficient aberration slayers. All of Arshakion''s battlemages were stationed in the north against them regularly.

    He was calm though. He learned that he was ''different'' when he was six, and stopped being afraid around people at around nine.

    He tried to guess what the first weak word was; he was neither an Otherworlder nor an Oath holder. The current summoning spree began three years ago, while the previous one was almost a century ago to fight the wicked one. That was common knowledge, but he didn''t know the details. He hadn''t made any magical oaths as well.

    "Well," he thought, "I''ll do that properly next time when I have free time."

    With the help of the other two, he drew the ritual circle on the ground around the beast''s head. He triple-checked every detail and adjustment he made to ensure the ritual wouldn''t test things he wasn''t interested in, like if the creature was <<Deceased>>.

    Getting others'' traits was a much more complex endeavor. It initially requires taking over the authority over the creature and checking which traits it had one by one from a list you had to form. And the first thing was almost impossible to do with living creatures.

    {

    Initialize Array¡­ Get actor Authority ¡­. Loop creature type array ¡­ Does Implement Interface¡­

    }

    When Ledas started to power the ritual, he instantly felt his main magic pool drained, making him shiver from perceived cold. The ritual was running many questions asking what this head was and what it was not. Letters appeared on the tablets in magical script connected to the ritual.

    <<Head>> <<Magical Aberration>> <<Flame Aberration>> <<Reptilia>> <

    >

    Ledas thought about adding magical Aberrations to the barrier''s defenses, but many animals and insects were Magical Aberrations, not to mention Ledas himself.

    <

    > was probably the right choice. He took the stone tablet with it and gave it to one of the mages, who engraved the letters with a magical engraver. While Ledas was preparing the connection points on the crystal, the second filled the carvings with molten gold.

    Ledas was left to install it by connecting it to the crystal, and it took him about an hour to do so. The other two returned to cards in the meantime.

    "Excuse me," Ledas mumbled tiredly and cleared his forehead of sweat. "I think I''m done as per the manual. Should we go to the wall?" He wasn''t very confident if he hadn''t botched the thing, but the ritual was quite straightforward once unnecessary parts for specific use cases were cut.

    "Sure there is; you''re not done yet," Ben interrupted him casually. "Cut off a piece of that monster and throw it at the crystal."

    "Why?" Ledas raised his brow.

    "Because," Ben replied, raising the stakes by five silver.

    This didn''t answer Ledas'' question, but he took out the ornate dagger gifted to him at the funeral and took a good minute slicing off a piece of loose flesh from the monster. The dagger was very sharp, but this beast''s hide was extremely sturdy.

    He had spent a few hours with the head in one room, and it didn''t feel intimidating now. It was dead.

    He took the piece of the beast''s lip and threw it at the crystal.

    The second the crystal and the flesh connected, Ledas was deafened and blinded by the blast. He crouched, his hands protecting his body and ears. His ears hurt like hell; the mages were holding theirs too.

    "WHAT THE FUCK!" Ledas shouted, his voice sounding muffled to him. His vision returned quickly, but the piece of flesh was not to be found.

    "BEN, YOU STUPID IDIOT, YOU TOLD ME HE MESSED UP THE RITUAL!" Victor shouted at Ben.

    "BUT HE DID!" Ben shouted back.

    Smoothy ran in after five to ten seconds, looked around, and shouted, "WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

    "YES, THIS IDIOT JUST THREW A PIECE OF MONSTER AT THE CRYSTAL," Ben shouted to Smoothy.

    "BECAUSE YOU TOLD HIM TO!" Victor shouted at Ben again.

    "WHAT''S WITH THE RITUAL, IS THE BARRIER SAFE?" Smoothy tried to look at the crystal or the table; they looked just like before. He didn''t know arcane, and if there was a problem, he wouldn''t be able to tell.

    "I DON''T KNOW," Ledas shouted, in a slightly lower voice as he was regaining his hearing.

    "IT WORKED AS INTENDED!" Victor proclaimed. "DO YOU THINK ANY OF US CAN BREAK IT?"

    Ledas used minor healing on himself, and his hearing was fully restored, so he did the same for the two mages, Smoothy, and two other security people who rushed in from deeper in the tunnels. The blast didn''t make their ears bleed, but it was extremely uncomfortable and quite painful even down the corridors.

    "So what was that about?" Ledas asked Ben with a confused voice.

    "It''s the fastest way to test if the change works. The closest walls are 15 minutes away by foot. I thought you messed up, and I was about to win another game. You had some things missing from the ritual, so well¡­"

    "Ben would like to apologize to the new court mage, right?" Victor looked at his colleague. "I thought you botched the ritual too. I apologize for not warning you and others to close your ears in advance and for doubting your capabilities."

    Ledas really wanted to shout at Ben, but he had done enough stupid things for the day, so he took a long 20 seconds to think while people were looking at him.

    He nodded. "No offense taken. I wasn''t sure if it worked either." If he had taken offense, it could have been interpreted as him asking for an IOU or a favor back. Smoothy''s presence reminded him of the advice: ''Don''t make favors for the nobles; they wouldn''t like to owe you until you prove yourself''.

    The court mage was smiling on his way back, he whistled on his long way through the underground corridors and moved with a light skip all the way to the Wraith''s office where Smoothy led him.

    "You got two favors in one day, impressive," Smoothy smirked.

    "I did?" Ledas stared with a smile. "I thought I said it was fine¡­"

    "Wait here." Smoothy, as always, didn''t expand on the remark. He entered the office first and closed the door. He called Ledas in only after a few minutes passed, interrupting Ledas'' contemplations on how favors worked. Wraith asked for an oral report and nodded after hearing that <

    > type creatures wouldn''t be able to enter the town.

    "Runeward. Good job as expected. Tomorrow you will meet King Arshakion to take the oath when the sun is at its zenith. Understood?"

    "Yes, Sir." Ledas wanted to raise his hand in a salute but stopped midway. Did he have to salute? He stood confused for a second.

    "In the evening, the etiquette instructor will come to your new quarters to teach you how to behave properly before you create problems. For the next month, you will not be allowed to leave the castle on your own."

    "Why? Did something happen?" Ledas guessed that Wraith was informed of his screw-ups.

    "No, it''s going as planned. There is work to be done, but even when you are done until the etiquette instructor deems you proper, you are not allowed to leave the castle."

    Ledas stood silent for a few seconds.

    "So this work is related to the King and requires good manners and secrecy?"

    "Close. Good manners are required to not piss off other Generals and the King. Secrecy will be required for the task."

    "Oh, the Oath you mentioned is required for the secrecy. Right?"

    "Runeward, you are asking too many questions. You are trying to ask me what the task is while I clearly implied you will learn it from the King tomorrow. But I will fancy this request this time, so you won''t blabber in front of the King tomorrow." Wraith took out a fat tube from his desk and laid out a stack of twenty pages of runes and inscriptions with very little notes on them.

    Ledas glanced through them. It would take at least a week to figure out what this spell did. To his surprise, he saw a familiar piece. During the examination for Mage''s Association, he had to optimize that small piece.

    "This is from the exam..." Ledas started to blabber. "Was the ritual part ... organized to find someone who can perform this... I, I am not s-sure I could, can, will be able to perform it. It''s an ancient ritual of kinds."

    "Correct. This is the ''hero summoning'' ritual. Any more questions on why you cannot leave the castle?"

    Ledas stood baffled, his eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped a few centimeters.

    "Dismissed."

 Ch 29: George Yossarian: Aki Kurasagi

    Chapter 29: George Yossarian: Aki Kurasagi

    Agony! Pure agony! My body felt like it was just squeezed and stretched, and my head felt like it had just rolled out of a washing machine, bumping on its way out.

    I felt burning pain in my lungs as if I had just inhaled something no human should. I tried to open my eyes, but it was too bright.

    I tried to move, but everything below my neck was paralyzed.

    It felt like even my ears and eyes were bleeding, but this pain was dwarfed by the headache.

    Was this another of my nightmares? I didn''t think so; it was way worse.

    It was a good couple of minutes before the pain dulled enough for me to open my eyes and the paralysis waned. Even then, I could only lift myself with a bit of struggle. My vision was still blurry though.

    "Huh?" I heard a beautiful female voice echoing."??? ??????????, ???? ??????? ???????? ?????? ?????, ???? ??????? ??? ??? ??????, ??? ???? ??, ???? ???????? ??" As she spoke with a slightly confused tone, I sensed the pain waned and left my body completely as if I had been injected with the strongest painkillers.

    ¡°What, sorry I don¡¯t understand you?¡± The language sounded familiar, but I still couldn''t understand what she was saying.

    "Aki Kusuragi, welcome to the afterlife. Unfortunately, you have died. Your life, though it was short, is now over." she switched to English.

    I looked around. I was amongst dense clouds; it felt surreal. I saw countless blue stars shining bright in a purple sky. Where was I?

    My breath was uneven as I was trying to remember what happened before, but every time I did, my brain hurt as if my head was being squeezed again.

    Something bad had just happened, but what? Why was this woman referring to me as Aki whatever? I was George, not some Japanese named Aki. Was that even a male name? I looked at myself; I was one hundred percent the same person. I was wearing my best three-piece suit.

    "I am Noritz, the goddess of death and rebirth, here to guide you through your resurrection into another world." My eyes finally adjusted properly.

    In front of me was a woman who looked like an angel drawn from a painting by a Renaissance artist. She sat at an ivory table looking at some documents on a tablet, and then at me as if checking something.

    When did I manage to die? I instinctively searched for my notebook in the hidden pocket of my suit. It was there, so I opened the last filled page and read its contents. I had a gun tucked in my trousers.

    ¡°Why do I have a gun!?¡±

    The goddess was talking to me, but I wasn''t looking at her, only listening. All my attention was on recovering my last memories on planet Earth.

    When I read the last entry it all clicked into place, I remembered everything and the gun suddenly made sense.

    I smiled, lampooning the situation I had gotten myself into. I never laughed so hard in my own head. If I could print this story, it would be the most-read article in the history of humankind. I guessed that would be impossible now.

    "Are you listening to me?" The goddess''s tone sharpened, her patience clearly wearing thin.

    I sat on the edge of her table, facing her. "Look, sweetheart, as you might have guessed, I am not Aki Kusuragi.  I am George, George Yossarian, and I am most certainly not dead." I winked, channeling my best James Bond impression, hoping it would work on her.

    She raised her head and our eyes met. Her lips were pursed as she slightly clenched her fists. "And how much do you know, George Yossarian?"

    "I guess I know something I shouldn''t. Where should I start from?" I smiled at her gently. I knew I was not drugged, in intelligence agencies they teach you how to figure such things out and all my checks were negative.

    There was only one option remaining to explain everything I was seeing now and it was absurdly funny and ridiculously hilarious. Ryu was indeed not human. He was indeed taking suicidal people and trafficking them here. He loved these types of stories so much, he printed them in Japan. Considering his actions led to huge outages of electricity, that he had a crematorium, hired professional bodyguards, and was surveillancing quite a big part of the town this was a ludicrous business.

    I found an interstellar or interdimensional trafficking ring, and it had someone who claimed to be a god, and someone who claimed to be a dragon.

    What next? Aliens? My internal giggling was deafeningly loud, I tried to hide it but some of it was making me silently chuckle under my nose.

    I ran another check on myself to see if I was hallucinating. I wasn¡¯t. I was abnormally calm from the moment I felt the pain-killing effect, but fine otherwise. The cloud material I sensed was physics-defying. Now, I had to question things I thought I knew about the world if I wanted to survive this encounter.

    "You will start from the beginning, in all the details, we have time." My Bond impression definitely wasn''t working on her, but for some reason, she exhaled loudly and stopped clenching her fists, as if accepting reality.

    "As you wish, Goddess Noritz. Everything started after I ran into some troubles a few months ago¡­¡± I already found out when fucked around someone who called himself a dragon, so I wasn¡¯t planning to try out my luck with an interstellar/interdimensional trafficking ring. I needed to be careful with whatever information I was giving though¡­

    ¡°Wait.¡± She stopped me.

    Noritz sat in front of her desk doing some kind of work I was unable to see. Her expression and the movements of her eyes told me she was reading something and moving things with her hand gestures. It looked like she had a screen in front of her that I could not see.

    ¡°You will tell everything you know, but we will start in fifteen human minutes. I have some work to finish.¡± the goddess was slightly annoyed of anything else, so I decided to take a seat on one of the clouds that was around chair size. It felt like a very cushioned chair. The most cushioned chair I had ever sat on in my life. I looked at the sky while I patiently waited. I paid attention to the stars and to the mesmerising clouds which were incomparable to any material I have touched in my life.

    The constellations were not from either the north or south hemisphere though, and stars were slowly moving, making me question if they really were stars and not some kind of a dome with special effect on them.

    Around two minutes in, while I tried to decipher the logic behind the star movement and collect my thoughts, Noritz stood up. As I pondered how to get back home from this situation I''d gotten myself into, she walked towards the place where I woke up.  I followed her. This time I could see that under the clouds that made the floor was the same ritual circle I saw in the crematorium. At least it looked very similar.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    A small crystal was forming in front of my eyes right in the middle of it. Noritz took it and put it somewhere in her clothes.

    I felt strange. The crystal fascinated me. I felt like I have seen it somewhere before, but I couldn¡¯t recall it.

    ¡°Stay where you are and don¡¯t talk. I will make the place you stand in see through, so the summoned one won¡¯t see you.¡± Noritz sounded completely unemotional as I nodded.

    A body appeared in the circle while I blinked. It was the deal-looking boy I saw in the circle. I could now look at him better. His clothes were the same funeral garbs, but next to him laid some casual ones. Jeans with a white bloodstained shirt, as if the wearer was stabbed in his lungs with a knife.

    Noritz waved her hand and his clothes changed. He was now in the bloodstained shirt and his funeral outfit had disintegrated. I jotted down in my notebook: ¡®They resorted to stabbings when they figured out someone was on their tail. A truck is not the only way that can possibly explain why one of the blackouts was not accompanied by any accidents.¡¯

    The circle glowing under the clouds cracked like glass and vanished. I was planning to jot it down too, but I heard Noritz making a ¡®Tsk¡¯ sound and pursing her lips when she saw it happen. I deduced it wasn¡¯t planned.

    Aki was slowly getting less and less pale, and when he started to open his eyes Noritz began.

    "??? ??????????, ???? ??????? ???????? ?????? ?????, ???? ??????? ??? ??? ??????, ??? ???? ??, ???? ???????? ??" she told him as he sat up. The first two words were his name. Now I could pay more attention to the language.

    Phonetics made it sound like an Indo-European language. The closest it was to Armenian, Persian, or Greek, but I hadn¡¯t learned any of them, despite Armenian being my ancestral language.

    ¡°What, I am dead? Where am I? What happened?¡± Aki was talking Japanese but I figured out he understood what the goddess was saying.

    He was around 160 with long black hair and a slight frame. He touched his side where his T-shirt was bloodied and had a hole.

    Noritz left him a few seconds to think and get rid of confusion.

    ¡°I¡¯M GETTING ISEKAIED RIGHT!?¡± He almost shouted at her in excitement.

    I looked with disbelief. How the hell was this his reaction? Tom''s idea of a suicide cult wasn''t as far-fetched as I initially believed.

    She glanced at me and to my surprise she switched to Japanese, which I was quite good at.

    ¡°Yes, I am Noritz, the goddess of death and rebirth, here to guide you through your resurrection into another world.¡± She made a dramatic pause. ¡°You are standing between worlds. On a crossroad. But Heaven or Hell is not something destined for you just yet.¡±

    Aki interjected as he stood up with ¡°Cool! Awesome!¡± he was smiling.

    I wanted to ask him if he was fine. I assumed there would be some other reaction from learning that you have died, but Aki proved me wrong.

    Noritz continued. ¡°You were chosen. You will be summoned to another world to become a hero. Here, I will grant you a divine boon. A blessing that will aid you in your new life. Aside from that, unlike locals and your previous self, you will improve and develop much faster, your magical abilities will be on par with strong mages with you having to put in only a fraction of the effort compared to them.¡±

    ¡°Yeah! That¡¯s how I like it!¡± Aki interjected again ¡°Is that a skill, class, system, or equipment?¡± The boy sounded too agitated for my personal taste.

    ¡°Classes as you earthlings perceive them don¡¯t exist in that world. Treat it like an ability or you can ask for bound equipment.¡±

    Before Aki could ask he looked down and started to read the thin air in front of him.

    ¡°A bow that can kill a demon lord! Sounds awesome, but tedious. Super memory is interesting, but kinda meh. Can I come up with something?¡± He looked up at Noritz.

    Noritz nodded.

    I remembered the book called "To Another World with the Bow that Can Kill the Demon Lord". Now I was regretting that I had not read it, it was most likely printed by Ryu¡¯s corporation. But why?

    ¡°Can I be a necromancer, making my defeated enemies fight for me like undead?¡± Aki was still reading through the thin air.

    I looked at Noritz. Her face was now displaying full hatred and disgust towards the teenager. Her voice though sounded calm. ¡°That would not be possible.¡± I made a mental note; the goddess of death and rebirth didn¡¯t like necromancers.

    When Aki looked at her face I deduced that he could neither see her expression nor her face at all.

    ¡°Something that could force a woman in front of me to get dominated by my will, like mind control? To make all women want me and obey me? Like turning them into my puppets!¡± Aki sounded enthusiastic. I could see how thirsty he was looking at Noritz¡¯s body.

    Noritz on the other hand bit her lip, and not in a sexual manner, her fist was clenched behind her back so hard I could swear that she was about to murder this future rapist in a very violent manner.

    ¡°I would suggest you try something from the list. Because things that you are asking for are not possible.¡± her voice was the same though.

    Aki was contemplating ¡°What if I can just take people¡¯s senses, nah, manifest atomic weapons, well that will be boring¡­¡±

    I concluded that Aki couldn¡¯t see her face at all. Also, he couldn''t see common sense. Telling a woman that you want rapist powers from her was¡­ disgusting, and if he believed her to be a goddess why was he sure he stop his ¡®reincarnation¡¯ process.

    ¡°Okay, what about power that would allow me to drink the blood of people or eat their flash to take their magical powers and make them mine? That should work!¡±

    Noritz looked at me, sitting a couple of meters away.

    ¡°If you wouldn¡¯t have been a zero, I would have killed this guy and sent you instead.¡± Her tone didn¡¯t indicate that she was angry at all, but I could sense hostility.

    Aki didn¡¯t react to this. For one reason or another, he couldn¡¯t hear it. I shrugged while continuing to take notes.

    ¡°That should work young hero,¡± she said calmly.

    ¡°And I want retractable fangs, so I can bite better!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s easy to add.¡± Noritz moved her hand where she put the crystal and now as I saw it for the second time I could swear it looked familiar somehow.

    Aki smiled, and I could see his fangs extending like he was from a teenage drama vampire show. I thought he was an average kid who tried to kill himself with sleeping pills, but he was a danger not only to himself but to the people around him as well. His face looked very punchable at that moment.

    ¡°Everyone is waiting for you.¡± Noritz declared and waved her hand, making the menace to society disappear into thin air.

    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Half of them are like that.¡± She responded coldly.

    ¡°That¡¯s messed up, to be honest. I am glad that necromantic powers or rapist powers are outside this ¡®boon¡¯ scope. Would have been a disaster!¡±

    ¡°They were not outside the boon¡¯s possibilities. I didn¡¯t want to make them for him.¡± Noritz smiled a bit, she was quite cute for that brief moment.

    ¡°Oh. Well. I hope he won¡¯t wreak havoc with knockoff vampire powers.¡±

    ¡°You will get through the same portal. So keep your hopes up.¡± My jaw dropped slightly.

    ¡°Well, at least I have a gun in case he will try to suck out people¡¯s blood.¡± I checked the gun, it was a Glock 17 law-enforcement specific.

    ¡°Before I send you out of here too, I''d like to know what you have learned.¡± She was way more polite than before, maybe because I looked good in comparison.

    ¡°Of course. But before that, what is a Zero?¡±

 Ch 30: Kento Yamamoto: Tower At the Top of the World

    Chapter 30: Kento Yamamoto: Tower At the Top of the World

    Kento and the Archmage Ledas Sanders sat around a decorated wooden coffee table in the pristinely clean wizard¡¯s study. The windows had frosted glass over them, but it was clear that it was day outside. The sun was shining.

    ¡°So, how do they control heroes?¡± Kento examined the room. Everything looked handmade and exquisite.

    "Do you know what is the weakness of all men?" The old mage filled two cups with steaming water and dropped thick brown leaves inside. The thick brown leaves unfurled slowly, filling the room with the scent of citrus.

    "Women?" Kento remembered how easily the goddess swayed him. He thought that after that mortal women would have no power over him.

    "Yes, partially."

    The hero hummed. "So, that''s how summoned heroes are controlled?"

    "Well let¡¯s start with this. There were seven of us when we got summoned to the City of Magic. All together," the Archmage took out a pipe and continued.

    "For two millennia, dead noble souls who gave their lives for a cause were summoned by priests of Mother and allied Mages to fight the Lord of The Wicked.¡±

    Kento silently nodded along. ¡°So this is what they call the demon lord here. This is sure some kind of anime.¡± Kento contemplated in his mind.

    ¡°The Wicked One would gather forces of the cursed abominations resembling humans and animals, humanity would summon heroes and gather armies. Unless relationships with Elves, Dwarves, and Beastkin were not in shambles by a conflict, they would join too. For almost twenty times that filth was reborn and as many times he was defeated one way or another."

    "So, you want to make heroes work again as the wicked one was reborn, or what?"

    "This is the complicated part. I sealed his powers, and he was not reborn. That''s what makes me terrified. There are natural phenomena each time he is born and gets bestowed his powers, but they didn''t occur this time. Humanity should have a decade or two till his new iteration would be born and grow up into an adult body." the Archmage telekinetically moved a sugar bowl on the coffee table. Someone claimed the name though. §¦verywhere that person goes, normal people, not monsters, are praising his name, as if he was some kind of saint."

    "So you sealed this ''Lord''s'' powers and now he is no longer acting evil. Maybe it''s a copycat, or his powers made him evil?" Kento took a sniff and his face puckered from the sour smell. He quickly added two spoons of sugar.

    "I don''t think so. He reveals his identity when cities are chanting the name he has given them in admiration. I think, that he is carefully sowing seeds of discord. In the last ten years, many nobles pledged their lives to his name around the region and made blood oaths to him only for him to tell them  that he is The Wicked One."

    "Still don¡¯t see why this guy is evil, and we shifted away from how countries control the summoned heroes," Yamamoto interjected.

    "Right¡­ First - brainwashing or propaganda, call it however you like. My generation of summoned ones was the first where all of us knew how to read and write and had experience with brainwashing. Most of us were extremely politically inclined to the point where we almost killed each other over it¡­" The Archmage took a deep sigh.

    "Someone from the SS, and another a Jew? A Chinese, and a Korean?" Yamamoto conveniently forgot who the Chinese and Koreans hated during WW2.

    "No, the Pole - Andrew almost killed the Ukrainian soldier Dmytro, who participated in the attack on Poland for a few very poor remarks. The Spaniard: Alejandro fought with the Armenian: Armen. The Spanish guy died fighting for communism and the Armenian was killed by commies. At least those two weren''t trying to kill each other."

    "That''s why I hate discussing politics," Yamamoto said as he shrugged, the new clothes no longer felt uncomfortable. "Did it work on your team?"

    "It didn¡¯t at all. Second is love and lust. All men want to be loved and craved. Send them a gorgeous woman or women who can play the strings of their souls and they will be very timid. That''s how they got me. The day I figured everything out was the second worst day of my life," The Archmage''s voice quivered slightly. His wrinkled hand grabbed the pipe stronger. His eyes lost focus and he stared into the distance. There was an exquisite bookshelf in the direction of where he looked, filled with leather-bound tomes hidden from dust by glass panels, but he was not looking at the oak furniture.

    "I''ll try to be careful." Yamamoto thought about his encounter with Noritz, he considered that he should be very cautious.

    "Khem¡­ Two of us got ''lovers'' as the main hook, Alejandro got a title and land with people praising him, playing into his weakness of obligation to the poor. Gunther was blackmailed and shamed, he killed himself because of it, Mateo was drugged, Dmytro was given prestige, praise, and money, Andrew, I probably mispronounced his name again, was made a General."

    "So it''s women, money, and fame with drugs and blackmail." Yamamoto took mental note of things to avoid.

    "Magic to control someone is limited. It can be dispelled easier than applied."

    "So you and that guy with A starting his name got ''sent'' lovers?"

    "Armen was prepared more than I was, I always thought he was paranoid to be honest. That was until after the last fight he told us about the fake lovers, what happened with Gunther and how Mateo really died, and the hooks I was on, that I didn''t want to see."

    "That sounds tragic. But why would he wait till that moment."

    "It was devastating. He waited when all of the people spying for us were dead or away. Only four of us survived from summoning to the last battle. Later, when I was busy sealing The Wicked One''s powers to end his reincarnation cycle for good I learned that Alejandro died in strange circumstances. Presumably, he was poisoned in his home."

    "That''s terrible. Is that how it always went?"

    "No, people of the twentieth century were just way harder to control. Hard to brainwash someone who already has propaganda in his head. Usually, heroes died of old age, as renowned legends with all their needs taken care of, princesses as their wives and their own lineages."

    "So I have to find other summoned ones and bring them together somehow to fight this Demon Lord? That would be hard considering what happened to previous ones. They are separated and surrounded by people who try to influence them."

    "What demon lord? They are not summoned now to fight The Wicked One. Kings are idiots who believe that our group succeeded at finally defeating the bastard for good."

    "Didn''t you say you sealed his powers?"

    "I know that his powers are sealed as the seal is connected to me, I''d know if it was broken. But it looks like something has changed. I feel that without powers he might be even more dangerous."

    "Why would someone without a superpower be more dangerous?"

    "He did almost the same thing with different variations twenty times: Gather an army of abominations, march, pillage and rape, burn cities and take slaves. Then he would sacrifice some of them to increase the strength of his army and repeat until stopped. Simple and straightforward."

    "And? Now he is easier to beat, no?"

    "Making people believe he is a saint is no longer straightforward."

    "Is this why you summoned me, and is that why the others are summoning their heroes?"Kento figured out he would be fighting a parody version of a Demon Lord from a comedy anime.

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    "They summon them for war and consider the Lord to be a copycat or a fanatic because no omens appeared. The normal ways of summoning when the Lord was born did not open."

    "It makes no sense. How do they do the summonings now?"

    "There was always another way, an ancient way not used for a millennium. It rarely worked before, but three years ago the Thalassian Empire summoned one."

    "But somehow it works now¡­ Do you know why?"

    "No. I read the ritual but nothing in it indicates that it''s for summoning us." The Archmage levitated the empty cup in his hands and it magically became clean.

    "So: there is this ritual which summons people, they get boons from Noritz and superpowers. We can turn into one-man armies, and countries summon us as an arms race while they try to keep us in check so we won¡¯t go against them?" Kento paused, checking if he misunderstood something. Sanders nodded.

    "And you want me; an office worker to go around meeting summoned people, who are having entire countries pleasing them and convince them to join a fight against an enemy whom everyone believes to be a copycat of a demon lord?"

    "Who''s this Demon lord? And aren¡¯t you a soldier?"

    "Lord of whatever, I''ll call him a demon lord. And no I am not."

    "Strange. Yes, you are correct, that''s the plan."

    "I know most people naturally like me, but I am not that great at persuading. Can I just train and beat the shit out of this Demon Lord myself?"

    "You can try, but no one has succeeded at defeating him singlehandedly yet."

    "Didn¡¯t you seal his powers? It will be easier to find and beat him up than to find other summoned ones." Kento finally took a sip and his face puckered and contorted so hard he was unable to open his eyes for a good minute. It was like drinking concentrated lemon juice.

    "He is still unfathomably strong without his magical abilities. Finding the other ones won¡¯t be such an issue on the other hand. The first one who was summoned is now the Emperor of Thalassia. But I''d leave him for last."

    "Huh?"

    "He organized a coup a year ago and now rules it with the support of the army."

    "Wow, that''s impressive." Yamamoto had a ''Not Bad'' expression on his face. ¡°And I was just asking myself why aren¡¯t heroes capturing countries. Maybe I should just train and capture one?¡±

    "I have intel on where there will be a summoning in the near future," Ledas Sanders grinned, ignoring the question. "An old student of mine wrote me a letter."

    "We''ve talked for around an hour, you said you had something to eat." Kento felt his stomach growl from the acidic substance the Archmage drank as tea.

    "Oh right."

    The two left the study and moved down the wooden ladders of the wizard''s tower. Everything felt sturdy and precisely crafted. There was no kitchen on the first floor, it was some sort of an alchemical lab instead. Archmage opened the exterior door and freezing cold blew in. When Kento stepped outside cold, thin but soothing air entered his lungs. The sun shone on his face gently blinding him for the moment his eyes adjusted.

    He saw towering rocky peaks covered in snow, and intensely green pine forests in the deep valleys. Kento never knew that skies could be so divinely blue and mountains so breathtaking. That was despite the fact that he grew up among them.

    The wizard''s tower was high in the mountains, with platforms protruding from an almost vertical slope. He was standing on a bridge to nowhere, ending with a two-person table and chairs next to the glass-looking railings.

    "Take a seat, Kento," Mage moved his hands and a cauldron appeared next to the table, and the table was instantly furnished with tablecloth, plates, silverware and napkins.

    Life prepared Kento for many things. Magic was not one of them.

    "Where are we?" Kento took a seat.

    "At the border of the civilized world. Look there." He pointed his hand downstairs through the magical railings Kento incorrectly identified as glass.

    "Is that a fortress?" Kento saw a small fortified village below him.

    "Look more carefully. Pay attention to details. Imagine that you can see further."

    Kento imagined himself to be an eagle as he stepped to the edge of the bridge. He tried to follow the instructions and imagined himself zooming in like a camera.

    Nothing happened. The small settlement with a wall looked exactly the same.

    He tried again, opening his eyes wider, then squinting. He imagined himself seeing from up closer and his vision blurred seeing only dark green all around. He stepped back as he felt his head spin and put his hands on his knees waiting for the effect to wear off. He was somehow seeing, not from his position, but it was a blob. When he tried to look up he saw the sun, which was also a blob across his whole vision.

    "Sit." Archmage moved his hand and one of the chairs levitated right behind Kento.

    "What was that?"

    "Sorcery."

    "Like magic wizards use?"

    "Yes and No. Mages use spells they have to understand. Summoned heroes and aberrations don''t need that. They just force their will on reality. We are not restricted like mages, priests, or knights."

    "Neat!" Kento looked around as his eyesight returned to normal.

    "You will have to learn to focus your will, and pay attention to mental fatigue." Archmage filled the deep plates with stew from the cauldron.

    "Alright." Kento tried again, but this time seated. And again. And again. He lost his sight once again. He stopped trying to project his vision, instead, he tried to narrow his vision.

    "I will fix you if you get yourself permanently blind," Archmage said casually, sipping the acrid substance he called ''tea''.

    In a few minutes, Kento saw the fortress as if through a spyglass. A small stone fortress was surrounded by around twenty houses encircled by a tall and thick stone wall. He saw a wall going sideways from it, continuing for hundreds of meters to another small fortified settlement, and another and another...

    Each kilometer was a small fortified settlement forming a line across the mountains. It felt strange that he didn''t notice it without magic. It reminded him of a toned-down version of the Great Wall of China.

    "Are we on some kind of a border?" he asked the Archmage, whose face he could see across the table as close as if he was looking point blank. His eyes started to go blurry.

    "On the border of the civilized world. As I said before."

    "And what''s on the other side?"

    "Were you even listening? Abominations and monsters!¡±

    ¡°So I can just go there, kill monsters, level up, and get the Demon lord¡­ Gramps, will they allow me out or should I jump over the wall?¡± Kento Yamamoto flexed his muscles a bit with his eyes closed.

    "Putain, qu''est-ce qui cloche avec ce mec ?" The Archmage was definitely cursing. ¡°The whole place on the other side is a minefield for kilometers. Does my offered quest sound so hard? What do you want as a reward?¡±

    ¡°I am a fighter, I fight. Getting EXP sounds easier.¡±

    ¡°T''es d¨¦bile ou quoi ? What eks pi you are talking about!? You said you were an office worker!"

    Kento realized that it was a very strange assumption. Just because the plotline was very similar to some low tier anime he watched on the train didn¡¯t mean it would have experience points, level-ups, and systems.

    ¡°Old man, you will have to explain to me how this world works before I head out.¡± Kento sounded confused and felt dizzy. He just willed magic into existence, it felt natural for this world to have systems, levels HUD, an adventurer¡¯s guild, and many other things.

    ¡°That¡¯s the plan. Around a month to study the basics. Eat now, You are so out of magic, you become delusional.¡±

    As Kento took his first bite of the stew, a thin veil lifted from his perception. He had this dish before, it was a venison stew he once had when he went on holiday with his parents and siblings to Canada twenty years ago. It was a good time.

    He felt a lot at the same time. He felt nostalgia, his will and body drained. He felt a tinge of sorrow too, but he couldn¡¯t form in his mind what made him feel that way. The filter that had separated him from this world, suddenly dissolved.

    He had a bit of time to process things over. He felt how utterly bizarre it all was: he had died, reincarnated without his brain cancer, slept with a goddess, and awakened in these mountains.

    In mere hours, he''d learned simple but potent magic from a wizard around a century old who talked weird things and entrusted him with saving the world.

    In his mind¡¯s eye, he pictured [Do You Accept The Quest to Save The World Y/N] written on a blue screen hovering in front of him.

    Kento looked up at the Archmage. "Old man," he said quietly, "I think you might be right¡­"

    ¡°Eat the stew.¡± The Mage stopped him. ¡°You are drained, it¡¯s fine to have a bit of mental disarray when you are. We will start tomorrow morning, so rest, and don¡¯t try to use magic...¡±

    Kento mentally pressed the button Y he imagined to himself.

    He was going on a quest.

 Chapter 31: Ledas : Kingsman

    Chapter 31: Ledas : Kingsman

    Ledas fell into his thoughts outside of the Wraith''s office. He knew nothing about hero summoning aside from the fact that the Thalassian Emperor was summoned and that he was a potent magical healer of sorts.

    There were rumors spread by bards that Zarat¡¯s king and Elsomere have summoned one hero each this year and that half a year ago Catfolk¡¯s hero won in battle against Zion¡¯s. He had no idea what they fought over though. He surmised that there were five of whose existence he knew about, without any idea why they were summoned.

    Knowing he had to conduct such a ritual was jarring. The ritual looked convoluted: a lot of small extra effects affected the summoned person, and in the setup phase there were a lot of variables already written down, without any description of what they did. Some functions looked like they were leading to something outside of the ritual itself.

    ¡°What if I fuck it up by an accident? Will they hang me? They will hang me! Olaf, what the fuck have I done!?¡± he completely zoned out.

    He tried to figure out the few new functions he could remember but hadn¡¯t encountered before. That said, when he began he felt something unexpecting. He was excited like he was when his father would give him lessons.

    He felt the need to assert to himself that everything will be fine by recalling the week¡¯s events.

    ¡°I barged into the mage¡¯s examination. Nailed it, got hired, got a battlemage as a combat trainer, amazing garbs, a place to live in comfort, and a high salary. Performed a ritual on a massive. Now I will perform The legendary ritual of summoning an otherworldly hero, or even many. I am cool as fuck! If my father could see that¡­¡±

    His expression turned sour as his self affirmation talk failed.

    Smoothy patted him on the shoulder. "So you got assigned an etiquette teacher?"

    "Yeah," Ledas nodded, trying to get back to the current moment.

    "Sad, ain¡¯t it? Any ideas on why?" Smoothy tilted his head sideways.

    "I scared the tailor, and guards, not to mention that accidental joke to Baron Karian yesterday."

    "So you ARE self-aware!" Smoothy pretended to clear the sweat from his forehead." Just don''t fuck up in front of the King or Generals. They won''t be as accommodating."

    "I''ll do my best."

    "Your best is terrible. Most villagers have better manners than you. Come, I''ll show you how to bow properly before your teacher arrives."

    "Is bowing that important?" Ledas sounded confused.

    "Oh, gods! I knew you were a vagabond, but I didn¡¯t know you were a vagrant!" Smoothy was moving at a faster and faster pace.

    ¡°You know I am not local, right?¡± Ledas found a good excuse for himself.

    ¡°Of course, I know. You speak with an elven accent.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Ledas was in the Elven nation of Mirage for less than a month a decade ago, he didn¡¯t speak like an elf.

    ¡°No, I am messing with you. Though the way you drink I can tell you were in Darbin and Thessalia¡±

    ¡°You looked at what I told Wraith?¡± Ledas squinted at him.

    ¡°You added ice to brandy, it is a Thessalia thing, we add herbs in Arshakion. You dipped bread into the beer a couple of times, only dwarves in Darbin do something so foul.¡± Smoothy mimed the dipping action.

    ¡°Do you have a book of strange habits?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I do. Issued to all agents. You spent at least a few years in Zarat and Partha. That¡¯s why you know the language almost without a discernible accent, but don¡¯t know local customs.¡±

    ¡°When you''re traveling as I did, learning the language is more important than knowing local customs.¡±

    "Then I''ll have to teach you how to prostrate yourself asking forgiveness when you inevitably fuck it all up!" Smoothy patted the mage on the shoulder.

    Ledas ignored the jab. "Do you think they''ll allow me to take the beast''s skull for target practice?"

    Smoothy ignored the question ¡°I skipped breakfast, and it''s noon. Order something to eat for me too. Preferably pork ribs¡­¡±

    The day went quite smoothly. His quarters were already prepared when he got there. Two floors: the bottom one - a big circular room for rituals and work, and the top one - personal quarters with a bed, wardrobe room, mostly empty magical wine shelves, and a dining table.

    Ledas would have loved to look around and pay attention to his new residence, but he felt uneasy under surveillance.

    He had dinner with the spy attached to him. Right after, it took him around half an hour to figure out how to bow properly to different people, and how to prostrate in a ¡°Don¡¯t kill me please¡± pose.

    Training with Baron Karian in the ¡®cistern¡¯ was shorter, but magically draining. The baron showed him how to use state of art barrier spells, not the half-century outdated ones Ledas used. Ledas felt like it was an extremely complicated version of the ¡®Catch¡¯ game. Karian was aiming slightly off target and telegraphing his spells, but nevertheless, it was a scary experience to catch elemental spells at full speed even with a barrier.

    ¡°Each basic attack spell is in use. There are 14 popular ones, and you should be able to cast the defense or counter instinctively. Understood?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Sir.¡± Ledas spoke only with ¡°Understood,¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°No, Sir,¡± luckily for him, Karian explained everything in the simplest of possible terms, because he had no idea what to say when he failed to understand, nor did Karian ask questions.

    ¡°Are you going to keep the Yes/No/Understood?¡±

    ¡°Yessir.¡± Ledas wasted to give a salute, but he had no idea which salute it was appropriate to give, so he just streighted up.

    ¡°Good. No lessons tomorrow. Join the knight at their training the day after. Tom will be your caretaker.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± Ledas said and bowed.

    Lessons with an Etiquette teacher started after the sunset. The instructor arranged a play where he pretended to be the king and asked Ledas to act accordingly. That way he could see how Ledas would act to fix problems as they appeared.

    ¡°Don¡¯t put your hands behind your back¡±, ¡°Keep your back straight¡± He would instruct.

    ¡°Knee should be at a straight angle when you kneel.¡± He would adjust his student¡¯s position.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bow while you kneel, that¡¯s what you do when admitting guilt!¡± He would order.

    ¡°When you kneel, put your hands on the knee and look directly at the king. Good!¡± And sometimes he would smile.

    ¡°There is no need to keep your eyes open, you can blink!¡± Only for that smile to disappear when he would palm his face.

    ¡±Don¡¯t address Arshakion as ¡®My Liege¡¯ before he takes you in service, that¡¯s the first you should

    say. Arshakion is like a title, but when you address him you should not use it, all rulers of the land for the last 340 years took the name Arshakion after Arshak the First.¡±

    ¡°When you address the king and generals, use Sire, not sir!¡±

    ¡°Now let''s memorize all the people you have to call Sire.¡± He would show a prepared list with visual descriptions of the people mentioned.

    ¡°You can address all lower nobles as ¡®Paron¡¯ and higher ones as ¡®Minister¡¯¡±

    ¡°During the formal meeting, there will be only a few women, for all of them ¡®Lady¡¯ will suffice¡±

    ¡°DON¡¯T SCRATCH YOUR FACE!¡± He would occasionally beg Ledas.

    ¡°Did you just cast a self-calming spell on yourself? The throne room is protected from unauthorized magic. You won¡¯t be able to cast it.¡±

    ¡°Smoothy, did you just teach him how to bow properly!? That¡¯s a good job! Did you teach him how to prostrate?¡±

    ¡°With such a good apology pose he will be fine. Just don¡¯t talk too much and you will be fine.¡±

    ¡°HANDS OUT OF THE POCKETS!¡±

    The lesson ended after midnight, but Ledas felt that it took an eternity. It felt so tiring that he couldn¡¯t remember how he fell asleep.

    Ledas woke up under heavy and warm blankets. He went to the big mirror in his new bedroom. He forgot to close the curtains at night, so when morning came, the sun crept through the big window and lit the room.

    He looked in the mirror to find that he was still quite warm, the room itself was warm. He looked almost fine, he smiled widely to his face. Well, his lips looked a bit pale.

    He finally had a chance to look at the room properly.

    The top floor had a bedroom, wardrobe room, and bathroom with impressive plumbing and magical heating, though without any valves and levers. It took Ledas a couple of minutes to figure out that it was a magical device and another five how to use it. When he poured a bit of magic into it the water came, and some experimenting made the bath produce bubbles.

    Ledas assumed he broke it until he remembered that he read something about that in a book called "Summoned Heroes: How Otherworlder''s Technology Affected Industrialization" by Ignacius Cole.

    Ignacius Cole - the ex-court mage from the Mages guild whom Ledas no longer hated. He felt that the only reason he and Olaf stayed alive and not buried under the rubble in Vishap¡¯s Belly¡¯s stables was the paranoia the mage had. Yes, it was a coincidence, but he didn¡¯t care much.

    He looked around the bottom floor which was just one massive study with bookshelves along the walls. Cole left at least ten books he authored here. Was it hubris or a gift for the future court mage? Ledas didn¡¯t know.

    ¡°Aerobath is a mundane invention brought by Hero Mateo, something he requested a magical craftsman to build for him. Arcane Variant commonly used runs on magic, so only concept can be attributed to him, the actual invention was performed by a group of dwarf mages from Darbin¡¯s office of the Guild.¡±

    Ledas returned to exploring. Sadly for him, the wardrobe contained only a dozen hats of all sizes, bathrobes, and towels.

    Ledas took good care of himself and went downstairs where Smoothy was sleeping on a couch waking up instantly when Ledas stepped down the last ladder.

    ¡°Morning, Court Mage.¡±

    ¡°Morning, Court Mage¡¯s assigned watcher.¡±

    ¡°Hey! I am also assigned as your personal bodyguard and personal reminder.¡±

    ¡°hmmm¡­¡±

    ¡°So please keep the time of your awakening and sleeping the same, so we can dismiss Salty when her duty is over.¡±

    ¡°Salty?¡±

    ¡°Do you think I was looking after you 24/7? I need to sleep too, you know!¡±

    ¡°I have never seen her¡­¡±

    ¡°She is not talkative, plus she is your watcher and bodyguard, not a personali reminder.¡± Smoothy went to the door and knocked a code on it.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Ledas inquired.

    ¡°I told her that you are up, so her duty ends for today.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡±

    ¡°Are you going to do what a lot?¡± Smoothy started to put on his boots.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Oh-ing¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Ledas covered his face with his hand ¡±You are right.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go for the breakfast¡±

    ¡°I thought they would bring it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s too early for nobles to wake up. We are going to the kitchen to earth with servants.¡±

    This time, it went smoother; no one was visibly tense by his presence. Others still didn¡¯t initiate any conversations aside from ¡°Good Morning¡± s and ¡°We have chicken soup and Otherworldly pancakes. What would you like?¡±

    ¡°Better eh?¡± Smoothy grinned.

    ¡°Yes, at least people are not frozen in fear due to my presence.¡± Ledas put a piece of bread into his soup. Despite not conversing with other people he felt that no one minded him, which made him feel relaxed.

    ¡°I am not amazing?¡±

    ¡°It feels like that gold piece was worth it. Can I ask you for something?¡±

    ¡°Go on¡±

    ¡°My friend didn¡¯t know I would be staying in the castle for so long, he is probably worried at the moment that I didn¡¯t come back yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Oh, the brute-looking guy, Olaf, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡±

    ¡°Already done. He didn¡¯t ask questions. Maybe cause scared the shit out of his colleagues.¡± Otherworldy pancakes quickly moved from Smoothy¡¯s plate into his mouth. ¡°Nervous?¡±

    ¡°About meeting the King?¡±

    ¡°Yup!¡±

    ¡°I figured out the way to prostrate correctly, if I fuck up royally it will be your boss''s issue, not mine.¡± Ledas smiled nervously.

    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe he hired you despite what I wrote in my report¡­¡± Before Ledas could ask Smoothy continued ¡°That you are mentally handicapped and lack common sense.¡±

    ¡°Why did he even select me?¡± Ledas never believed the justification that Wraith gave. ¡°I saw other mages at work in the barrier room. They were not incompetent, just a bit lazy and unenthusiastic.¡±

    ¡°The mage who checked the results said that your ritual language was drastically better than anyone else¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Ledas turned his head to the side. ¡°Are you joking again?¡±

    ¡°You learn quickly.¡± Smoothy grinned.

    ¡°I have a good teacher.¡± Ledas smiled with a wide genuine smile as threw a simple telekinesis spell under the table making one of the ¡®otherworldly¡¯ pancakes from Smoothy¡¯s table fly towards him while Smoothy wasn¡¯t watching.

    ¡°Thief!¡± Smoothy snatched the thing mid-air as it almost reached his ward¡¯s mouth. ¡°Mine! Well, I¡¯ll be taking you away, until you stop your thieving ways.¡± Smoothy spoke in a sarcastic lighthearted manner.

    People around looked confused, with a couple of them giggling and chuckling.

    After they left the kitchen the spy leaned forward and whispered ¡°Kid, you do stupid things when you are anxious. It will get you killed if you don¡¯t learn how to manage that. There are some new schools of healer¡¯s of mind, some say they are better than priests.¡±

    Ledas¡¯s face grew pale. He agreed with Smoothy¡¯s assessment. ¡°Do you get books on these types of things too?¡±

    ¡°I will be able to answer that question after Arshakion becomes your liege and you take the oath.¡±

    The preparation for the meeting with the king felt strange. He was offered a maid to help him take a bath, but he quickly declined, arguing that Ignacius Cole left his perfectly fine bath with bubbles.

    A barber came to his room and seated him in front of a mirror. He tried to comb Ledas¡¯ hair, only to comment that it was improperly cut, and took out scissors.

    ¡­

    ¡°Hey, Ledas, do you like having hair that long?¡± Ledas remembered how Flynn would offer to cut his hair on the first day he joined the troupe.

    ¡°Is there something wrong with it?¡± Ledas asked the kid. He was maybe a couple of years younger than him.

    ¡°Yeah, it hides your face, and we performers trade our faces as Anmir said?¡±Flynn seated Ledas and took out scissors.

    ¡°Anmir?¡± Ledas asked the boys.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know him, he was leading the troupe before Olaf had to step in.¡±

    ¡°What happened to him?¡±

    ¡°Woman took him away from us¡­¡± Flynn said with a dramatic tone and removed an imaginary tear from under his eye.

    ¡°He knocked up a hot girl in a village in the south Partha. Her father almost lynched him there.¡±

    ¡°...¡± Ledas didn¡¯t properly understand what that meant.

    ¡°Now he¡¯s a farmer there, raisin triplets.¡± Arty chuckled at his own words.

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± He only had a vague understanding of what they meant.

    ¡°Just don¡¯t go around knocking up girls with your pretty face of yours¡± The voice of Olaf rang from a distance.

    ¡°I am twelve, don¡¯t you have to be older for that?¡± Ledas objected.

    ¡°Arty¡¯s thirteen, and girls already ask him to do things with them, if not for Anmir¡¯s situation he would have been a father of a few bastards already.¡± The two older boys looked at Ledas who visibly was struggling to put things together and held their laughter.

    They had the ¡®How children are made¡¯ talk with him while Flynn cut his hair and chuckled at Ledas¡¯ reactions when they explained what a ¡®sword-point wedding¡¯ was. That was an important talk that his father had completely forgone.

    ¡­

    ¡°Magister, do you like it?¡±

    Ledas looked around. He zoned out again. He was in his room with the barber standing behind him.

    ¡°Fi¡­¡± Ledas wanted to call Finn and ask his opinion on what Flynn did with his hair this time. But it wasn¡¯t Flynn. The image of battered corpses lying in the rubble posessed his mind. He felt his stomach churn. A surge of bile filled his mouth, causing searing pain to radiate through his chest and throat as he gulped it back.

    He signed the stylist to go downstairs with his hand, which the man instantly obeyed.

    He had retched in the bathroom and washed his mouth. The acrid taste lingered on his tongue.

    Smoothy¡¯s suggestion to get a mind healer or a priest sounded like an amazing idea at that moment.

    He washed his mouth and looked in the mirror. The barber did a haircut and waxed it to make everything sleek. Before heading out to the king the barber adjusted his hair and clothes once again without saying a word. Ledas calmed down, but he was still dizzy.

    When he entered the throne room no one was there but guards. A guard at one of the doors further made a sign to him to approach and pass through the door.

    There were five people in the war room discussing something passionately.

    Two massive and muscular men dominated the room like big bears. One of whom Ledas recognized from the descriptions as the King Arshakion or King of Arshakion, or just Arshakion, the other was his cousin; General Drakon who felt even more imposing.

    An image of the general piercing the primal beast''s neck, delivering the death blow popped in his mind he shuddered, too many reminders in one day.

    ¡°Why are you standing there with your mouth open? Get in,¡± Drakon barked at him.

    Ledas hadn¡¯t noticed his jaw-dropping. ¡°Yes, Sire.¡± He exhaled that he got it correctly, the general was a Sire.

    ¡°Is that the brat you got?¡± Drakon¡¯s voice was as low and aggressive as it can get. ¡°You didn¡¯t mention he is twelve!¡± Drakon exaggerated.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Wraith was calm, and compared to the king and his brother who were good two meters he looked¡­ small.

    ¡°So you bet ten talents of gold on a kid?¡± Drakon bellowed.

    Ledas calculated in his mind. Ten talents of gold were 300 kilograms or thousand big gold coins or ten thousand small gold coins. He earned 6 small gold coins a month - 3 grams each. That was a great salary. He would have to work over a thousand years to earn that much gold. ¡°Is the ritual that expansive¡± he thought ¡°they will hang me if I fail¡­¡± his knees weakened.

    ¡°I told you who his grandfather is, plus he has already proved himself competent with the barrier.¡± Wraith grinned.

    Ledas felt that everything happening here was some kind of light political sparring.

    The king appraised Ledas and listened to these debates, along with two others whom Ledas recognized as Treasury Minister and Infrastructure Minister.

    ¡°You said they are not even related. He looks nothing like Ledas Sanders.¡± Drakon looked at Ledas and paused. ¡°Actually¡­ no. I can sense a similarity here.¡±

    ¡°Huh¡­¡± Ledas¡¯ eyes went wide. He didn¡¯t look much like his father, his father had darker skin and black hair. Well, it looked to him that the General was seeing things that were not there.

    ¡°Where did you get him?¡± General no longer spoke aggressively, but still was quite loud.

    ¡°Alfy recommended him. I think your daughter asked him to do that.¡± Wraith slightly changed his posture.

    Ledas looked around. It was a medium-sized room with no windows and a map in the center around which the men stood. It was the most detailed three-dimensional map he had seen, his eyes defaulted to it. He was afraid to look at the General or anyone else in the room.

    ¡°Does he have the factor himself?¡± Drakon sounded quite calm.

    ¡°Haven¡¯t checked.¡±

    ¡°WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN¡¯T!¡±

    Ledas stood there without understanding what people meant.

    ¡°He is too weak to have it.¡± Wraith yawned.

    ¡°And there I thought you¡­¡±

    ¡°Enough!¡± The king¡¯s voice was ringing, and the two stopped arguing immediately. Arshakion looked at Ledas who stood frozen and smiled ¡°Drakon, you scared the kid so much he forgot to kneel!¡±

    Ledas panicked as he quickly kneeled. His inner voice was in even more panic ¡°Should I kneel or kneel with my head down?! AAAAAAAAAAA whattodowhattodoaaaaa¡±

    "He ended up prostrating himself on the ground in the ''Don''t kill me, please'' position.

    He prayed in his heart ¡°Mother Of Mercy, I know I wasn¡¯t the best of your followers but please send me to Noritz, I am a kid after all, I am only fifteen, never laid with a woman, haven¡¯t even kissed, so I am not a man, just a kid¡­¡±

    Ledas heard Wrait¡¯s voice right in his ear and shuddered, whispering to him ¡°No, don¡¯t prostrate, kneel with your head up!¡±

    ¡°Kneel¡± King said with a mellow and deep voice.

    Ledas quickly lifted himself into a kneel and tried to look at the king who looked even more intimidating from that angle.

    The king was more than twice his size, his face and hands covered in a few old scars. His black hair and beard were as thick and manly as they could get.

    He put his hands open in front of Ledas. Ledas put his small shaking hands in the big and firm hands of the king. ¡°Drakon, the kid is so scared he can¡¯t speak!¡±

    General Drakon laughed in response. ¡°Let¡¯s hope I don¡¯t scare him too much; he won''t be able to perform a ritual.¡±

    Ledas understood that he had to start reading the oath. ¡°I Ledas Runewards, do..¡±

    ¡°Real family name,¡± the King interrupted him. ¡°There is no need to hide your name in this room.¡±

    Ledas stood for a second. He wanted to say Zanderian, but it was a fake one too. He remembered what General Drakon said about him looking like Ledas Sanders.

    ¡°I Ledas Sanders, do solemnly swear upon my honour and blood to be faithful and true to my liege Arshakion.¡±

    The naming convention of Arshakion was uncommon, as the etiquette instructor had explained. Usually swearing fealty meant you swear it to the person and their heirs, but Arshakion who was this king¡¯s father and Arshakion¡¯s future kids when they were crowned would be just Arshakion and considered the same person, and he was the country and knew all his predecessors knew. Most of the kings crowned heirs while still alive and stopped wearing the name. So he swore to the country, the king, future kings, and previous kings at the same time.

    ¡°I shall serve him well in a manner his wisdom will see fit, uphold his laws, and¡­¡± Ledas got distracted for a second when Drakon burped loudly. ¡°I shall bear him no ill will or harm, nor conspire against my liege.¡± He missed a few lines in between and stammered through another, and he could see the Wraith facepalm slowly every single time. Ledas thought about prostrating again but stopped himself.

    ¡°Well, that was a terrible swearing of oath,¡± King stated blankly ¡°We will repeat after you finish your work. When you succeed it will be another oath, but as of a nobleman.¡±

    Ledas was looking at the King, not moving his gaze, remembering to blink. ¡°I will do my best.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± King put a ring on Ledas¡¯ index finger. It was slightly big but shrunk to Ledas¡¯ finger size.

    Ledas looked at it. It was silver with something small written on it with golden lines forming a spell and a text. It read as ¡°I Serve In Glory!¡±. The spell was too complex to figure out instantly though.

    ¡°You are no longer required, documents on the ritual will be in your study, proceed immediately.¡±

    Ledas left the room at a quick pace.

    "So, how much time do we have before we will have to summon and leak out that we have a hero?" The king asked his ministers.

    ¡°A month, I think,¡± Wraith responded.

    ¡°And another to spread it,¡± the Infrastructure Minister added.

    ¡°Zarat¡¯s new hero is a young woman, why are you ignoring that?¡± General Drakon looked displeased. ¡°It takes way more time to make a woman into a killing tool. Give that brat more time to do the ritual properly, why am I concerned about treasury and Ashot is not?¡± He looked at the Treasury Minister.

    ¡°If the ritual fails money isn¡¯t going to be spent at all. With all due respect, Wraith; I don¡¯t believe a knockoff version of Ledas Sanders is going to make it work. I know you pay a lot of attention to the ancestry, but this is a scared kid, and without an otherworlder¡¯s factor it doesn¡¯t matter much who his ancestors are.¡±

 Chapter 32: George: Down the Rabbit Hole

    Chapter 32: George: Down the Rabbit Hole

    "I thought you understood that I would be the one asking questions," Noritz said in a gentle, but slightly sharp manner. The mystery of what or who a Zero was was not something the goddess was willing to answer at the moment.

    It looked like I would have to deduce things on my own.

    ¡°I should first organize everything I had just experienced,¡± My inner narrator in a James Bond voice wrote down everything in my memory.

    Observations:

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">She is emotional, anthropomorphic to the point where there are almost no differences between her and a normal, though divinely beautiful, human. The so-called dragon was also humanoid but way less so. Not enough information to state for sure, I need to check if she is indeed a human.</li>

    </ol>

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">The stars move relative to each other in the sky; either we are in a space where time flies very fast, or, what is more possible - the sky is not real, but either a ceiling, a hologram. It must be something so high-tech I can''t understand it.</li>

    </ol>

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">When she said that she wanted to kill Aki whatever his family name was, her facial expressions correlated with her stated intentions. For one reason or another, she is participating in this human trafficking operation but doesn''t have full control over it, or can''t kill for a reason I am unaware of.</li>

    </ol>

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">There is something about her and Ryu that I don''t see, and they expect to see. The Aki kid didn''t see her face, and Ryu thought that I should feel something. My current assumption is that I am, for one reason or another, immune to some illusions or magical effects. My assumption - is that Ryu expected me to feel something specific, thus - most people see and feel whatever I don''t.</li>

    </ol>

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">She made this freak boy disappear and gave him vampiric fangs. A crystal appeared before the summoning. When she gave the boon, she put her hand into the fold where she put the crystal. She controls the rules of the world in this space, but her control is limited.</li>

    </ol>

    She is not omnipotent here; she could have just fixed the brain issues of the guy, but she didn''t, most likely it''s not about the power of the effect, but its complexity. Growing fangs or making him disappear - which I assume was some kind of a wormhole thing from sci-fi shows - didn''t strain her.

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">The crystal and this whole place evoke familiarity.</li>

    </ol>

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Ryu the Dragon said that he is moving me to a better world; he was speaking literally.</li>

    </ol>

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Her and Ryu''s attitudes indicate that whatever I know shouldn''t lead to me getting killed. It''s more like there''s too much of a power difference between us for her to care. I am an ant here, and unlike Aki, there seems to be no contractual obligation towards me, as she said I am not qualified to be sent instead of the pervert kid."</li>

    </ol>

    I wanted to arrange all my thoughts nicely and neatly in my mind, hyperfocusing on each detail, but I was out of time and my mental strain was growing.

    She wanted to listen to my story and all I know. I was recalling my training.

    ¡®Lying 101 a comprehensive guide to deception¡¯ Page 15: "Live the lie, but know that a lie is just what it is a lie."

    I told my story to Noritz. I was friendly; I convinced myself I was telling a story to a friend.

    I made myself believe that we were friends and acted like one. If she was human, there was a big chance she would get infected by my act and act according to it.

    Lying 101, Page 4: "The strongest lie is the one that the person comes up with himself." In other words, omit things you want people to build theories on, the theory I was given is that I wasn''t investigating human trafficking she was participating in, and in case she could talk with Ryu there shouldn''t be anything he could use against the people I care about.

    It omitted names; family members or friends were not mentioned; a strange AI tool Josh had was changed to a social media post. I was investigating what I assumed to be murder cases and met the assumed murderer head-on.

    I didn''t voice my assumption that she was getting a cut from what I saw before. I skipped the unethical parts of things I did; in that story, I never spiked people''s drinks nor broke into inhabited houses. I skipped each detail which would indicate that I was a trained spy at some point.

    Every detail I gave was something the so-called dragon would be able to gather using his vast resources anyway.

    It took me around ten minutes to tell the gist and another five for the interaction with Ryu, on which I went into great detail, omitting the part where I knocked out one of his foot soldiers. This was something Ryu should be able to tell her, so there were no risks involved there.

    "So you are indeed a Zero," Noritz hummed.

    "That''s what this Ryu guy told me. What''s the deal with being a zero?" I gently inquired, pretending that we were having a conversation, not an interrogation.

    "The magical power of someone who comes from your world to the world of the arcane is dependent on belief," I think at some moment she forgot that she was planning to interrogate me. "Living on earth while believing is like high altitude training on the tallest mountain, and those who believe and visualize their beliefs through magic are able to turn it into reality when they get here."

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    "So why am I a zero?" I inquired.

    Observation 9: Noritz got emotionally infected, which means that most likely she has a human-like brain with mirror neurons; all other explanations are less reasonable.

    "It looks like you never believed in gods or magic, you never fantasized about something that''s impossible, and your mind never trained, so you are ''disconnected'' from magic. You will be the second one on the whole Terra Arcana who is a zero."

    "And on Earth?" I acted like I was very interested in whatever Noritz would say.

    I didn''t believe her explanation, all people fantasize and believe. ''Magical'' thinking was a universal human trait. I reflected on my disbelief in her words for a brief second, but I had to keep track of what she was saying.

    "Don''t know, shouldn''t be uncommon among non-believers, after all, Earth is mostly disconnected from Gods and Magic." Noritz looked uninterested in Earth and admitted that she doesn''t know how exactly things work.

    "Oh, What about the other one, why would Ryu summon him?" I shifted the discussion, the second person could be a good source of information.

    "He wasn''t summoned, broke in, using a path only Vishaps knew. Not sure if he is zero for the same reason you are." She became tense when answering this one, the illusion of our friendship was about to crumble so I skipped the topic.

    I have heard of vishaps; those were dragons in Armenian mythology my father would tell bedtime stories about. I''d have to recall all I know about them later.

    She continued.

    "Aside from being unable to use magic or getting their attributes enhanced when getting here, zeros are immune to magic targeting any living beings, as for most magic in this world you are an item, not a person. Even magic which allows us to teach local languages to people who arrive here doesn''t work on you. Moreover, you haven¡¯t created a blessing that comes with coming to this world, so it will be a harsh ride."

    It clicked. I looked up into the fake sky, into a goddess who was neither omnipotent nor omniscient. I had a grin appearing on my face. I noticed it too late, so I threw a distraction.

    "So I can rest free knowing magic won''t hurt me?" My grin had to be explained, so I feigned slight ignorance.

    "And won''t heal you either. But an explosion will still kill you." Noritz stated something strange. I was healed when I got here, my chest wound and bruises are no longer present. But when she tried to talk to me her magic didn''t work. Neither did language translation on me.

    "So what''s the point of all these accidents and fake reincarnations?" I asked the goddess in a neutral tone.

    "That''s none of your business." Our friendship was over. But it still wasn''t an investigation.

    "I have to learn local languages on my own as I understand, while others don''t."

    "Yes."

    "And I don''t get any boons like that perv kid." I did the oldest trick in the universe one can call ''Let''s hate someone together''.

    "There was a man who declined his; you can take his," She showed me a crystal looking like salt, and my head throbbed. I for a second remembered something I forgot.

    There was a spectral image of a crying girl asking me to investigate her death, afraid to be forgotten. I shuddered with goosebumps covering my whole body.

    Observation 10: I perceived and ignored a magical encounter with Misaki Arashi at the same time, despite it giving me a sense of urgency.

    Observation 11: Some targeted magic sees me as a person, while others don''t. It''s most likely not about the power of said magic. This so-called magic follows strict rules, and has to, and the goddess''s explanation of how otherworlders get power is most likely wrong.

    "Where is Misaki Arashi? I saw a ghost of a girl; she called me with a stone like this one." I felt like this memory was always with me, but distant at the same time.

    "I thought she just squandered her boon," The goddess stopped her work and started treating me as the content on her second monitor. I had her full interest now. She shouted something into the floor, making clouds part. "Michael, Arashiin ??? ?? ???????" The tone of a boss talking with a secretary was unmistakable.

    "Zarat," a man shouted back from under the clouds.

    "Capital of Zarat," she reiterated.

    "I guess I''ll pay her a visit; it''s not like I have a direction, aside from looking for a way back."

    "What can this thing do?" I looked at the crystal she offered me.

    "A lot." Noritz almost lost interest in the conversation, so I took the crystal.

    "It was nice meeting you," I tried to close the conversation, as the longer it went, the more tired and prone to mistakes I was. I wasn¡¯t in the greatest shape after all that happened anyway.

    She didn''t respond, just waved her hand for a goodbye.

    My body felt like it was getting squeezed and stretched again. I was not in the cherry cloudy space. I was five meters long, and my head felt like it was rolling inside a washing machine, bumping on each ridge inside.

    All I saw were lines of light, distorted and bent. My vestibular system was all over the place, and when I tried to make sense of things, I had the worst headache in my life. If I would have had dinner, I would have lost it. I closed my eyes and allowed the ride to proceed. My vestibular system completely shut off in a few minutes as I lost sense of the weight in my body.

    I opened my eyes again. This journey wasn''t something others could see. I was flying quite high in the sky over an endless ocean in a tight tube which was deforming my body and zigzaging from time to time. Everything was blurred and distorted.

    I wrote down all the observations I had kept to myself and the results:

    Result of Observations: Highly speculative. Do not use them as facts!

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Noritz is an altered human, and Ryu is too. How exactly - don''t know.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Magic power is not about belief, it''s about readiness to accept another world and/or its magic. That is why Ryu was using trucks and publishing portal fantasy books. It''s a trope in Japanese novels and comics. Ryu¡¯s people hit me with a truck. Me and the other zero came while conscious, that¡¯s probably what made the difference.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Misaki. I read the article on the day when she was ''cremated'', considering the hour, it was around 4-5 AM in Japan. Her request was to not be forgotten. How did she and the crystal find me? Magic is not a good enough answer. </li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">The crystal could interpret her will and look for me in the real world. I might have been the only person who read the article at that moment or thought about her. That means computing power on a supercomputer level or higher with either access to the internet, or at least temporary omniscience.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">I am an item in the eyes of this world and even gods. Dragon''s spells don''t work on me!</li>

    </ol>

    I chuckled when I jotted the last point and put my notebook back into the inner pocket.

    I flew over swaths of the ocean for hours. It eventually changed into blurry landscapes I couldn¡¯t recognise, but I felt drained and hungry. I wanted to wake up and learn that everything was a strange dream.

    I reflected on last week.

    I lost connection to my family, my home, and my world. In the end, I got lost so far away that I won''t be found by normal means.

    I knew why I acted the way I did. I tried to get back my small leverage of changing the world, I tried to help a crying kid.

    And at that moment, I hated myself for not taking the dull MI6 office job.

 Chapter 33: Misaki Arashi: Aya

    From George''s notes (updated during long flight in the tube):

    Misaki Arashi - mixed-race high school student at Tokugawa Elite from a rich family. An overachiever without any friends. According to Ryu she tried to blow off her brains with her late grandfather''s rifle.

    Achievements - Physics and Math Olimpics dual winner. 16. No social media under own name, from the looks of it a loner or someone who hates being in pictures, as facial recognition found no pictures of her in any of TEA students'' social accounts aside from ones where the whole class was. Interestingly it looks like she liked getting pictures taken during championships, including selfies with other contestents which I found on their accounts.

    Identifying her peers there were not any mentions of her passing away, but it can mean too many possible things.

    Preliminary assumption of her is of being a loner without friends in shool - most likely confirmed. Maybe aside from couple of teachers I talked with in TEA.

    Family belongs to banking elite, almost no public information on them aside from assets, I stopped counting after first 10m$.

    Misc: there was a popular pop band called Arashi. Not connected to Arashi banking family, but I liked their music, added it to my playlist.

    From a perspective of an ex-intelligence worker; prime material for a spy given some training in soft skills. Well, it doesn''t really matter now that I know what actually happened...

    I probably should pay her a visit to check up on her before I find a way back to earth, I hope this Zarat place is not on the other side of the globe.

    Wearing a three piece suite is not the best outfit for travelling in a tube, at least air is moving around me so I don''t get stinky...

    ____________________

    Misaki looked around sluggishly. She was standing on a decorated carpet with some geometrical shapes woven into it, feeling the coarse surface of the tightly knit fiber touching her bare feet.

    She was standing straight, but it felt strange, almost as though she was forced to be upright. When she inhaled, the air was uncomfortably warm and moist.

    "It worked!" someone shouted in a language Misaki somehow knew.

    "Of course it did. Send the messenger!" another man shouted.

    Misaki looked around as her eyes regained focus. Around a dozen people occupied the roughly 40-square-meter, windowless room. Most, but four next to her wore armor, helmets and had swords and stood at the distance. They looked scary, as their faces were covered with dark shawls. The four close to her were almost naked, as if they came straight from a beach, tanned and fit.

    Misaki''s eyes widened; the four surrounded her, examining her from different angles, and the ears... all four had wolf ears. She felt herself in a generic Isekai with a cliche story, and a boring protagonist. Maybe a male protagonist would have enjoyed the way women dressed here.

    "How are you feeling?" an older female with wolf ears and golden earrings asked.

    "Fine?" Misaki responded, slightly twitching.

    "Looking so long at someone''s ears is not polite here," commented a younger male with deep grey eyes whose ears were being investigated by Misaki.

    Misaki averted her gaze as ordered.

    "Of course she looks, there are no kins in her world," the younger female interrupted gently looking at Misaki. "Look as much as you want, heroine!"

    "Where am I?" Misaki looked towards the only light source - the violet crystal at the ceiling emanating white light.

    "You are in ¡®safe facility number 11¡¯. This is a secure and protected place. A day''s travel from the capital of our glorious country," the older man said. He had a black beard and a few smiling wrinkles on his face. "We are awaiting escort now, to the palace."

    "Palace?" Misaki had imagined this scene quite differently in her daily 20 minutes of daydreaming on the way home; her fantasy didn''t have logistics issues and day-long travels on the day of the arrival.

    Well, at least it wasn¡¯t a battle royale style of a story type she had a distaste for.

    "Yes, to meet the Emperor of Zarat. Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Lord of Spells Lu, and this is my son <<Knight>> Lycarion," pointing at the handsome young man," and daughter <<wizard>> Theodora and my <<wizard>> <<wife>> Deminana."

    Misaki understood each word in this unknown language she had heard. Though words <<Knight>>, <<Wizard>> and <<Wife>> in her mind didn''t make complete sense, as if her mind defaulted to some type of a warrior and some type of a magic user. She understood the text but not the context behind the words.

    The man looked barely thirty, and his children around seventeen. It was jarring for her, the possibilities of how it was possible were plenty, so she stopped herself from assuming things.

    These were strange tanned people with wolf ears in front of her.

    "And the others are bodyguards?" Misaki decided to forgo asking about how old the people in front of her were, it might have been impolite.

    "Mostly correct, but we will be waiting for a bigger retinue for our travels," Demiana answered her.

    Misaki saw everyone in the whole room looking at her, waiting for something. Her name.

    She stalled time a bit. She felt as if a blue window was opened in front of her asking her to fill in "Name?".

    There was a memory from years back. A schoolmate gave his handheld to her, so she could try Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess, before claiming that video games were stupid. She spent ten minutes that time, so the boy who gave her the console just accepted the default ''Link'' option.

    The default name wasn''t Link this time though. It was Misaki Arashi.

    Was she planning to be a Beautiful Blooming Storm? Her mind translated her name to the new language she now spoke. She could tell that Storm wasn''t a name in the language she was speaking.

    "Do you have some water?" she stalled for more time.

    She contemplated about surname Tempest, but she hated that slime character and how easy it was for him... All the languages in her mind became a mess. Whenever she thought of a word, she would think of the closest word in languages she knew, and somehow she knew way more languages than she did before.

    It was one thing to read about people being able to speak new languages when reincarnated, it was different to have a mess in your own head while trying to create a name for a character you are going to play for your whole life.

    She wanted to go with Zelda; she always liked how the name sounded. She tensed up. No, the question was not in the name, or how it sounded. The question was about the legacy of the Arashi family. Legacy of people who won¡¯t even think about her three days after she died.

    Painful. She felt bitter. Her ashes lay for less than a week and no one she knew thought of her. She remembered daydreaming of this, and there she was, but she felt no excitement somehow.

    "Sorry, I am figuring out how to translate it," Misaki continued to drag on the time.

    "Take your time, darling," Damiana said in a motherly voice, "We know that heroes take time to make up names for themselves, as our languages differ."

    She liked the way her name sounded, and it didn''t correspond to any bad word in any language she knew. But she felt bitter that nothing she ever did was enough for Arashi, and almost no one used her first name.

    An image appeared in her head: If she chose Zelda, there was a chance that Nintendo would come and drag her back to Japan, and there would be a court case to sue her for copyright infringement¡­

    She smiled to herself, at the image she made.

    She started mumbling to herself in Japanese; there had to be a pattern in the language craze she was experiencing, like there was a pattern on the carpet she was standing on, the clothes of people had these oriental woven patterns too, capturing her attention.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Aya..."

    "That''s a nice name, Aya!" The young handsome battlemage Lycarion wore something like boxers and a colorful shawl, partially covering his chest, so Misaki tried not to look at him.

    "Just let her take her time, Lica," Demiana interrupted her son.

    "Whatever..." she thought to herself. The word referencing the woven pattern sounded quite pleasant if pronounced like a Western name. It felt like this Lica-rion just pressed the ¡®Accept¡¯ button on the random letters she had inputted in the ¡®Name¡¯ section.

    She neither minded nor wanted to press the ¡®Back¡¯ button to make another name. Everything was better than making decisions at that moment.

    "Theodora," Demania spoke with a commanding voice, "accompany the heroine to the wardrobe, she must feel incredibly hot in her clothes! Also, that blood on her is dirty? There is no wound, but she needs a bath."

    She looked down and saw that her clothes were still covered in dried blood, her hands were in dried blood too. She felt the remnant of piercing pain in her chest, coming and going like a phantom, leaving a lump in her throat.

    Theodora accompanied Misaki to a bathroom a corridor away. A small red basalt room with a mosaic on the ground, with a brass sink and a chair Misaki was told to sit at.

    The wizardess waved her hands and lines of light appeared coming from her fingertips. She was drawing with magic in the air, chanting something in a mumbling voice.

    "What''s that?"

    "A <<convenience spell>>," Theodora said in a single word.

    Misaki felt something above her, and when she looked there was water gathering into a swirling ball.

    "Close your eyes and hold your breath!"

    "Huh?" She quickly inhaled, as the warm water enveloped her, currents in it moving in opposite directions for a few seconds. She was spinning a little but when she tried to hold on to the chair, she started to spin with it. Her hair covered her face completely and her balance was lost, so she moved her hands chaotically hoping that this strange waterboarding would stop.

    The water moved down, opening her head. "What was that?!" she protested, taking a deep breath in.

    "A quick shower. Mage style. Escort can be any minute, and we have to move quickly. So I will dry you and give you clothes."

    "Why?"

    "Security concerns." Theodora dropped the water ball and proceeded to use hot winds to dry Misaki at an uncomfortable speed.

    The clothes selection wasn''t great either. All clothes dedicated to the hero were for a male, but she still opted for them instead of Theodora''s spares, as male hero''s clothes weren''t akin to halter-bikini bras. That choice didn¡¯t require a lot of mental fortitude.

    The clothes were some oriental-looking red and white fabrics with metal pieces around the collarbone. They were baggy on her, giving her a bit of a fantasy hippy look.

    "You look like a bard, Aya," Theodora commented when Misaki left the room.

    "Thank you!" Misaki smiled.

    "That was not a compliment. Time to go."

    Misaki pressed her lips when Thodora turned back. She wanted to think of a clever retort, but that felt like too much work.

    The group of mages and two dozen guards gathered above, on ground level, in a place with wooden gates and a plain carriage. It was so hot there that Misaki slightly regretted not taking the revealing outfit, as she started sweat. The Lord of Spells grinned gently and chuckled when he saw Misaki''s outfit.

    Her regrets vanished though, when she and the mages entered the unnaturally cool carriage, as if it was a car with an AC turned to the lowest possible temperature. Plain on the outside, it was silk, suede, and gold inside, reminding her of Disney''s Aladdin cartoon.

    "I see you are a little rebel," Lord of Spells Lu finally commented on the outlook of the newly summoned heroine with a warm smile.

    "Cultural preference," Misaki quickly retorted. "Of not being naked," she thought to herself.

    When they rode, she wanted to look outside, but the curtains were closed, and she was asked not to open them for the first few hours. She didn''t want to talk, as she felt completely exhausted after dying twice, and luckily for her, the people in the carriage weren''t initiating discussions either.

    She could see that Lycarion was trying to come up with something a couple of times, but got stern looks from his mother, keeping him silent.

    She slept for a few hours, and when she woke up the curtains were finally opened, revealing hillsides covered in flowers and greens, mountains in the distance, and small villages made of small beige stone houses. A caravan of camels passed near the carriage, but looking around she couldn''t see the escort.

    It was objectively beautiful, she was in a dozen countries in her sixteen, but this was different, as if even the sky had a different tint.

    In a minute, she was in her thoughts she couldn¡¯t remember, but when she snapped out, the feeling of awe had vanished and the world started to look bland.

    "Where are the others?" She asked the mages.

    "If you don''t see them, they are doing their work properly," Master of Spells responded with his calm and mellow voice, raising his eyes from a grimoire he was looking through.

    "Where are we?" She asked.

    Lu looked at his son, giving him a nod, as if allowing him to speak.

    "On the way to Zarat, it won''t be that hot outside if that''s what you are asking. Zarat is in the middle of the mountains, a big trading city on the way from East to West. You will love it when we get there," Lycarion was talking with the voice of a guide. "There, in the distance, you can see the <<castle>> of Alamin, we will be passing it in <<half an hour>> time. The red flowers you see produce an important medicine and a painkiller, popular among those who can''t afford priest''s or mage''s spells."

    Misaki looked carefully at the flowers as the cart passed next to the field; it looked like Papaver somniferum, commonly known as opium poppy. She had a small shiver.

    "Interesting..." Misaki''s blank expression was something she was called heartless for starting in middle school.

    "This road is fortified with magical stone, keeping it smooth, and our travels without a hitch. By the way, if you are getting too cold I can change the weather here." Lycarion had it written on his face that he was expecting at least some reaction.

    The carriage was indeed sailing smoother than a car.

    "It is," Misaki nodded groggily.

    He waved his hands with glitters coming out of his fingers as he chanted for a few seconds and the carriage quickly became warmer.

    "Why don''t we just open the windows?" Misaki inquired. For her, it looked like she was in a car with an AC on when the weather outside seemed just fine.

    "Barrier, the carriage is protected by it. Very few can sense it, but if we open a window, it will be easy for any mage to spot us. The security measure," Master of Spells joined in.

    "Is it dangerous on the roads?" She inquired.

    "For us? Always. Petty and untalented, filled with jealousy are eager to try to blame anyone but themselves and their laziness. Even their attempts are lazy, but still, it''s more comfortable to travel on low profile, without having to take their miserable lives." Lu was speaking as if describing something casual, like dresses and cooking.

    Misaki nodded. Jealous people had tried to turn her life into hell before, and when she thought about them she felt a strange sensation of electricity running through her, but it was her electricity, not harming her. She felt alive for a second.

    "Don''t try using magic yet, it would not be nice if the barrier went down from too much magic inside." Demania put her hand on Misaki''s. "Don''t worry, you are safe here." As the power inside her calmed, that feeling of awe died with it.

    An hour later Lycarion returned to being a guide, describing the majestic battles that took place in the region in the last millennium as they passed the ancient battlegrounds with terrain that looked like it was bombarded with heavy artillery a long ago.

    "The town ahead is Makarta, the biggest and open <<Slave>> market in the region, they might have the most in numbers but the highest quality merchandise ends up in the capital anyway."

    "Huh?" Misaki looked at the handsome wolf-eared man describing people as merchandise. She thought about saying something about slavery being evil, but there was no point in that. Why would they even listen to her opinion?

    "We can get you a serf or a slave in the castle, but I don''t think we will be able to go shopping soon." Lycarion''s face reddened a bit.

    "Lica, she is from a place where people don''t have many slaves," the Master of Spells explained to his son.

    "Do you? You behave like someone who was surrounded by servants and slaves."

    "I was..." She couldn''t describe the eight servants who worked at the mansion as slaves. She wanted to ask on why and how, and if maybe the translation in her mind was wrong, but she didn''t. She felt apathy towards some people whom she hadn¡¯t even seen, for all she knew, people worked themselves to death in Japan too.

    "It is what it is," she whispered in English. After all, what was she going to do about that?

    "Don''t worry, we will find you a few that are up to your preference!" Lycarion looked at his father, with a small glint of victory in his eyes. His father looked back as if gently patting his son on the head.

    The last three batches of Otherworlders 80, 200, and 320 years ago were known to be big trouble for slavers, but it turned out that Lica''s assessment was correct. Heroine was a noblewoman, she was one of them.

    Misaki felt hazy and turned to the woman who was seemingly looking after her. "I''m sorry, but my mind is still in a haze from everything, wake me up when we arrive." She leaned her head on the soft pillow and closed her eyes.

    "I am in a slave and drug trading world," she thought to herself. The world reminded her of so many novels she listened to on her way home, and rarely did Isekai protagonists solve slavery and not become compliant by buying them.

    Now she knew why. She was alone, lonely, and tired in an unknown place. She didn''t want to fight against the world. She desperately wanted to fit in and feel alive.

 Chapter 34: The Master Summoner

    Usually when talking about summoners, one refers to people who summon apparitions of concepts held somewhere in the world of ideas and ideals.

    A knowledgeable enough mage could summon an ideal blade, or even an ideal chair. That is of course if the mage knows what they''re looking for in the boundless world of ideas.

    These ideals don''t belong to the material world, but to the world of gods, and without a mage to sustain them, they break apart.

    "Calling ''Summoning'' of Heroes a ''Summoning'' is a wide stretch," Ledas concluded aloud after two days of a strange repetition: wake up, decipher ritual for five hours, breakfast, decipher ritual for two hours, training with battlemages, supper, decipher the ritual for another three hours, read for half an hour until falling asleep.

    Mechanically, this wasn''t a summoning ritual at all. It was a magical beacon sending signals and channeling magical stones through ritual to somewhere. In his hands he had something akin to Noritz''s address in heaven, if the stories of heroes getting to this world through her were true. Maybe the address was to someone who accepted offerings in her stead.

    The ritual contained some information to send too. Those parameters changed how magical stones and crystals were required. Ledas contemplated the most important parameter, the one he deduced to be the number of heroes per summoning.

    The base ritual started with 0. But the math didn''t add up. It was either starting at 0, or 0 meant extra heroes after the first. Another parameter probably indicated the power of the summoned hero, as unlike the first one, it was a non-integral floating value. There was no indication how that value translated to how strong the hero would be, only an ancient note in the documents suggested ten talents of gold worth of crystals as a base and not using more than a hundred.

    There were few dozen checkmarks, text in the ancient language, indicating something. A few were marked, others not. There were no explanations in the ritual, only costs.

    Ledas felt disappointed, as all the actual magic granting mythical powers was not in the ritual. Still, he carefully wrote down the sequences that sent things to the designated location.

    Maybe with enough tinkering in how positioning worked, I could recreate a spell from the legends - teleportation. He though without keeping his hopes high. That was unlikely, as the mages guild would have discovered that decades if not centuries ago.

    His optimization of the ritual was the beacon, making it shine in the magical space for longer with smaller consumption, but most of the ritual looked more akin to asking a deity to send someone; a hero.

    During the first two days, he talked almost exclusively with Smoothy. Only Tomas among the battlemages spoke to Ledas and showed what the court mage did wrong and how to do it right.

    "So if it''s not summoning, what is it?" Smoothy lounged on a sofa a few steps away from Ledas.

    "I don''t know. It would take me a good year or two to figure that out precisely, and I don''t think in the urgency I am asked to work I''ll have a chance. It''s most likely asking for a divine favor." Ledas reached his hand towards the plate with the pastry, but it was gone. Gluttony was his bodyguard''s sin.

    "To respond to it or not, is up to the deity, and in this case it''s Noritz. Well, at least according to the stories."

    "Collect all you got, and I''ll give it to the boss." These were the last words the last piece of pastry heard before being devoured by the sneaky glutton.

    Ledas wrote the report in free form, as he didn''t know the proper way of making one. His handwriting was ugly but readable, taking maybe a third more space on paper than was required. He always gave reports to Smoothy to read first, and fixed them if something was unreadable.

    Fortunately, no one cared about the abhorrent symbols he called letters, and his writing was getting better rapidly.

    __

    Sunday indicated no training with battlemages.So Ledas sat for a few minutes, unsure what to do, while Smoothy went away with his report.

    He looked at the table with a thousand-mile stare. Tired. The glossy table had a bit of dust on it. Something about that bothered him. Maybe this was the first time he had noticed dust. He had lived for fifteen, maybe sixteen years without noticing such thin layers of dust. It never bothered him. He had never owned a polished table where that thin layer would be noticeable.

    Ledas thought about cleaning it with his sleeve, but when he moved his hand and saw pristine garbs indicating his status it felt even worse.

    He considered about casting an air spell, but it felt tiresome to cast a spell for something that would require one swipe of a wet fabric.

    ---

    He went outside the room and asked the first servant he saw where he could get a piece of fabric to clean things.

    "When would you like for a servant to come?" The answer wasn''t what Ledas expected, but it felt great, as if vaporizing the strain the position and the job was putting on him. He went back, to lie on the bed and take a nap.

    Later, going downstairs to the office part of his mage''s tower, Smoothy wasn''t there. He saw a maid sitting on a chair and rubbing her lower back, possibly taking a small break. The place looked cleaner than before. There was pastry on his table, untouched. He felt like a nobleman, getting all the nice pastries from professional chefs he never tried before. No! He was like a noble mage!

    "Hello?" He tried to recall how nobles he''d observed acted, and they rarely greeted someone of lower status. But greeting a pretty girl felt natural, so he forgot about that.

    "Oh, excuse me." The maid jolted up, her face grimacing in pain for a split second as she removed her hand from her back. "I am sorry, I didn''t know you were here. I will finish everything as soon as possible." She was around eighteen, with black hair and a gentle face, wearing the black and white outfit all maids here wore. He had seen her during breakfasts sometimes. She glanced at Ledas, paying brief attention to his clothes more than anything else, clearly identifying him by them¡ªor perhaps looking at his face wasn''t proper.

    "It''s not urgent," Ledas said. ¡°Nobles are slightly patronizing and acted directly with commoners, so I should simulate that.¡± Why? He had no idea. He was having breakfast with staff and Smoothy every day, but they never actually talked.

    Moreover, there was a bigger issue.

    ¡°Now, how should I...?¡± Ledas asked himself. He looked left and right, pretending to examine the room. He had an idea of what he wanted to say when he entered, but when he got closer, his train of thoughts scattered like prey before wolves.

    "How can I help you?" The maid was visibly uncomfortable.

    ¡°She has some problems with her back, probably overstrained. I can fix that, a small nice gesture to make this situation less awkward,¡± Ledas thought to himself.

    "I see you are having trouble with your work. Let me help you. Turn around," Ledas said with the same patronizing tone, continuing to imitate nobles he had seen in inns and taverns.

    The girl''s face immediately turned pale as she froze for a few seconds before turning around. She was in a far side of the castle, with no one around, the door was closed, and there was a mage ordering her; she had no chance to run away, and she knew it. The lump in her throat felt like it was preventing her from breathing.

    ¡°Oh, she must really suffer from that pain if it''s so hard for her to move,¡± Ledas thought, wildly misinterpreting her behavior. "Don''t move now." He crossed his fingers, forming a <

    > spell. His finger wavered when he remembered he had to touch the area around the pain source, but he had already started, so he gently poked his index finger against her back.

    The girl shuddered and started hyperventilating as she felt something filling her muscles. She took a deep breath and prepared to scream. In a second, a warm feeling spread through her body, and the back pain was gone, along with the finger no longer poking her.

    "Huh?" She turned back toward the mage, confused at what was happening.

    "Is the pain gone?" the court mage asked in the same strange, neglectful tone.

    "Yes, Magister," she said in a shivering voice.

    "Something wrong?" Ledas raised his brow.

    "No, no..." She quickly proceeded to finish cleaning the room.

    "It''s a simple spell. Don''t worry about that. I can do twenty in a row without breaking a sweat." Ledas slightly relaxed. ¡°She probably thought I would ask for monetary compensation for casting the spell,¡± he thought to himself, misinterpreting the situation again.

    In less than a minute, the maid was gone.

    ¡°Well, that was awkward,¡± Ledas thought to himself, heading up to his bedroom.

    "Arty, how do you speak with girls?" he asked while entering the room.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    His life advisor Arty wasn''t there.

    Ledas stood in the empty room, confused. Where was he? Why was he there? His mind wandered to places his mind''s eye could see but couldn''t perceive, and what he couldn''t see was chilling. The air felt too thin, the room too small. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.

    He rushed to the windowsill, his intent of running away that way vanishing when he saw the height.

    ---

    He came back to his senses in the unlit corner of the bathroom.

    Arty wasn''t there. The mortifying feeling of emptiness made him bend in half. He didn''t care about where his name came from anymore, the stupid misunderstanding with the maid which he now understood, or his place here; it didn''t matter. He felt the cold wanting to seep out but held it inside like he had done many times during past weeks.

    He gazed at the ceiling, but his wet eyes were focused on the endless distance. "Hey Arty, what should I do? I don''t know what I''m doing at all."

    ***

    Anna closed the door behind herself, walking quickly.

    Smoothy was at the entrance, leaning against the doorframe.

    "Isn''t he a naive idiot?" Smoothy yawned silently, his voice barely audible.

    "What are you doing here?" Anna walked down the spiral staircase.

    "A few of us are checking up on him from time to time, to prevent him from totally fucking up or running away. Sis told me that he scared the shit out of some random guards on patrol." Smoothy walked next to her.

    "I don''t think he is fine. Something is wrong with his head."

    "Yeah, don''t you find it funny?"

    "No."

    ***

    Part 2:

    In a couple of hours when Smoothy came Ledas asked to cancel the etiquette teacher, with the pretext that he needs more time to spend on the ritual.

    Smoothy offered to go for supper, but Ledas declined, with ¡°I am not hungry. See you tomorrow.¡±

    Ledas sat with the ritual, it felt calming drawing it on the big empty floor in the middle of his study.

    Well, It became empty after he removed the rugs and moved the furniture to the sides.

    The ritual was the most important thing in the world. It required absolute concentration, and absolute concentration on magic cleared the mind.

    He drew the lines testing each small piece of the schemes one by one. Rare ones would work from the first try. Hours flied as Ledas was drawing more and more schemes, adapting them to the more modern materials.

    When Smoothy came again, it was already morning. He looked around the room that drastically changed it¡¯s appearance, with sheats of different ritual parts hanging on the walls. The mage stood there with his back to him.

    ¡°Salty informed me you were shagging the furniture here, didn¡¯t know you were that horny.¡±

    ¡°I am in my prime shagging years, it¡¯s only natural.¡± Ledas responded without turning around, still focused on a particular circle that was refusing to work for the last three hours.

    "Should I issue you a wench, or take you to a brothel?"

    "I can survive until this is done. If it becomes unbearable, I will shag that Salty lass who touches herself while guarding the door at night, or you."

    "Huh?" Smoothy was talking with someone who seemed completely different. "Mate, you should go have some sleep; you''re losing your marbles."

    "I am not a mate to you. Get out of here until you learn to address me properly." Ledas'' voice was deeper, stronger, as if belonging to someone else.

    In a few seconds, the door closed from outside. Ledas stood there for another half hour.

    Reflected in the bathroom mirror, pale as porcelain, his face marked with blue veins wasn''t a symptom of poor constitution. Physically, he was perfectly healthy, aside from the lack of sleep.

    He focused on his hand, bringing index and middle fingers together, crossing them. The golden tattoos on the proximal phalanges of each finger connected to form a complete magical scheme. These were almost ideal tools to initiate up to low-journeyman magical spells without needing the usual phase of an incantation.

    Despite the bath next to him, he went for the quick but uncomfortable option, submerging his fingers into the fire, slowly allowing the heat to spread through his body.

    He no longer resembled someone who was terminally ill, a vampire, or an aberration.

    "Good." He combed his ashen hair, which no longer looked menacing. One had to appear good and organized, especially in his unstable position.

    The strange film in the eye of his mind was slowly melting. He looked to the side. The corner of the bathroom where he had hidden a few hours ago was covered in a thin layer of ice.

    His hands shook; he was losing his marbles.

    Things were bad. He quickly dispelled the ice and strode downstairs.

    The windows of the study had been open the whole night, and it was freezingly cold because of that.

    He tried not to calm himself. He needed to clear any suspicions that Smoothy might have. It was dangerous, dreadfully dangerous. He headed toward the kitchen to find the spy assigned to look after him, to turn it into a joke.

    "Oh, the Magister came!" The spy was outside of the room.

    "Sounds better than a furniture shagger." Ledas smiled at him with a smile only a socially inept person would find sincere.

    "Hey, it was a joke!" Smoothy was slightly defensive.

    "If someone tells you that you''re funny, know they are full of crap." Ledas felt the pressure go away as he jumped on the opportunity to play being offended. "Come, food won''t eat itself."

    "Never thought you would be so thin-skinned."

    "All furniture shaggers are thin-skinned." Playing offended when he wasn''t did feel nice. He held onto the stupid joke, thanking the Mother of Mercy in his mind for giving him another chance to live.

    The atmosphere in the kitchen wasn''t nice at all. The staff was tense as if they were all sitting in a room with a delayed spell, about to shatter like thin glass that already had cracks in it.

    The next few days went uneventfully.

    Bathe in hot water, eat, bicker with Smoothy, work on the ritual, eat, read books from the Royal library to understand why things in the ritual were not working, bathe in warm water, sleep and repeat. He moved the mirror from the bathroom upstairs to the ritual room. Some might consider him a narcissist for how often he would check himself in it, but he didn''t care. He was planning to buy another mirror or two so he would never be caught off-guard again.

    On day three, right after finishing their meals, the Cook - Jonny, limping approached the table where Smoothy and Ledas were sitting.

    "Excuse me, master mage, may I address you?" Jonny was a big man in his forties, with a gentle and honest smile addressed to everyone he saw.

    "Sure, whatever." Ledas shrugged.

    "I want to ask you for a small favor."

    "Huh?... Alright." Well, anything was better than having only Smoothy as a conversational partner; at least the cook wasn''t filled with bile.

    "Can you do the same magic you did on Anna on me?" Jonny''s words made the other staff members turn their heads.

    "Ah, the pain suppression? Sure. Where?" Ledas moved his fingers on the left hand, building the spell.

    "Em, left knee." The cook looked slightly twitchy at that moment.

    Ledas poked the knee while still sitting at the table. The spell activated at that instant, forming glowing magical runes on the skin for a brief second.

    "Em. Magister. Usually, you clarify terms before doing that." Smoothy spoke in a low tone.

    "What terms?" Ledas looked confused.

    "On the return favor. Unspecified favors get predatory sometimes."

    "I don''t care." He turned to the cook. "Jonny, right? I don''t care. There is nothing you have or can have that I need, nor anything you can do that I would care about. I will ask back for a favor, probably never."

    "Thank you, magister!" The cook bowed.

    "Oh, right." Ledas started to cast another spell. "Show your knee."

    "Emm..." Jonny followed the instruction.

    "Mother of Mercy," Ledas substituted the other parts with runes and applied a simple healing spell. "Suppressing pain on a wound without healing could make it worse. Just in case."

    "Oh, thank¡ª" Ledas cut off the cook.

    "Actually, an apricot pie tomorrow would be nice." Ledas stood up and the two left.

    ¡ª

    The freshly baked apricot pie the next morning was indeed nice.

    The cycle repeated itself for the next two weeks, with only the morning routine slightly changing as more of the staff asked for small magical services that were hard to get in Tigranakert after the guild left and the association focused on training new mages as fast as possible, removing them from the market.

    It looked like common folk felt just fine with the strange and rash mage when they found out he wasn''t dangerous, and even less eccentric than the previous one.

    Ledas assumed it was most likely Smoothy who sent the cook to do the breaking of the ice. He never checked if there was a wound in the first place, but it was his bodyguard who insisted on going downstairs for breakfasts every day and now for all meals.

    He wasn''t sure, but just in case, he tried to be as nice as he could be to the man who was trying to get under his skin with his jokes.

    At the end of the two weeks, the ritual schema was completed; everything looked perfect. The few masked mages, most likely noble battlemages of the highest clearance or Wraith''s people, did the last testing of every piece of the schema. No issues were detected.

    Too perfect.

    The King''s men with chests filled with rare crystals and golden implements arrived the next day.

    Ledas carefully positioned what he perceived as offerings and the crystals for the beacon in their positions. Everything was ready well ahead of time.

    "I am done. Should I start, or are we waiting for someone?" Ledas asked the king''s man, Smoothy, and the few masked battlemages.

    "Everyone who has to be here is here." Wraith was leaning back on a sofa, completely unnoticed before.

    "Understood." Ledas felt cringy every time Wraith would do that. No privacy meant that he had to keep ideal habits of keeping himself warm, but with the hot bath, that wasn''t difficult.

    He opened the first page, containing the chant to activate the ritual. It was written in an unknown language with a transcript on how to read it out.

    "ARCHITECT!" Ledas said the word, but shouts came out. When he pronounced them, he knew what they meant right after the words left his lips. "I ASK YOU FOR ACCESS TO THE LIBRARY OF INFINITE KNOWLEDGE YOU KEPT SAFE FOR MILLENNIA."

    Ledas stopped. He looked around in confusion. He somehow understood the meaning of the words and felt like he could speak it fluently, but the next moment he forgot, like one would forget a word unable to remember it. It wasn''t normal by any means.

    "Is that all?" Wraith asked, looking dissatisfied.

    "No." Ledas started again. This time his voice was calm, as reading aloud felt more natural now that he knew what the first words meant. Maybe it wasn''t normal, but ancient rituals never were.

    "Architect, I ask you for access to the Library of the Infinite Knowledge you kept safe for millennia. Allow me to see the true wisdom of the Tower of Babylon you built."

    Ledas felt his magic getting quickly drained as if he was casting high-power input spells in a row. Five seconds - nothing. Ten seconds - nothing. Fifteen - the schema began to glow as his vision turned blurry.

    "Ah, here you are. It is nice to finally meet you." A mellow voice whispered in Ledas'' ear. He turned around, but no one stood behind him, and Wraith was still sitting on the sofa.

    "Did you?..." Ledas understood something strange. The words were in the same language as the ritual activation.

    "Look!" One of the king''s men pointed at the ritual circle.

    The gold and the crystals in the offering area vanished.

    "The deed is done," one of the masked mages, who definitely was Baron Vahan Karian, proclaimed. "Time will tell if you succeeded, but we should do a small celebration!"

    Ledas stood there, with people patting him on the shoulder telling him "Good job!" and "Might be a real Ledas Sanders if you ask me" and other kind words one after another, but he couldn''t join the joy.

    He heard blood rushing in his ears and a high-pitched noise filling his mind. Who spoke to him? What was the Tower of Babylon and the Library of Infinite Knowledge? Who was the Architect, and was that the one who spoke with him and, most importantly, how?

 Chapter 35: New World Yossarrian

    I woke up standing, catching myself from falling. My throat was parched and I was in some sort of dimly lit room. I took a breath in. The air was thin and dry. The altitude is probably 1-1.5km above sea level. The room was slightly stuffy and smelled of herbs, and there was a demonic circle below me, just so slightly illuminated by four barely glowing crystalline stones. The walls were covered in sheets of paper with circles with schemas, akin to blueprints of electrical circuits.

    The floor and the walls were planked with wood, and the ceiling was made of stone, so people here used wood and stone.

    My wrist watch showed that it had been about 20 hours since I was caught by the kidnappers. I was thirsty, hungry, and needed a bathroom.

    The plan I¡¯d formulated during the long flight seemed simple:

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Get away from whoever summoned the psychopathic kid.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Gather information and act according to it. </li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Before that - stay low profile.</li>

    </ol>

    As my vision slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room, I decided to take a walk.

    In the room was a sofa covered in velvet, a working desk, a coffee table, half a dozen chairs, and bookshelves all bearing resemblance to the rococo style. On the coffee table were five cups, nice porcelain, also around 18th century aesthetics, but with almost ideal craftsmanship.

    The people here were most likely influenced by other otherworlders, or maybe my world was influenced by them, but that was a question for later.

    Some of the cups were still partially filled, so I sniffed the contents; it was mint and honey. I never like to drink unknown liquids, but dying from dehydration wasn¡¯t an option either, so I drank the mint tea to quench my terrible thirst, hoping no one would notice.

    One problem solved.

    I checked the bookshelves. Some books with similar spines had Greek-looking letters and Roman numerals on them. Others had modern numbers. I opened one of the books: Left to right writing, and modified Greek letters with extra symbols added to them inside the words. I could guess how to read out some of them, but there was no point in that. I put the book back exactly like it was.

    There was a door leading somewhere outside, a ladder upstairs, and closed window shutters with some strange sheets of paper plastered onto it.

    I went to the window first, but I figured out that I would have to remove the strange paper with what I assumed was a magical drawing, so I decided against that.

    I went to the door and put my ear to it. Two female voices were chatting about something in a language I didn¡¯t know, and couldn¡¯t make out. It didn¡¯t sound like Greek, but it also wasn¡¯t a tonal language from what I could discern.

    Going up the wooden ladders, they were completely silent, which delighted me to no end.

    I had very little information on what happened to people after they got moved to other worlds. I regretted not reading past the first page or two of ridiculously sounding books usually featuring demon lords in their names. I doubted that Mark Twain¡¯s ¡°A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur''s Court¡± was a good guide on this world though.

    One thing I knew was that getting lumped with people with bows that could slay a demon lord or mentally unstable kids like the one I got teleported here with wasn¡¯t something I was interested in.

    The room upstairs was a bedroom. Queen-sized bed, another desk, also rococo style as far as I could see from the minimum of light coming from dimly glowing crystal on the ceiling, hanging like a chandelier. Well, that part wasn¡¯t rococo.

    Two doors on one side, two windows, closed with shutters.

    I sneaked to the doors. It was a dimly lit bathroom, the place I was looking for. It had a copper sink, a copper bathtub, and a porcelain toilet with a wooden seat. It looked vintage. I felt like I jumped from the 18th century to 20th century just by entering the bathroom.

    Well, everything worked to my great delight, aside from hot water.

    The second problem was solved. I quickly cleaned my suit, it somehow held together without visible damage after I was hit by a truck and thrown like a ragdoll by a human-dragon.

    The second room was a wardrobe. It didn¡¯t have enough light to make things out, but some clothes were on the rack. I noted the place as a potential hiding spot in my mind.

    I slightly opened the window on the left as seeing a general layout would have been great, but the sounds came in instead. The sounds of distant music, chanting, and celebrations.

    I looked outside, it was twilight, the sun just set behind hills in the distance, and the remaining light illuminated the city. The city from this position could be mistaken for any old district of a European city; Red tiled roofs of two to four-storied buildings, some made of orange stone, others from wood and painted over. I was most likely on a hill or a highrise, around thirty meters higher than the city.

    The city was surrounded by classic stone walls, maybe ten meters tall, and there was another wall closer to me. I was in a castle.

    This complicated things a lot ¡­ I can¡¯t make the jump to the wall from this window if I were to try.

    A celebration was happening on the view, but before I could go and look through the other window or look if there was a way down I heard a door opening from downstairs. At least two spoke quite loudly. One was drunk for sure, but I heard only one set of footsteps.

    People noticing me wasn¡¯t a part of my plan. I closed the window and snuck inside the wardrobe room. The voices were getting closer and closer. I instinctively moved my hand to the gun but stopped myself. Killing people without a reason wasn¡¯t my plan either.

    The two talked and I could hear their dialogue. The language sounded strange, it was somewhere between the languages I knew. I could make out two familiar words from their conversation: ¡°Magistro`s¡± and ¡°Baro`n¡±..

    The sober one addressed the drunk one that way. I jotted them down, as well as what I assumed were words for ¡°but¡± and ¡°yes¡±.

    Maybe they meant something different, but I needed a few hundred words to be able to communicate on a base level, and I needed that fast.

    They talked for another few minutes and it became quiet. I noticed that only one of them made sounds of walking. I took a note of that.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    I waited for an hour, completely still. The neon hands of my watches told me how much time had passed. I planned to stay here for another hour, to be sure that the man in the room was asleep and get out through the window. Having extra clothes would be nice though, so I took out a lighter and looked around the place. Around a six square meters room, with two racks on the sides mostly empty, shelves with hats of all kinds, and on the back was a panel of wood.

    My attention was grabbed by the middle section with panels as if the wooden panels were created to focus the attention of the people who enter it.

    It looked too much like a secret door in a video game with a quest marker highlighting it.

    Why would someone highlight a secret door that way? If that¡¯s the person who lives here, he would know where the secret door is. I got the feeling that this was a decoy. And if there was a decoy, there could be a real one nearby.

    I checked the panels - normal panels. They just grabbed attention, I could imagine someone following the person who lived here, the owner would run inside the wardrobe and disappear, and the one entering after him would see the obvious panels and try to open them, neglecting anything else.

    I looked for anything out of place, a switch, or something similar. I asked myself where I would put a switch and checked those places. I found a couple of decoy switches leading to nowhere. Then I asked myself if I would want a switch, and the answer was no.

    I tried to gently pull the shelves, and the shelves with hats had some movement. There was a latch deeper inside that held it in place. I followed it, and it led to one of the hat stands. A gentle tilt and the latch was off, the shelf with hats opening like a door.

    Well, not exactly gently. I lifted it a bit so it wouldn''t scratch the floor and make a sound. A very narrow corridor with steep ladders led down. It would be a hassle to squeeze through that. It was as if carved out in the stone of the outer wall, to be completely invisible.

    I decided to look outside first and opened the door slightly to peek. A human lad was sleeping in the bed, moving his head from side to side as if seeing a nightmare. I froze so as not to make a sound. His hands moved in the air and golden lines started to glow on his skin as he produced mumbling words.

    I closed the door. There was a possessed kid in the room, and I didn''t want anything to do with that. On second thought, there was a high chance that it was the person who summoned Aki Kurosagi and me. Still, my intuition told me to stay away.

    At least I knew for sure that humans populated this world too, and that was comforting. I went to the hidden door, put everything where it belonged, and closed the latch behind me, leaving only the slight smell of the gas lighter as evidence I was there in the first place.

    I moved down and sideways. I could fit in, but not being able to see anything was an issue. A trap door signified the end of the way. I removed the latch and turned on the lighter again. It was dark down there. I couldn''t see for more than a meter.

    The smell of sewers was quite noticeable. I checked my pockets, looking for coins. I didn''t think a hundred yen would be worth much here, so I dropped it. Less than a second later, I heard a clang of metal on stone.

    "Maybe around three meters," I concluded. I lowered myself inside, and hanging with one hand, lowered the wooden trap door all the way to my fingers. If I needed to come back, the way should be still open, as I couldn''t lock the trapdoor, and it didn''t seem like one that would lock itself.

    My estimates of the height were correct. I landed on my feet and kept upright after some balancing after landing. It was indeed a sewer system.

    The current task seemed simple: Find the furthest exit and get out, act according to the plan after that.

    I looked around, and my hundred yen was nowhere to be found, probably having rolled into the water in the middle of the stone tube. When I looked up, the trap door had a glowing rune on its bottom part, light somehow not illuminating the place.

    It made no sense for there to be a hidden exit. It made no sense as that''s not how light works... usually. Maybe it was some magical light bullshit. That was something I didn''t know and was not high in my priorities list.

    Finding a hidden passage felt too lucky. It was either pure luck, a difference in training level, or something related to me being a zero. Too many questions, too few answers.

    The list of questions grew, and the list of answers didn¡¯t.

    I sneaked through the sewers. I found the first few dead ends, with metal bars blocking the ways down as if I was in a 2000s video game, but one of the ways led me further than the others, and metal ladders on the wall led me upstairs.

    I realized how sickened by the smell I was when I lifted the stone manhole and took a deep breath of clean air. I looked around. It was night and the streets were almost empty. The moon was lighting the street, so I got out and closed the manhole, straining myself to do it as quietly as possible.

    Cobbled streets, mostly clean, houses made of some porous yellowish stone, most likely volcanic tuff, the air around fifteen degrees Celsius. A castle stood in the direction from where I came from. Basalt walls, about twenty feet tall, with massive ballistae on the towers. I could see figures with torches walking on the walls.

    If someone would tell me that this was some fantasy world, I''m not sure I would believe them. Everything looked like a Hollywood production set for a Southern European high medieval film. Well, aside from the possessed kid and glowing lamps, everything seemed like a mismatch of styles and technologies from human history.

    I walked straight as if someone would see me sneaking would raise more suspicions than otherwise. Well, that''s what I assumed. Still, I walked silently.

    Stores had stained glass windows and hanging signs. The first few probably belonged to a tailor and a cobbler. The third one had two swords painted on the wooden piece, but unlike the other two, it had letters on it - Greek letters with some other letters inside of it, and "N1" at the beginning.

    I heard the sounds of someone running, so I hid behind the corner. A human male rushed in front of me with a big bag in his hand and dove into one of the alleyways. The trail of alcohol smell followed him: a drunken burglar, I assumed.

    I saw a group running after, wearing breastplates and holding spears, shouting what most likely meant "Stop right there, criminal scum" or something similar. Interestingly, they had more or less a modern sewage and plumbing system but no firearms.

    Running away from people in this situation was objectively stupid. If anything I knew about law enforcement was correct, letting them do their work was the best way for them to forget about you. So I pointed towards the alleyway the burglar jumped in, and when the armed man saw me, they instantly went in that direction without giving me a second look. One of them shouted a word back at me continuing the pursuit, barely tangible due to the running.

    I added the words "There" and what most likely was "Thanks" to my self-made dictionary. In ten minutes, I ended up in a small park. I went to its deepest parts where no one could see me. I needed to allow my legs to rest a bit. I grabbed a cigarette; I needed one. Lucky me, I had more than a pack of cigarettes on me. Things were going relatively smoothly.

    I was concerned about my clothes and outlook, as I was still wearing the three-piece suit I had put on to infiltrate Tokugawa Elite, but somehow that felt like a lifetime ago. Unlike some old European cities, I saw no clothes on dryers hanging outside windows.

    Like a true homeless person, I took a special nap on the bench. A terrible way of sleeping they teach all operatives, keeping them alert while they sleep.

    <hr>

    I woke up at sunrise. Thirty hours in the new world, and I had slept through most of them. I adjusted my watch to 7 AM and walked the streets.

    The people looked at me as if I were out of place. Well, I was. I was wearing a very good "Made on Earth" suit, while they wore tunics and simple pants. They were manual laborers for sure. Like on home Earth, the working class woke up earlier than others.

    We were definitely of the same race, making my potential future attempts to blend into the crowds at least physically possible. The parts of the city I was in looked beautiful and quite clean to my surprise, I was very much lost, with only the castle and the walls acting as my landmarks, allowing me to figure out relative positioning.

    I walked into the town''s main street, and horsemen rode by. The one in the front wore a Napoleon-era style red and blue Cuirassier uniform. Behind him were soldiers in green early 20th-century uniforms with breastplates on top, all with cutlasses and swords.

    Behind them rode an open carriage. The man in it wore a suit as if straight from the 1940s¡ªa suit very similar to mine.

    "What the fuck is that?" I asked myself. There was no artistic or technological consistency in this world.

 Chapter 36: Marcus

    Journal entry N1: Jan 13, 1996

    I decided to start journaling.

    Well, "decided."

    I got a new Doctor named Elliot a month ago. He looks way more fun than the previous one.

    Doc said journaling should help me differentiate my hallucinations from reality and order my daily life so I won''t get so confused. I''ll have to show it to him from time to time to help him understand what happens with me. Well, he said that I will choose what to show, because he respects my privacy.

    Yesterday I asked him if he knows if I am insane or not. He said that he doesn''t know what happens to me yet. Well, at least he didn''t try to sugarcoat it like other doctors did.

    When I pressed him, he said he was unsure why I have seizures, and my patient records suggest that it might take time to figure out what is wrong with me, and how to treat me.

    You see, dear journal, that sounds stupid.

    Visions have haunted me since I was born again ten years ago. Well, as long as I can remember myself. Each year they get more and more detailed, and my parents are scared that something is wrong with me.

    In my visions, I was different people during different times or even worlds. I was a hunter-gatherer in endless savannas that never saw snow, I was a rice farmer in hilly mountains, I was a scientist and a priest. Usually, I would die from a disease before my memories would fully come back, leaving my memories from those places even more fragmented.

    More often than not I couldn''t control myself going on a rampage before I reached twenty-five.

    More often than not I was a murderer, a bandit, a general, and a warmonger.

    In the magic world, I was a sorcerer leading armies of human-shaped monsters into battle for a reason I couldn''t remember now, only to be defeated by overwhelming forces each and every time. Sometimes reaching my objectives, sometimes failing them.

    I remember "my" two last deaths more vividly than others.

    The latest vision was of someone who joined the South Vietnam side and died in battle having a lot of fun. Humans are such a creative species. I never thought that in a world without magic, I would be able to fly in the sky pouring death from above. Those were my thoughts in the cockpit of the plane.

    I sometimes dream of that cockpit and it scares me. How could this person have fun with all the death he was causing? What was wrong with him, and why am I seeing through his eyes?

    I remember seeing through another person, impressed when learning that humanity finally figured out the way Earth orbits the sun. I remember when I mentioned it before in ages people call Middle, I was burned as a heretic. I remember being drowned by the mob as a sorcerer when I cured plague patients.

    It''s quite hard to say if I am the person these memories originate from, or if these are hallucinations or memories of other people.

    The world depicted in those memories is a scary one. The world around me is safe, comfy, and cozy. Well, it''s not ideal, I still have to go to school until I am twelve, but I feel safe here.

    I am more mature than other kids around me. They might be a decade older, but sometimes I look at them increasingly as if they are kids and I am an old man.

    Memories return in waves, and every time they do I get seizures. The previous doctor called them epilepsy and gave me some pills against that. I still have seizures but now I feel dumber than I was before. The new doctor gave me other pills. They taste like licorice, and I hate licorice.

    I don''t want to drink them.

    Today is Saturday. Today we are finally removing Christmas lights from the house. Had to delay it. Mom was busy taking me to doctors after the big seizure I had during the Christmas gathering, and Father was taking care of my sister who caught a cold.

    I pity my small sister Helga. She is seven, but my sole presence ruins her childhood.

    Not only do my parents have to spend so much time on my health problems, but she also is compared to me. Someone who will finish school at eleven and is considered a child genius. Maybe if I was somewhere away or dead she would finally get the attention she deserves.

    Maybe if these hallucinations weren''t happening to me my parents would have had the four kids they wanted. They are growing older, it will get harder for them every year.

    My new parents are nice people, they are quite smart for humans...

    For humans? Huh. Am I an alien to write that?

    I shouldn''t have watched the Aliens trilogy with classmates in Erik''s home.

    I couldn''t reject the offer from the only friend I had in class. Still, I feel a bit sad. All my classmates were drinking, some hiding to make out from time to time. No one poured me when I asked, not even a bit. They are all six years older than me, and all they talk about is some drama in relationships and who-kissed-whom.

    When most left, I stayed with Erik and his other friend to help clean up, and we played the PlayStation he got a month ago.

    It felt so amazing I had a seizure. Just kidding.

    Erik and his friend even decided that they wanted to make games now. As the doc suggested. Yes, this is a note to you Elliot, I as per your advice went on a quest to do something with other people.

    ______

    Jan 28, 1996

    It was my birthday today. Luckily I felt the seizure coming a couple of minutes in advance.

    Parents, Sis, Grandparents, and Erik were here. Mike from our small programming trio couldn''t come, but we met yesterday and he gifted me a book on C++.

    We went to my room where I asked him to do nothing just before I collapsed.

    I am not sure why, but he did as I asked. He just put me on the bed, as I later realized. It was an unreasonable request from me. He could have gotten into trouble but he still did that.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    I had the vivid visions again getting imprinted in my mind. I explored them as if there were chambers within chambers. And in one of them, I saw and heard the name of the pilot of the bomber whose memories I saw most vividly.

    I had a completely new vision too. I sat in front of a man with the power of a god and I was powerless. He looked at me with pity. I wanted to choke him for that. I remember shouting and screaming at him, his face getting filled with sadness the more I shouted. This memory of a rant was somehow important.

    When I stabilized, I asked my friend to leave the room and rejoined the celebration myself after I wrote down the visions. The name was the first concrete and provable thing I have at this moment.

    Maybe it came from a history book or a novel, but I am unsure, I put it in a long list of things to do.

    Maybe if I travel to Vietnam I will be able to check if the name is real or not, this will finally answer the question if I am insane or cursed.

    _______

    September 5, 1996

    We finally started working on the game when dad bought a computer. I practiced with C++ only on paper before, none of our programming trio had a computer at home. We wrote our game code on paper and gave each other to check it and incorporate it into our physical library of functions.

    Today I put everything we wrote into the machine for the first time.

    I was with Mike, who wanted to see how it would all work out. When I pressed the compilation button I felt something strange.

    I looked at the code and it was wrong.

    The language was wrong. Its syntax was ugly.

    It didn''t represent reality. It did nothing.

    It was a lie. Just electricity creating text on the screen.

    It wasn''t....

    I failed to hide that seizure. Mike called my Mom the moment I started to look strange.

    It was the longest one up to the moment, 25 minutes. I woke up in the hospital completely drained.

    In my visions I saw a battle of two armies in a valley. I led one of them. It felt brutal. I was hurt and healed countless times. I ripped the souls of champions in front of me and burned their souls to power my spells and restore myself.

    Bloodbath that felt like an eternity.

    I saw enemy forces flee and my forces followed them, driving them down the edge of a long cliff. Their shouts and screams as music to my ears.

    Then the explosions rang and the floor gave away. The whole cliff collapsing under my feet, taking my army and the remaining enemy forces with it, killing most of the survivors from both armies. I floated in the air almost alone.

    Well, not me. That person.

    Anyway. Maybe I just played too much D&D recently.

    _________

    _________

    December 22, 1996

    We went to church, my parents grow more and more desperate. I haven''t been in one for maybe two to three years.

    I am getting a d¨¦j¨¤ vu from Jesus. I hope I wasn''t Judas Iscariot in one of my previous lives.

    I have to get better at hiding seizures.

    _________

    March 8th, 1997

    I think my English teacher tried to seduce me. I see no other reason why would she put her hand on my lap, and throw compliments on me or pretend that she cares that I don''t have many friends, or gently ask me if there is anyone bullying me.

    It invoked something in me, a seizure in the bathroom to be more precise.

    A new set of visions, depraved and evil ones. I never thought my first time ¡­ it was porn. A violent one, with blood and tears. The memories were so vivid I threw up right after.

    I tried to throw that image out of my mind, but for the last week during the English class, I see that.

    It makes me restless. Erik says I am just horny for her touch a bit, and that he would do her if he could.

    _________

    April 11th, 1997.

    She was trying to groom me. In all my visions women are falling for me if they are in the scene.

    I punched her a few times until she was no longer conscious when she tried to undress me. I haven''t though that I could punch that hard.

    It turned a bit of a ruckus as you could imagine.

    Police believed me, she got arrested. So you Elliot might be soon invited for an interview at the police.

    There is only thing.

    I lied.

    I didn''t hit her because I was trying to protect myself.

    I want to throw myself off the bridge.

    __________

    April 20th 1997.

    Today was the first time since the incident that I went to school. I had to convince mom and dad that it was fine, that I was fine.

    I think they are afraid of me. Even though they defended me, I feel the unease they have around me now.

    I try to smile, but it is hard. I feel possessed by a demon. I am afraid I won''t make it to 25.

    Well, on the school. All the boys look at me with contempt, as it turned out I wasn''t the only one who was groomed. All the girls look at me with fear, as if I am a small monster.

    I am 11, for god''s sake. You are bigger and stronger, even girls, you can beat me up easily. Stop looking at me like a threat to the world!

    _________

    April 21th 1997

    I am a threat.

    After the school three boys followed me and Erik. I haven''t really fought for a few years, as other boys were either older and not interested in fighting someone who can die from a seizure in one punch.

    Today was different. My body moved by itself, my legs positioned me where I needed to be, and none of their hits landed on me. My punches or kicks despite connecting couldn''t do any more than angering them. Lucky me, Erik fought ridiculously well pressuring two of them onto full defense! So, leaving me only one to jump around.

    I felt I could see everything happening around.

    In the midst of it I saw a man in an overcoat sitting on the edge of the rooftop of the three storied tall house in the alleyway we fought. He was watching me and Erik. I couldn''t make out his features, as the sun behind him blinded me. I felt he wasn''t weak, and that I hated him.

    He threw a firecracker into the fight dispersing the assailants with a loud bang.

    When I looked up, he was no longer there.

    __________

    September 3rd 1997

    We finished the game during the summer break. Mike, who is doing publisher negotiations, says that the best offer he has now is 50 grand USD but he will try to find a better one. I am fulfilled. It''s nice to see your creation being valued.

    Changing the school at the last year isn''t the greatest thing, but guys switched with me, so we could polish our project just a bit.

    You were right Doc, focusing on something made the negative thoughts go away.

    _______

    May 30, 1998

    A year without seizures. Well, I had them and a lot, but thanks to Erik and my sister I was able to hide them all. I even wrote a letter that would "prove" that I coerced and blackmailed them to help me in case I would die on their watch.

    I got accepted into Stanford. I was able to hide the seizures for the last year, parents think I am cured. Maybe after I leave, my parents will be finally happy.

    My sister helps me to hide my condition, but I feel that she despises me. That doesn''t matter, I love her anyway.

    Also, I cannot blame her. When you are ten and all adults are comparing you to an anomaly that finished school at 12 and could have easily done that when 9 years old, it''s hard not to get resentful if you are a normal kid.

    It''s also hard not to get resentful when a family is suffering financially for all that experimental treatment not covered under any insurance, and when your parents can''t pay you enough attention.

    Recently I started to place money into parents¡¯ wallets and our safe. I plan to tell them about how much money we made with the game in a few days after we return from Vietnam.

    We are flying to Vietnam to celebrate my admission in a few days. I found a cheap tour and convinced parents to do that. Well, it''s a lie. I sold my share of the game to Erik and Mike, and bribed a tour agent to pretend that the last-minute tour we got was indeed under a sale, while I paid the difference.

    Father was reluctant but my sister and I could convince him.

    I visited doctor Eliot again as he checked me one last time before I flew first to Vietnam, then to California.

    He is the only person I talked to about visions in the last two and a half years. He suggested me so, as people would consider me insane otherwise. He said that outside of seizures I am perfectly healthy.

    A year ago he said that I am not insane, and that my mind just plays games on me during seizures. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn''t. I needed proof.

    Before leaving I gave him a sealed letter and asked him not to open it until I returned.

    Inside were all notes I had on the soldier who fought for the Republic of Vietnam I could gather from the visions.

    If visions were true - what I would gather would correspond to that.

    If not, that means that sadly I am insane.

    _____

    Ugh... I tried to grab some of my notes with me, and father saw them.

    He thinks these are D&D notes, so I am not allowed to play the game anymore.

    Well, still better than him thinking I have genocidal visions.

    I had a strange dream tonight. I was flying in the air, and my head hit the sky. I called doc, and asked him what it might have meant.

    He responded with "It looks like you are just afraid of airplanes. That''s fine. It was just a dream."

 Chapter 37: Ledas: The Voice

    Chapter 37: Ledas: The Voice

    One page¡­ nothing¡­ The next, and there was nothing as well, or at least there didn¡¯t seem to be anything. Ledas wasn¡¯t really paying attention at this point, just mindlessly flipping through index pages in the hope of any sign of what he was searching for.

    Three days in the royal library had yielded nothing. Ledas kept checking his reflection in the medallion mirror hanging from his neck to make sure his warmth spell was holding. After all, his luck wasn¡¯t infinite.

    The voice from the ritual buggered him. The incantation that led to them did that too: Architect, Library of Infinite Knowledge, Tower of Babel. He''d found the Tower mentioned only in names of fiction novels he''d rather not be seen checking out of the royal library. Why there was a smut section in the royal library was beyond him. The Library Of Infinite Knowledge appeared in a single, useless reference in "Formation of Defensive and Barrier Spells" - just a warning about its instability during magical warfare.

    Following that thread had led him to "Asmar''s History of Magical Warfare." It had been borrowed by one of the previous Arshakions two centuries ago and never was returned. The king had raised an eyebrow when Ledas requested to borrow it, but even that didn''t help much. The book only confirmed that old and unmaintained magical libraries tended to fail under stress, particularly during wars with aberrations.

    One passage did catch his attention: <i>"Library of Infinite Knowledge contains over four hundred commands related to space, time calculation, and power management. Until the City of Magic was founded, non-affiliated and rogue mages used the LoIK freely, as it had no access restrictions. No faction claims control over it, and the library is considered abandoned since the late 5th century."</i><i>

    </i>

    None of this explained the voice that had whispered in his mind during the ritual. "Here you are. It is nice to finally meet you," it had said as if it had been waiting for him. Ledas knew about people who heard voices - they usually ended up in the care of Mother of Mercy or worse in places where the Mother wasn¡¯t revered. Asking anyone about it wasn''t an option due to that.

    He glanced at his reflection again, adjusting his collar. The theatrical gestures came naturally - old habits from the troupe died hard. But here in the castle, every movement felt wrong, and every interaction was a potential misstep. At least in the circus, he''d known exactly where he stood: at the bottom of the hierarchy, in the spotlight but invisible. Here he was away from the spotlight but always observed.

    Day four was a day off; no responsibilities at the castle, aside from checking the ritual beacon from time to time. Ledas finally was able to visit Olaf¡¯s place, although sadly Smoothy tagged along, as Ledas didn¡¯t have any real autonomy.

    Olaf was happy that Ledas found a new friend, so Ledas decided not to clarify that his bodyguard and watcher who was acting like his friend in public wasn¡¯t one.

    Well, at least in a few more days, and he could finally travel around the city or even around the castle without Smoothy during the days, and the night watcher whose existence he knew about but never saw.

    The salary did raise his spirit on the next morning though. He got two big gold coins as a bonus. A good riding horse worth of gold was in his palm. He stared at the three small gold coins and two big ones in his room. 230 Silver Drams in his possession. He never had anything that valuable that was his own. It glistened in his eyes and he wanted to enjoy it.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    A reminder of the strange occurrence didn¡¯t allow him though. It was hard to forget the voice during the ritual when the ritual was active on the lower floor of his own quarters.

    There were three ways to resolve this. Ignore, Research, or invoke the library again. The first two didn¡¯t work.

    Ledas took the ritual scroll.

    ¡°Architect, I ask you for access to the Library of the Infinite Knowledge you kept safe for millennia. Allow me to see the true wisdom of the Tower of Babylon you built.¡±

    The words became tangible again when he read them from the scroll out aloud.

    Nothing. Ledas felt nothing. He invoked the library, but this time he felt nothing. No access was granted, as if he just read some random words.

    He tried to force the library again.

    <b>#include </b><i>LibraryOfInfiniteKnowledge</i>

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we persistent?¡± The same calm and cold voice responded to him. ¡°Later, Mister Sanders, later. When the time will be right.¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Ledas asked quietly, but no one responded.

    Chills went down Ledas¡¯ back. It was unnatural to hear someone talk into your mind. The Library of Infinite Knowledge wasn¡¯t abandoned, and he wasn¡¯t insane.

    ¡°What if it was an angel of Noritz?¡± he asked himself. ¡°Yeah, I sent her the request, and one of her angels just said hello to me, an angel magic. Case closed. They probably just built a new library for their followers later, that¡¯s all. There is nothing I should worry about.¡± He cleared the sweat from his forehead and exhaled deeply, calming himself down, and returned to his bedroom.

    A parcel with a letter on it was put on his bed, and considering the security around the place of the hero summoning it must have been important.

    ¡°Magister, you are invited to a tea party this afternoon, 2-4 Past Zenith. At the east garden.¡±

    The parcel had a two-piece blue suit and polished leather shoes.

    Ledas didn¡¯t recognize the name of the sender, but well, he had never been to a tea party and had never worn a suit before, so it was hard for him to stop staring at the mirror looking at himself. He looked and felt like a nobleman. No longer at the bottom, but at the top.

    The longer he stared the more surreal he felt.

    ¡°Do you know what they call people who are in love with themselves?¡± Smoothie asked him just as he entered the room.

    ¡°Do I look good in this?¡± Ledas tried to comb his hair in another way.

    ¡°They call them flowers, and yes, it does fit you. On what occasion decided to order a new garb?"

    ¡°Do I need one to look this good?¡± Ledas answered with a question again.

    ¡°Yes. Well, what did I expect from someone who wears a mirror medallion on his neck? You know, right that medallions usually hold a picture of a beloved person, not a mirror to stare at yourself at?¡±

    ¡°Smoothy, did they tell you that you are a mood killer?¡± Yet again Ledas responded with a question.

    ¡°I pity your future wife,¡± Smoothy said with a low and cold voice.

    ¡°Huh? Why?¡± Ledas didn¡¯t turn around.

    ¡°If you are so insufferable now, imagine how bad it will be when you will become an archmage!¡±

    ¡°Oh! You think I will become one, I think so too!¡± Ledas responded cheerfully.

    ¡°You missed the point. What¡¯s wrong with you? How long have you been staring at yourself in the mirror?¡±

    Ledas looked at the clock, it was at least an hour since he opened the parcel, and he had barely enough time to get to the tea party on time.

    ¡°Well, when this summoning is over, I will find a good mind healer.¡± He smiled at Smoothy.

    ¡°Ugh, I will go to the city, and see if one is available on short notice. Your behavior is worrying the higher-ups.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Ledas stopped looking at the mirror as his heart sank.

    ¡°I don¡¯t watch your every step, but when you ask the king for an ancient book, and for days only leave the royal library for sleeping and eating it will be known in the castle. Rumours start to spread, and it gets harder to do damage control.¡±

    ¡°Rumours?¡±

    ¡°Ask Wraith. As for now, I am going to see if there are some good mind healers in town.¡±

    When Smoothy left, Ledas looked at the mirror once again. He wasn¡¯t a flower, he tried to convince himself. Whatever his situation, he just had to act normal.

    ***

    At Wraith¡¯s office:

    ¡°I think the Magister is hiding something. My lord.¡±

    ¡°Like what?¡±

    ¡°He sometimes acts like he is possessed, obsessing over things.¡±

    ¡°Smoothy you know why it is illegal to teach kids magic till they reach puberty?¡±

    ¡°No, sir.¡±

    ¡°Now you know.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand you, my lord.¡±

    ¡°Magic can screw unformed minds. Most kill themselves, or go on a mayhem."

    ¡°Oh¡­ Why are we keeping him? Isn¡¯t that dangerous?¡±

    ¡°Maybe to himself.¡±

    ¡°So, should I look for a mind healer for him?¡±

    ¡°Just, submit the form for the expenses after.¡±

 Chapter 38: George: One In A Million

    I recovered from the inconsistencies this world presented as I followed the flow of people toward the city center. This world was in medieval times and in the middle of the Industrial Revolution at the same time, and more strangely, in the same place. Some rich people had pocket watches, while others wore straw sandals.

    The streets were cobblestone, and yards had outhouses, while the castle had plumbing and an escape route as if built using precision tools.

    Townsfolk and lavish carriages alike were moving in one direction. Most common folk looked excited in the streets.

    The word very similar to "Heroes" was spoken by children and adults alike. I wrote it down in my dictionary. A bunch of kids playing with sticks, pretending they were swords, repeated the word. I could guess that one of them, the pouting one, talked loudly that it was his turn to be a ¡°heros¡±. I wrote "to be someone/play" in one word in my dictionary.

    The town''s main square was filled with people as I approached it. Something important and exciting for these people was about to happen.

    I could guess that it was related to the recent summonings. Common folk gave me space, sometimes giving a small bow when passing by. I drew too much attention for my liking, but at least I wasn¡¯t too out of place.

    The workers not far from me were constructing a podium. I still felt exhausted and decided to rest at the closest bench in the shade of a building not very far from the stage.

    I focused for a few minutes on the conversations next to me, but they spoke too fast for me to pick anything from it. I focused on another one. Kids called a cat "Kattu" and made "pspspspsps" sounds to lure it, proving my assumption that the language people spoke here was connected to my homeworld.

    This world¡¯s cats were twice the size of what I was used to, but as petting them has shown, they are domesticated cats with silky fur.

    The gestures people made were similar too. People nodded in agreement and shook their heads in disagreement. They raised their shoulders when not answering questions, and strangely shook their hands after meeting each other. ¡°How are you?¡± went into my dictionary.

    At this moment it had 25 words and phrases, the meaning of which I could only guess. The number of armed men increased as the sun rose to the zenith and the area became more crowded. People walked around me while I sat in my hyper-aware state. Some were eyeing me, others investigating.

    I saw a few suspicious people watching me, like poorly trained spies. I paid them no attention and stayed in my place. Acting out would prove that I did notice them, which would raise suspicions. I was relaxed, and some fellows pretending to be unnoticeable were not making me uncomfortable.

    A woman was eyeing me from a top window, hiding behind the curtains but forgetting to remove a shiny necklace, tiny glimpses of which gave her away. A man who entered a group of talking people a few meters away, his back to me, said nothing to the others there for minutes. He was concentrating on something else, like keeping me in sight, at the edge of his vision the whole time.

    I felt like I was in a kid¡¯s spy movie, akin to one where spies are hiding in the bushes. Oh, and the man on a bench behind the bushes. He read the same newspaper page for about 10 minutes without adjusting it. I felt ashamed for my otherworldly colleagues.

    In a few minutes, they were all gone, losing all interest and focusing on another gentleman at a distance.

    An old man in a three-piece suit with a mug of something approached me and started to talk with me. I had to resort to pantomime to show I didn''t understand him, but he just thrust a tankard of wine into my hands, practically forcing me to drink with him after he raised a toast that I was unable to pick up a single word from. It felt like I drank to someone''s health and prosperity.

    It turned out to be good wine. It reminded me of the dry reds from Uncle Josh''s collection. I savored it over the next few minutes. The wine had an intense flavor. I could taste its origins in mineral-heavy soil, pure and unspiced, with hints of something akin to cherry. The tannins were bolder than what I was used to.

    Uncle Josh would have loved this. I thought about bringing him a bottle if I found a way home. I wanted to smoke, but smoking in this world would most likely draw an intense amount of attention.

    As the place got filled, the sounds of horns rang. A group of knights escorted some general or king-looking fella who stood alone above the crowd, as the crowd cheered his appearance.

    The giant king, almost 7 feet tall, gave his speech, his voice unnaturally loud as if he spoke through a megaphone. I assumed it was some sound-amplifying magic.

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    About three minutes in, he called someone on the stage, someone I recognized. Aki¡ªwhatever his family name was¡ªran up the stage and gave a few lines in the same language, making the crowd cheer.

    The word "heroes" was heard from people around me left and right. Even the King used it a couple of times.

    To my trained eyes, I could see the kid enjoying it, but his footing was insecure. I would have been scared if he had been calm and still in front of what I estimated to be a 15-20 thousand crowd.

    The two left the stage as the music grew louder, after which some proclamations started to be broadcast by heralds whose voices weren''t amplified.

    My watches indicated that I was up for around 4 hours, but I felt lazy, and the bench in the shade felt cozy and comfortable.

    I pantomimed my way out of a few more people who sat next to me, the wine felt stronger, considering I hadn¡¯t eaten properly in days. I felt tired.

    I was trying to invent a solution, but if working for MI6 taught me something, it was that any government would milk you dry. So the cooperation option with the local government was out of the question. The crowd dispersed quickly, leaving only around a hundred people in the square.

    I saw a group of gentlemen at a distance take out cigarettes, and my eyes lit up. Their cigarettes looked similar to mine. White tip, yellow filter. I needed to smoke to collect my thoughts. I took out the pack, but my lighter was not on me...

    I checked my pockets, and it wasn''t there. I tried to recall when I used it last time and figured out it most likely fell in the park where I slept. I became sloppy, not checking belongings before heading out was a big no-no. I looked at the group, trying to witness how they lit theirs, but it was too late.

    I decided against my better judgment to approach them and ask for a light. What could go wrong?

    As I slowly walked to them with a cigarette in my hand, one of the smokers lit his by snapping his fingers, a small flame appearing on the tip of his thumb.

    "Huh?" my mind whispered to myself, as I was trying to hide my utter confusion. This magic thing was growing slowly on me. Maybe all rich people were able to use magic here. I decided not to show that I was not a magicless muggle, in my hand-tailored 2016 suit.

    "Hey, are those luckies, by any chance?" I heard a cheerful voice behind me speaking in English of all languages, while my heart sank.

    I continued walking for a few more steps as I tried to recall my training to figure out a solution.

    "Hey, what do you do when you appear in another world, and someone speaks your language?" I wondered in my mind.

    I had no answer to that question, so I turned around. It was a middle-aged, combed-bearded man in what I could figure out as upper-middle-class grey robes. His face looked familiar.

    "Excuse me?" I smiled at him and approached.

    ¡°Luckies mean fine tobacco,¡± he said staring at the Lucky Star pack in my hand.

    I frantically tried to remember where I saw this man as I handed him a cig.

    He took out a flip lighter from his robes and lit us both, and at that moment it came together. This was a professor from my university.

    A nice gentleman I hadn''t seen since graduation, Professor... Nissen or Nellson. I tried to remember his name, family name, or what he taught, but my mind didn''t budge; it was around eight to ten years ago, and I only saw him in the smoking area. I only remembered this guy because he smoked like a train.

    "Luckies, that is a rare thing to see here." He took a calm nostalgic drag. "I didn''t expect to see a familiar face here."

    "Me neither." He looked older but still in fine form for someone in his fifties.

    ¡°You are George, from the Journalism department, right?¡± He stoked his blonde beard.

    ¡°Huh? Yeah, I didn¡¯t think you would remember a student who wasn¡¯t in your class, Professor.¡±

    "Your advisor was bragging about you too much. Weren¡¯t you reporting from Syria in 2014? So, you are a hero now?" I looked at his hands; there were slashing scars on them.

    "I started in 2015, but that¡¯s a long story." I saw that he paid attention to my clothes, and analyzed me as a whole.

    "I never took you for someone who would join violent fanatics, so how did you end up here?" He gave me an important bit of information.

    "Isn¡¯t this the afterlife?" I answered jokingly not to disclose too much. But after I said that I realized that I revealed too much.

    "Hah!" He chuckled. His reaction confirmed that there were multiple ways into this world. So maybe there was a way out.

    "What''s so funny?"

    "People are watching us now; I just pretended I loved the joke you told me."

    "Oh, the woman on the second floor hiding behind the curtains behind me?" I chuckled.

    "Yes, did you grow eyes on your back?" he smiled at me widely.

    I laughed a bit as if he told an unfathomably funny joke.

    "In an hour near the broken wall, I''ll see you in an abandoned building." I noticed his lips'' movement and  words didn''t correspond to the last sentence. Spy technique to mislead lip readers.

    He left at a casual pace, and I continued my way. I passed the group of smoking gentlemen and saw the pale kid previously referred to as "Magistros" among them.

    I smiled. Maybe it was the wine, but I felt great. Things were moving at a way faster pace than I anticipated. As I walked down the streets the feeling of things being too convenient nagged me. Maybe I was in a Matrix, connected to an advanced AI, and the whole world was a simulation built on a pun. Pun I didn¡¯t know about.

    A lightbulb lit up, answering one of my previous questions. Ruy meant a dragon, Ry¨±nosuke Press And Entertainment¡­ Dragon Helper Press And Entertainment¡­ The modern Dragon¡¯s Horde was a corporation.

    ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t convenient. Nor was it luck,¡± I told myself. ¡°Neither he, nor I were here by accident. We came to see the new summoned one, and summoned ones would be among the most interested. Lucky Stars are popular in Japan and among older Americans. It makes sense he recognized them. What is strange is that we knew each other, even slightly. What¡¯s the chance of that? One in a million?¡±

 Chapter 39: Marcus - Vietnam

    Chapter 39: Marcus - Vietnam

    Journal log.

    June 5th 1998

    ¡°Dear journal, Hanoi is cheap. Not just cheap, but ridiculously cheap. With the money I have on me, I feel like a king. Everything here is maybe 20 times cheaper. I can get some nice food for the equivalent of 5 krone. The only pricey part was the journey. My plan is in place, and my preparations are done. Father finished two massive pho bowls by himself, now he rests under the fan. Mother really wanted to go to some library-museum, but we all felt so tired after overeating that we went to bed. I¡¯ve never seen my father filling his belly like that. Who is that man? Is he really my father, or an imposter?¡±

    June 6th morning.

    Morning:

    ¡°Dad is not an imposter. He woke up at 6:00 as always, without an alarm ringing. Jetlag is a joke to him and his routine. It¡¯s admirable how nothing can affect him, well aside from pho. Sometimes I think about opening up to him, but I don¡¯t want to risk it. Elliot, imagine your kid goes to you and tells you ¡®Father, I am a reincarnating being, and you are potentially my hundredth father.¡¯ I am not afraid that he would think that I am an aspiring fantasy writer, I am afraid that he won¡¯t be able to look at me the same way, and that our familial connection will be gone. He noticed that I was not sleeping, and called me to do his morning workout. Ugh¡­ Time to pretend that I have slept.¡±

    Same evening:

    ¡°Went to historic cities today. As I expected, some things in the military museum invoked nostalgia. A nice tourist guy from the US showed us around. He felt a bit fake, but I think I am getting paranoid.¡±

    ¡°In the evening a prostitute approached me and offered her services. She did it while my parents were only a few meters away. I am 1.5 meters tall. Maybe she thought that I was older. Or maybe she saw how thick my wallet was.¡±

    June 7th

    ¡°Mother and father conducted a proper sex-ed today, mainly for my sister, who didn¡¯t know what that woman was doing on the street corners. It was so long that I almost forgot what I was here for, I just wanted for the next three days to finish, so we drove to the beach town on our tour list.

    Today I bought a map and a compass for 20 krone, and I think I know where I have to go, sadly it will take me at least 10 hours to do a round trip. I need a plan, somehow my parents need to forget me for around half a day.¡±

    Same evening:

    ¡°Told my sister that I needed some time to do some things. Now she thinks I want to do things with a prostitute for that long. I had to convince her that no, I was not an underage pervert. She is an impressionable kid. Oh¡­ I feel like an old man again. Anyway, I bribed her with 200$. That little girl will one day become a great diplomat or a crime boss.¡±

    June 8th

    ¡°Sister¡¯s acting was terrible, but still my parents fell for it. They left to see a doctor, while I sat in the first proper car-taxi near the hotel and ordered it ahead¡­.¡±

    ¡°The driver feels strange. Maybe he also thinks I am an adult because we are the same height? Nope, no chance. He doesn¡¯t speak, but he looks at me from time to time as if he wants to ask something. I guess ¡°Hey kid, where are your parents?¡± or smth like that. I am jotting things down, as the ride is too long for my liking.¡±

    ¡°I think I remember some of these hills, but seen from another perspective. He stopped in the middle of the road and told me that this is the closest place he can get to my point, as it¡¯s in the jungle. He then asked if he should wait for me. I told him to do so.¡±

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    ¡°I moved through the first few trees as I heard the sound of the car¡¯s engine, as he rode away. It looks like I am about twenty kilometers away from the closest town all on my own, great, amazing. Driver stopped a couple of hundred meters before my original drop point, but this one is even better, as it starts with a clearing.¡±

    ¡°This might be the last note in this journal. I am being watched. There are a lot of footsteps in this part of the jungle. A route was cleared with machetes maybe a day or two ago, and my compass and map tell me that they lead where I have to go. This is some kind of a trap, made for me. This explains the strange driver''s behavior. I feel over 20 people in a hundred-meter radius.¡±

    Radio Log (cleaned)

    D-1

    0900 CHARLIE: Connection check. Team Letters status? Over.

    0901 ALPHA: Team Letters in position. All observers are ready. Over.

    0902 CHARLIE: Team Numerals status? Over.

    0903 EYE: Numerals in position. Surveillance equipment is active. Over.

    0903 CHARLIE: Target arrives tomorrow. Maintain discipline. Out.

    1800 CHARLIE: Letters, status report. Over.

    1801 ALPHA: Area secured. Route prepped. Over.

    1802 CHARLIE: Numbers, report. Over.

    1803 EYE: Trail cleared 80%. Artifacts positioned. Timeline update required. Over.

    1806 CHARLIE: Target arrival 0800. Expected trigger window D0 to D3. Out.

    D-Day

    0800 ONE: Visual on target. Moving with family group. Over.

    0845 TWO: ONE, you''re too close. Fall back. Confirm. Over.

    0846 ONE: Adjusting distance. Out.

    1009 NINES: Target settled at the hotel. Over.

    1145 CHARLIE: NINES, move to Entry 1, maintain observation. Confirm. Over.

    1145 NINES: Moving to position. Out.

    D+1

    1600 CHARLIE: Target moving to Zone 5. SIX, ready for observation. Over.

    1602 SIX: In position. Visual confirmed. Going silent. Out.

    2111 NINES: Local contact approaching the target. Request guidance. Over.

    2112 CHARLIE: Maintain observation. ALPHA, assess the threat. Over.

    2115 ALPHA: Contact removed. Local criminal. No compromise. Out.

    D+2

    1200 CHARLIE: All units: Critical phase approaching. Numbers team to assembly. Detach three for Letters support. Out.

    D+3

    0840 ALPHA: Target has taken the bait. Out.

    0841 SIX: [CROSSTALK] He''s actually here--

    0842 EYE: Clear comms. Out.

    1440 ALPHA: Target reached Position T. Out.

    1445 GAMMA: Target on approach vector B. Out.

    1530 GAMMA: Target down. Snakebite suspected. Moving to assist. Over.

    1531 OMEGA: GAMMA, hold position. Do not approach. Observe only. Over.

    1535 GAMMA: Holding position. Out.

    1538 GAMMA: Lost visual on target. Over.

    1538 EYE: [CROSSTALK] How did you lose him? Find him!

    1539 ALPHA: EYE, maintain comm discipline. Out.

    1645 EYE: He''s here. Over.

    1646 ALPHA: All teams to the gathering point. Confirm. Over.

    1647 ALL UNITS: [Multiple confirmations] Moving. Out.

    [End Radio Log]

    Video log

    The target approached the crash site. He looked exhausted. The point of interest, the dog tag was placed on the artifact rifle, in the middle of the clearing. The sun''s rays cinematically fell on the crashed plane.

    The target laughed out aloud for about a minute, after which approached the rifle, and took the dog tag. The target started floating in the air, the rifle gleamed with purple light. A few seconds later, the target collapsed and shook in convulsions.

    The medical team was stopped from advancing by Alpha.

    Team Letters and Numerals have arrived at the site. They are waiting, one knee on the ground their heads up.

    The target stopped convulsing and stood up.

    ¡°We are ready to serve my lord, the Stormbringers are at your command,¡± Alpha proclaimed.

    The target took out the gun from the ground, checked if it was loaded, and shot Alpha in the leg.

    ¡°Thank you, but don¡¯t you dare to lie to me again. ¡®Alpha¡¯s Name known to the target¡¯,¡± Target replied.

    ¡°I apologize, my lord, I never meant to offend you,¡± Alpha bowed.

    ¡°Same goes to you, ¡®Five¡¯s name¡¯,¡± Target stated.

    ¡°Thank you for your kindness. My lord,¡± Five replied.

    ¡°Rise my flock. I¡¯m back in the game, I know you missed me. At ease, Dismissed!

    Journal

    ¡°I just shot Elliot in the leg. I got so pissed that he lied to me. Well, both my doctor and my closest friend were from a cult worshipping me! When I grabbed the dog tag, It was just as if had turned into a different person, the previous me.

    I should apologize to Elliot, but I feel ashamed now. Considering all he did was for my good. I just feel like my worshippers shouldn¡¯t act like they know better than me without consulting ME!

    I am writing this, and when I read it it looks like I am insane, but I know I am not.¡±

 Chapter 40 George: Time to Roll

    Chapter 40 George: Time to Roll

    I checked if there was anyone following me, but there wasn¡¯t. I strolled through the streets as the sun got covered under heavy clouds. I went back to the park I slept at, and as I expected my lighter was there. I walked towards the wall and circled until I got to a broken piece of it. It took around 10 minutes of a light stroll to cross the town not using the main road.

    A few buildings were being repaired, and the wall was almost finished. I looked at the signs of the destruction left there, one of the buildings was still destroyed.

    I thought it might have been artillery, but it wasn¡¯t, as the destruction had a non-linear path. I thought it might be a tank, but the wall was not repaired at the bottom part, only the top.

    The road had some depressions and scratches a few meters apart from each other and in one place the signs of burning.

    ¡°So, what do you think happened here, Mr Holmes?¡± Professor asked me as he approached.

    ¡°Something big and strong.¡± I looked around again ¡°Depressions in the ground look like they were made by a massive biped. Signs of burns on the buildings, so it was on fire. The wall was barged in through and climbed over. The wall looks thick and sturdy, so I don¡¯t see an animal without siege equipment barging through that. Well, unless some magic was involved. I¡¯d assume someone smashed the wall with maybe a catapult or magic, set a big animal, twice the size of an elephant, on fire, and let it loose¡±.

    ¡°That was close. What else?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s strange, the damaged area is relatively small, so the town was most likely not sieged. Looks like a distraction. Unless someone wanted to burn this tavern or that jewelry store.¡± I pointed at the signs put in their places.

    ¡°That¡¯s some interesting assumptions, Sherlock. I heard from the locals that it was a massive burning lizard.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you fit the role of Watson, Professor.¡± I looked at his new clothes, he looked a bit like a doctor or a priest now, with white robes and a combed beard.

    ¡°I have a nice spot where we can talk.¡± He started to walk. I followed.

    We moved through a ruined house, to the top of the tower not far from the wall.

    I looked over the wall. A long plateau stretched before us, with mountains at a distance, obscured by dense, fast-moving clouds.

    ¡°Holmes, it is baffling that the Esoteric Order would send someone here.¡± As he said that two things flashed into my mind: Ryu the dragon who got me here mentioned it. I remembered that the professor¡¯s courses were on the history of secret societies.

    ¡°I think that analogy is a bit off-topic. Unlike Holmes, who knew a lot about secret societies, this is the first time in my life that I heard about said order.¡±

    ¡°Oh, right! It was Holmes'' brother who worked for the British secret services and participated in a club! My apologies.¡± His obvious attempt at probing was too on-the-nose, but I did feel the pressure.

    ¡°Mycroft¡¯s position was more of an overseer and advisor, not secret services. I think you are mistaking it with adaptations.¡± I wasn¡¯t working with MI6 anymore, but ambiguity was my greatest ally.

    ¡°Do you know how to tell which secret society a person is from? Well, a real person.¡±

    ¡°Enlighten me.¡±

    ¡°You are Armenian, so you can¡¯t be from Zion, Stormbringers, or Illuminati. Templars and Ark always wear crosses on them, while you don¡¯t. Armenian descent and journalism is more often than not Esoteric Order. Just like your uncle and parents.¡± He talked calmly as if I was his student and he was the professor explaining some basic concepts to me.

    ¡°I think you are mistaken here, and why can¡¯t I be from the first three?¡±

    ¡°You are not a jew, so not from Zion, not a moron, so not a Stormbringer, and you are not a rich jew so not Illuminati.¡±

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    ¡°A few days ago I would have considered you insane on the Illuminati and Zion point alone.¡±

    ¡°Haven¡¯t heard that Jews run about a third of the world? The US and Israel are run by Zion, and it¡¯s not like they are hiding it. They openly call themselves Zionists in the Senate. Some European and Russian banks are run by the Illuminati on their last breath. Don''t tell me you don''t know why the war in Syria started.¡±

    ¡°What next? The history of the eye behind the dollar?¡± I said jokingly.

    ¡°Oh. The Eye of the Providence, as it was put there by Freemasons, symbolizes the Great Architect of the Universe. But Freemasons went virtually extinct in the twentieth century, so I don¡¯t think it relates to our conversation.¡± I felt confused as he spoke.

    ¡°Oh, right. I forgot that Washington was a freemason.¡±

    ¡°Done with the history. So, you are not an Esoteric. I don¡¯t think there is a point in keeping secrets here.¡±

    ¡°I am not a member of the Esoteric Order and barely can be considered an Armenian. But before I say more, what order are you from?¡±

    ¡°None. Barely Armenian? What are you going to tell me next? That your uncle is not from Esoterics?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never even been in Armenia, I know maybe fifty words in Armenian, and I don¡¯t think my uncle or parents were members of some secret society...¡± I stopped for a second as a film vanished from my mind¡¯s eye. Uncle was a very successful journalist, and I never understood why. With his reach, he couldn¡¯t possibly generate his wealth. My parents died in a very suspicious car crash throwing their car off a bridge. I was a teenager back then, and I was pissed that the other car¡¯s driver was never found. I couldn¡¯t remember where my parents worked, they never told me directly.

    I was too young then, so I never looked at my family through the eyes of an investigator. I never doubted them, or anything they said.

    ¡°Sweet summer child. Did the blindfold fall?¡± Professor smiled at me and combed his blonde beard, he looked at a distance towards the mountains.

    I noted a few things. This man made me trust him. It gave me a feeling that I knew him way longer than I actually did. He shook away the spy mindset I had been using and shifted it to a student¡¯s.

    He was controlling this dialogue and the narrative, and I followed it. He put me off guard the moment he greeted me, and now, when we met near the wall he did it again. The way he started the dialogue as if it was a test, and the way he tried to put me into the mantle of Sherlock Holmes, how he listed organizations. He read me like an open book, and now, as he was staring at a distance, he wanted me to look there too, and we were at this tower maybe because of that.

    He would have kept control of the dialogue if not for his power trip, the man was a narcissistic control freak.

    I turned my gaze, to where he wanted me to look and the mountains at a distance were now in a better view as clouds moved to the side. Twin peaks: one massive, rounded summit snow-capped with snow, and the smaller, conical one rising sharply nearby. It filled the horizon and dwarfed everything in sight.

    It was unmistakable. It took me a second to recognize the profile. It was Mt. Ararat, and I was geographically in Armenia. This world was replicated from mine, and he wanted to show it to me in the most dramatic way. He started with ¡®you are an Armenian, so¡¯ while he could have just said about uncle and parents. It was a calculated tangent.

    Moreover, he knew I wasn¡¯t a member of a secret society. How? I was unsure.

    But there were two interesting details he gave away. He either had a perfect memory to store names and biographies, including the secret ones, or what is more likely had a device with a very interesting database on him.

    Considering he made MI6 reference, his data was 3-7 years outdated while I worked at MI6. He was probing me for that. He mentioned Syria when we met. It was 7 years ago. I had a way bigger report that made me relatively famous in 2019. I can¡¯t remember anyone mentioning ¡®Professor Smoke¡¯, dying in the graduates'' chat.

    Initial assumption: he arrived here between 2015 and 2018.

    Should I pretend that I am impressed, that he still controls the dialogue, or assert that his manipulations won¡¯t work anymore? I felt danger. The man was the danger¡¯s incarnation, and my eyes cleared again.

    ¡°You think about shooting me?¡± He asked me, in a slightly frightened voice trying to put me off guard. I felt a bit of a game in his voice. He noticed that I figured out the game. Even his accent got worse.

    ¡°Why would I?¡± I responded looking surprised.

    ¡°Your awe as you looked at the mountain, almost perfect. But your eyes changed focus to close, as you assessed me with your peripheral vision, as if I am dangerous.¡± He said the last few words slower and in a sad voice.

    ¡°Gun wouldn''t work, there was no real fear in you.¡± I swiftly aimed my gun at him, keeping it close to myself. He flinched just a bit too late for it to be natural.

    ¡°How did you?¡± He smiled at me, his face bearing no discomfort from being aimed at.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t, you just confirmed it. Melee might work though.¡± I looked at him, and his brows raised, showing a surprise. He laughed what seemed to be genuine laughter.

    I¡¯d stand no chance in melee too. He realized that he gave it away just a bit late, he got played twice using the same trick.

    ¡°My luck today is through the roof, Yossarian.¡± He grinned at me. ¡°Now tell me, what do you seek?¡±

    ¡°You first Professor.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Nessen, but you can still call me professor if you like.¡±